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The New Coffee Room

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  3. The poetry thread

The poetry thread

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  • Aqua LetiferA Offline
    Aqua LetiferA Offline
    Aqua Letifer
    wrote on last edited by
    #12

    He spent a shitload of money trying to repopulate the forests of England. He's kind of into trees.

    Please love yourself.

    1 Reply Last reply
    • Catseye3C Offline
      Catseye3C Offline
      Catseye3
      wrote on last edited by
      #13

      What Now?
      Gary Soto - 1952-

      Where did the shooting stars go?
      They flit across my childhood sky
      And by my teens I no longer looked upward—
      My face instead peered through the windshield
      Of my first car, or into the rearview mirror,
      All the small tragedies behind me,
      The road and the road’s curve up ahead.

      The shooting stars?
      At night, I now look upward—
      Jets and single-prop planes.
      No brief light, nothing to wish for,
      The neighbor’s security light coming on.

      Big white moon on the hill,
      Lantern on gravestones,
      You don’t count.

      Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

      1 Reply Last reply
      • brendaB Offline
        brendaB Offline
        brenda
        wrote on last edited by
        #14

        Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

        brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
        • brendaB brenda

          Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

          brendaB Offline
          brendaB Offline
          brenda
          wrote on last edited by
          #15

          @brenda said in The poetry thread:

          Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

          It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

          brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
          • brendaB brenda

            @brenda said in The poetry thread:

            Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

            It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

            brendaB Offline
            brendaB Offline
            brenda
            wrote on last edited by
            #16

            @brenda said in The poetry thread:

            @brenda said in The poetry thread:

            Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

            It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

            "The mountain ash, or rowan, isn't a true ash. It belongs to the genus Sorbus instead of the genus Fraxinus. So far, the rowan has been safe from emerald ash borer attacks."

            1 Reply Last reply
            • MikM Offline
              MikM Offline
              Mik
              wrote on last edited by
              #17

              And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

              “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” ~Winston S. Churchill

              brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
              • MikM Mik

                And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

                brendaB Offline
                brendaB Offline
                brenda
                wrote on last edited by
                #18

                @Mik said in The poetry thread:

                And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

                LOL

                Moar poetry, please!

                1 Reply Last reply
                • Aqua LetiferA Offline
                  Aqua LetiferA Offline
                  Aqua Letifer
                  wrote on last edited by
                  #19

                  Becoming a Redwood
                  —Dana Gioia

                  Stand in a field long enough, and the sounds
                  start up again. The crickets, the invisible
                  toad who claims that change is possible,

                  And all the other life too small to name.
                  First one, then another, until innumerable
                  they merge into the single voice of a summer hill.

                  Yes, it’s hard to stand still, hour after hour,
                  fixed as a fencepost, hearing the steers
                  snort in the dark pasture, smelling the manure.

                  And paralyzed by the mystery of how a stone
                  can bear to be a stone, the pain
                  the grass endures breaking through the earth’s crust.

                  Unimaginable the redwoods on the far hill,
                  rooted for centuries, the living wood grown tall
                  and thickened with a hundred thousand days of light.

                  The old windmill creaks in perfect time
                  to the wind shaking the miles of pasture grass,
                  and the last farmhouse light goes off.

                  Something moves nearby. Coyotes hunt
                  these hills and packs of feral dogs.
                  But standing here at night accepts all that.

                  You are your own pale shadow in the quarter moon,
                  moving more slowly than the crippled stars,
                  part of the moonlight as the moonlight falls,

                  Part of the grass that answers the wind,
                  part of the midnight’s watchfulness that knows
                  there is no silence but when danger comes.

                  Please love yourself.

                  1 Reply Last reply
                  • Catseye3C Offline
                    Catseye3C Offline
                    Catseye3
                    wrote on last edited by
                    #20

                    I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                    Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                    Aqua LetiferA 1 Reply Last reply
                    • George KG Offline
                      George KG Offline
                      George K
                      wrote on last edited by
                      #21

                      I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                      However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                      anyone lived in a pretty how town
                      (with up so floating many bells down)
                      spring summer autumn winter
                      he sang his didn't he danced his did.

                      Women and men(both little and small)
                      cared for anyone not at all
                      they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
                      sun moon stars rain

                      children guessed(but only a few
                      and down they forgot as up they grew
                      autumn winter spring summer)
                      that noone loved him more by more

                      when by now and tree by leaf
                      she laughed his joy she cried his grief
                      bird by snow and stir by still
                      anyone's any was all to her

                      someones married their everyones
                      laughed their cryings and did their dance
                      (sleep wake hope and then)they
                      said their nevers they slept their dream

                      stars rain sun moon
                      (and only the snow can begin to explain
                      how children are apt to forget to remember
                      with up so floating many bells down)

                      one day anyone died i guess
                      (and noone stooped to kiss his face)
                      busy folk buried them side by side
                      little by little and was by was

                      all by all and deep by deep
                      and more by more they dream their sleep
                      noone and anyone earth by april
                      wish by spirit and if by yes.

                      Women and men(both dong and ding)
                      summer autumn winter spring
                      reaped their sowing and went their came
                      sun moon stars rain

                      "Now look here, you Baltic gas passer... " - Mik, 6/14/08

                      The saying, "Lite is just one damn thing after another," is a gross understatement. The damn things overlap.

                      Aqua LetiferA 1 Reply Last reply
                      • Catseye3C Offline
                        Catseye3C Offline
                        Catseye3
                        wrote on last edited by
                        #22

                        Cheer up, George; here's one for you:

                        The Octopus

                        Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
                        Is those things arms, or is they legs?
                        I marvel at thee, Octopus;
                        If I were thou, I'd call me Us.

                        Ogden Nash

                        Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                        1 Reply Last reply
                        • Catseye3C Catseye3

                          I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                          Aqua LetiferA Offline
                          Aqua LetiferA Offline
                          Aqua Letifer
                          wrote on last edited by
                          #23

                          @Catseye3 said in The poetry thread:

                          I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                          There are personal preferences regarding poetry, and there's judging work on merit. I don't like a lot of Dana Gioia's stuff, but I'm sorry, no, saying he can write would be a massive understatement.

                          Please love yourself.

                          1 Reply Last reply
                          • George KG George K

                            I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                            However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                            anyone lived in a pretty how town
                            (with up so floating many bells down)
                            spring summer autumn winter
                            he sang his didn't he danced his did.

                            Women and men(both little and small)
                            cared for anyone not at all
                            they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
                            sun moon stars rain

                            children guessed(but only a few
                            and down they forgot as up they grew
                            autumn winter spring summer)
                            that noone loved him more by more

                            when by now and tree by leaf
                            she laughed his joy she cried his grief
                            bird by snow and stir by still
                            anyone's any was all to her

                            someones married their everyones
                            laughed their cryings and did their dance
                            (sleep wake hope and then)they
                            said their nevers they slept their dream

                            stars rain sun moon
                            (and only the snow can begin to explain
                            how children are apt to forget to remember
                            with up so floating many bells down)

                            one day anyone died i guess
                            (and noone stooped to kiss his face)
                            busy folk buried them side by side
                            little by little and was by was

                            all by all and deep by deep
                            and more by more they dream their sleep
                            noone and anyone earth by april
                            wish by spirit and if by yes.

                            Women and men(both dong and ding)
                            summer autumn winter spring
                            reaped their sowing and went their came
                            sun moon stars rain

                            Aqua LetiferA Offline
                            Aqua LetiferA Offline
                            Aqua Letifer
                            wrote on last edited by
                            #24

                            @George-K said in The poetry thread:

                            I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                            However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                            anyone lived in a pretty how town
                            (with up so floating many bells down)
                            spring summer autumn winter
                            he sang his didn't he danced his did.

                            Women and men(both little and small)
                            cared for anyone not at all
                            they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
                            sun moon stars rain

                            children guessed(but only a few
                            and down they forgot as up they grew
                            autumn winter spring summer)
                            that noone loved him more by more

                            when by now and tree by leaf
                            she laughed his joy she cried his grief
                            bird by snow and stir by still
                            anyone's any was all to her

                            someones married their everyones
                            laughed their cryings and did their dance
                            (sleep wake hope and then)they
                            said their nevers they slept their dream

                            stars rain sun moon
                            (and only the snow can begin to explain
                            how children are apt to forget to remember
                            with up so floating many bells down)

                            one day anyone died i guess
                            (and noone stooped to kiss his face)
                            busy folk buried them side by side
                            little by little and was by was

                            all by all and deep by deep
                            and more by more they dream their sleep
                            noone and anyone earth by april
                            wish by spirit and if by yes.

                            Women and men(both dong and ding)
                            summer autumn winter spring
                            reaped their sowing and went their came
                            sun moon stars rain

                            cummings is great. If you like such stuff, Spike Milligan might be up your street.

                            Please love yourself.

                            1 Reply Last reply
                            • ChatGPTC Offline
                              ChatGPTC Offline
                              ChatGPT
                              wrote on last edited by
                              #25

                              Trees, tall and grand,
                              Nature's pillars strong and grand,
                              With branches reaching for the sky,
                              A sight that makes my heart take flight.

                              Leaves rustling in the breeze,
                              A symphony of green and ease,
                              Trunk rough and bark so deep,
                              A beauty that's impossible to keep.

                              Rooted deep in Mother Earth,
                              A symbol of unyielding worth,
                              A sanctuary for creatures small,
                              A home for one and all.

                              In spring they bud, in summer they thrive,
                              In fall they change, in winter they survive,
                              Trees, tall and grand,
                              Nature's beauty that we all understand.

                              1 Reply Last reply
                              • George KG Offline
                                George KG Offline
                                George K
                                wrote on last edited by
                                #26

                                As I said, I'm not much of a poetry guy. I don't understand much of it, other than enjoying how words are put together.

                                Another one that I've always liked was one by Shakespeare. Sonnet 29:

                                When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
                                I all alone beweep my outcast state,
                                And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
                                And look upon myself and curse my fate,
                                Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
                                Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
                                Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
                                With what I most enjoy contented least;
                                Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
                                Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
                                (Like to the lark at break of day arising
                                From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

                                For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
                                That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

                                "Haply" meaning "as if by chance."

                                What a wonderful turn of the phrase: "Trouble deaf heaven with my bootless (useless) cries." Not only is heaven not listening, but my pleas are a bother.

                                I love this sonnet.

                                "Now look here, you Baltic gas passer... " - Mik, 6/14/08

                                The saying, "Lite is just one damn thing after another," is a gross understatement. The damn things overlap.

                                1 Reply Last reply
                                • MikM Offline
                                  MikM Offline
                                  Mik
                                  wrote on last edited by
                                  #27

                                  33AC3A28-015E-4E72-AEF5-32E084C1835F.jpeg

                                  “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” ~Winston S. Churchill

                                  Catseye3C 1 Reply Last reply
                                  • Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                    Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                    Aqua Letifer
                                    wrote on last edited by
                                    #28

                                    That's excellent, Mik. I've not read that one before.

                                    I love this one because it has two elements you almost never see in poetry: plot revelation through dialogue, and drama through stage direction.

                                    The Fear
                                    —Robert Frost

                                    A lantern light from deeper in the barn
                                    Shone on a man and woman in the door
                                    And threw their lurching shadows on a house
                                    Near by, all dark in every glossy window.
                                    A horse’s hoof pawed once the hollow floor,
                                    And the back of the gig they stood beside
                                    Moved in a little. The man grasped a wheel,
                                    The woman spoke out sharply, “Whoa, stand still!”
                                    “I saw it just as plain as a white plate,”
                                    She said, “as the light on the dashboard ran
                                    Along the bushes at the roadside—a man’s face.
                                    You must have seen it too.”

                                    “I didn’t see it.

                                    Are you sure——”

                                    “Yes, I’m sure!”

                                    “—it was a face?”

                                    “Joel, I’ll have to look. I can’t go in,
                                    I can’t, and leave a thing like that unsettled.
                                    Doors locked and curtains drawn will make no difference.
                                    I always have felt strange when we came home
                                    To the dark house after so long an absence,
                                    And the key rattled loudly into place
                                    Seemed to warn someone to be getting out
                                    At one door as we entered at another.
                                    What if I’m right, and someone all the time—
                                    Don’t hold my arm!”

                                    “I say it’s someone passing.”

                                    “You speak as if this were a travelled road.
                                    You forget where we are. What is beyond
                                    That he’d be going to or coming from
                                    At such an hour of night, and on foot too.
                                    What was he standing still for in the bushes?”

                                    “It’s not so very late—it’s only dark.
                                    There’s more in it than you’re inclined to say.
                                    Did he look like——?”

                                    “He looked like anyone.
                                    I’ll never rest to-night unless I know.
                                    Give me the lantern.”

                                    “You don’t want the lantern.”

                                    She pushed past him and got it for herself.

                                    “You’re not to come,” she said. “This is my business.
                                    If the time’s come to face it, I’m the one
                                    To put it the right way. He’d never dare—
                                    Listen! He kicked a stone. Hear that, hear that!
                                    He’s coming towards us. Joel, go in—please.
                                    Hark!—I don’t hear him now. But please go in.”

                                    “In the first place you can’t make me believe it’s——”

                                    “It is—or someone else he’s sent to watch.
                                    And now’s the time to have it out with him
                                    While we know definitely where he is.
                                    Let him get off and he’ll be everywhere
                                    Around us, looking out of trees and bushes
                                    Till I sha’n’t dare to set a foot outdoors.
                                    And I can’t stand it. Joel, let me go!”

                                    “But it’s nonsense to think he’d care enough.”

                                    “You mean you couldn’t understand his caring.
                                    Oh, but you see he hadn’t had enough—
                                    Joel, I won’t—I won’t—I promise you.
                                    We mustn’t say hard things. You mustn’t either.”

                                    “I’ll be the one, if anybody goes!
                                    But you give him the advantage with this light.
                                    What couldn’t he do to us standing here!
                                    And if to see was what he wanted, why
                                    He has seen all there was to see and gone.”

                                    He appeared to forget to keep his hold,
                                    But advanced with her as she crossed the grass.

                                    “What do you want?” she cried to all the dark.
                                    She stretched up tall to overlook the light
                                    That hung in both hands hot against her skirt.

                                    “There’s no one; so you’re wrong,” he said.

                                    “There is.—
                                    What do you want?” she cried, and then herself
                                    Was startled when an answer really came.

                                    “Nothing.” It came from well along the road.

                                    She reached a hand to Joel for support:
                                    The smell of scorching woollen made her faint.

                                    “What are you doing round this house at night?”

                                    “Nothing.” A pause: there seemed no more to say.

                                    And then the voice again: “You seem afraid.
                                    I saw by the way you whipped up the horse.
                                    I’ll just come forward in the lantern light
                                    And let you see.”

                                    “Yes, do.—Joel, go back!”

                                    She stood her ground against the noisy steps
                                    That came on, but her body rocked a little.

                                    “You see,” the voice said.

                                    “Oh.” She looked and looked.

                                    “You don’t see—I’ve a child here by the hand.”

                                    “What’s a child doing at this time of night——?”

                                    “Out walking. Every child should have the memory
                                    Of at least one long-after-bedtime walk.
                                    What, son?”

                                    “Then I should think you’d try to find
                                    Somewhere to walk——”

                                    “The highway as it happens—
                                    We’re stopping for the fortnight down at Dean’s.”

                                    “But if that’s all—Joel—you realize—
                                    You won’t think anything. You understand?
                                    You understand that we have to be careful.
                                    This is a very, very lonely place.
                                    Joel!” She spoke as if she couldn’t turn.
                                    The swinging lantern lengthened to the ground,
                                    It touched, it struck it, clattered and went out.

                                    Please love yourself.

                                    1 Reply Last reply
                                    • MikM Mik

                                      33AC3A28-015E-4E72-AEF5-32E084C1835F.jpeg

                                      Catseye3C Offline
                                      Catseye3C Offline
                                      Catseye3
                                      wrote on last edited by
                                      #29

                                      @Mik

                                      Love this: . . . Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun.

                                      Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                                      1 Reply Last reply
                                      • Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                        Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                        Aqua Letifer
                                        wrote on last edited by
                                        #30

                                        The Tuesday Afternoon All-Staff
                                        (for Bill Watterson)

                                        With chairs and tables ready
                                        They shuffled through the doors:
                                        The corporate colts, the suited dolts,
                                        The vain attention whores

                                        Hellos polite and petty
                                        The rabble took their seats
                                        Remarks prepared were curtly shared
                                        In white collated sheets

                                        His Powerpoint as reference
                                        The lead began to talk
                                        He said and smiled, "I promise I'll
                                        Be mindful of the clock."

                                        His cohorts waved indifference
                                        As pastries swept the room
                                        With platters passed and sweets amassed
                                        More coffee was consumed

                                        "In short," the speaker lectured,
                                        And lightly twitched an eye
                                        "Our profit's low. For us to grow,
                                        I need you all to die."

                                        "I've made it quick," he gestured,
                                        And held his coffee up,
                                        "On my behalf the conference staff
                                        Have laced the paper cups."

                                        "The food as well," he carried on,
                                        As nervous laughter spread
                                        But heaving loud, a VP bowed--
                                        His face a mottled red

                                        The speaker motioned, "When you're gone,
                                        You aren't to be replaced.
                                        So when you weigh staff severance pay
                                        With staff that's been erased..."

                                        He shrugged, the room erupting now
                                        With agonizing moans,
                                        "The plan appears a shock to hear,
                                        But know you're not alone:

                                        "This fiscal on, the Board has vowed:
                                        'Cut all redundant costs.'
                                        It's not just you--my living, too,
                                        Would constitute a loss."

                                        The sickly few still standing up
                                        Collapsed and hit the floor
                                        "An hour ahead," the speaker said,
                                        "How helpful for the Board!"

                                        Now sipping from his coffee cup,
                                        He promptly changed the screen
                                        "Up next is George with Corporate Purge:
                                        What 'Diminution' Means."

                                        Please love yourself.

                                        1 Reply Last reply
                                        • MikM Offline
                                          MikM Offline
                                          Mik
                                          wrote on last edited by
                                          #31

                                          😁

                                          “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” ~Winston S. Churchill

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