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The New Coffee Room

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The poetry thread

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  • 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

                                        1 Reply Last reply
                                        • bachophileB Offline
                                          bachophileB Offline
                                          bachophile
                                          wrote on last edited by
                                          #32

                                          And the poets down here don't write nothing at all
                                          They just stand back and let it all be
                                          And in the quick of a knife, they reach for their moment
                                          And try to make an honest stand
                                          But they wind up wounded, not even dead
                                          Tonight in Jungleland

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