Poetry Page

[bellemere]

A Tray of Decorative Carved-Wood Cardinal-Birds Pull up a chair and Join us for... Winter Poetry Famous Poets and Poems about Winter Winter Poems Discussion Leaders: Barb & fairanna

The Miracle ~ Barbara Winkler Every gardener knows      that under the cloak of winter      lies a miracle ... A seed waiting to sprout, A bulb opening to the light, A bud straining to unfurl.   And the anticipation  Nurtures our dream.

Wow, Jackie, Mr. Blandings had a problem like mine; that travel bug.  Our car is almost 13 years old, our house almost 50, we wear old clothes and virtually never go out to restaurants and the back screen door sometimes opens andsometimes not, but we scrimp all year to escape a couple of weeks of New England winter, and I guess will keep doing that until the health or the money runs out.  
But what a wonderful house!  PUts Martha Stewart to shame.

[mrssherlock]

Sorry  Try this link:  http://www.don-blanding.com/

[BarbStAubrey]

Jackie I was able to get this much of the link to work so that we can then link onto Sea Lace.

http://pglg.com/blanding/don_blanding/DB_illustrations_web_album/


the poem is wonderful - he includes so many aspects of a home and how it can relate to our outer and inner world.

[BarbStAubrey]

Aha somehow I missed your post that included the link to his home page - I am glad you posted the home page - you read about folks who can put together what appears to be a magical life - I can never figure out how they do it except that they made choices while young when their security and physical care was less important and caring for a family was not a priority that takes all your resources.

[mrssherlock]

Barb:  Thanks.  While Don Blandings has been important to my family and thousands of others he has not had a wide audience perhaps.  I'm recalling many happy times when we would read his poems aloud to one another.  I  would gaze in awe at the illustrations. 

[Babi]

",,eating garlic shrimp in one of the open air fish joints with the
lights coming on and the marimba guys playing something like
Changes in Latitude , Changes in Attitude"
 If the old man can stay grumpy in that setting, BELLE, he needs dosing.

  Ah, JACKIE, I had a book of Blandings poems, including Vagabond House, until it became too old and ratty to keep. I loved his poems, and can still quote parts of 'Vagabond House'. I made the mistake, tho', of
listening to a tape of Blandings reading his own poetry. Did it very badly,
I'm sorry to say. I didn't know he was an artist as well. That address
didn't come up as a clickable, but I'll see if I can find it.

 That second link works just fine. Here's another clickable of Blandings
illustrations, including 'Sea Lace'.
http://www.bing.com/search=106&FORM=AS6&q=Don+Blanding+illustrations

[BarbStAubrey]

The Power

        Everyone has the power,
the power of words: written, spoken or heard,
        no matter what language is used.
                  Letters form the words and
                   words themselves become
                   building blocks of mental
                   images collected in the mind’s eye.
You can transport yourself
Anywhere any place at anytime in
the universe of unlimited imagination.
        Concentrate to be concise,
        or contrary to be confusing, it
       depends on the purpose you’re using.
                 Transform a noun into verb, or you
                 can change an adjective to an adverb
                  quite easily.  Invent new words, too.
Continue sentences forever with
the right combination of prepositions
to include many descriptive phrases.
        The power of positive communication
        can at the same time help or hurt you,
        depending on the receivers of the words.
                   The power of words can change the world,
                   and everyone has the power to use words.

Read this poem in it's original Spanish...

El poder 

         Toda persona tiene el poder,
el poder de la palabra: por escrito, hablado o escuchado,
         no importa qué lenguaje se utiliza.
                   Letras forman palabras y el
                    palabras se convierten en
                    bloques de construcción mental de
                    imágenes recogidas en el ojo de la mente.
Puede usted mismo transporte
En cualquier lugar en cualquier lugar en cualquier momento en
el universo de la imaginación ilimitada.
         Concentrado para ser conciso,
         o contrarias a ser confusa,
        depende de la finalidad que se está usando.
                  Transformar un sustantivo en verbo, o si
                  puede cambiar un adjetivo a un adverbio
                   con bastante facilidad. Inventar palabras nuevas, también.
Continuar para siempre con las sentencias
la combinación correcta de las preposiciones
para incluir a muchas frases descriptivas.
         El poder de la comunicación positiva
         puede, al mismo tiempo, ayudar o hacer daño,
         en función de los receptores de las palabras.
                    El poder de las palabras pueden cambiar el mundo,
                    y todo el mundo tiene el poder de utilizar las palabras.

[bellemere]

Barb St/ abrey, who wrote that astonishing bit of wisdom?  loved it, and want to share it with the adult students in the school where I volunteer in Mexico.

[Babi]

 Barb, I had fun exercising my tongue by reading the first part of the
Spanish version our loud.  I'm not sure I pronounced 'bloques' correctly,
by I enjoyed myself anyway.  

[fairanna]

here is my winter contribution and even with the heat set at 72 the house feels COLD and I cant wait until that southern breeze tells me SPRING IS OUT THERE >>


Brr It’s Cold

Here on the edge of a southern state
We don’t expect winter to last too long
Warm breaks from winter freeze
Lulls us and spring is a siren song

Dawn comes with it’s own fire
Sets the sky aflame and singes
The naked trees scorched by
Autumnal scarlet blazes

Sunny skies betray us thinking
Bright days just cant be cold
One step outside the door
Numbs with callous control

Birds at the feeders seek the seed
Eagerly eat in the frosted day light
Enough to last them through
A bitter winter night

I stay indoors and seek the warmth
From my little stove, it's fire curls
And licks the wood from old trees
The bark, the knots , the burls.

Here I stay until I feel a change
The wind will lift my hair
And  warmer air will brush my face
Speaks and says SPRING IS OUT THERE.

anna alexander
January 4, 2010, 9:06 AM©

[mrssherlock]

Anna:  What a way you have with words, creating mental images.  Your poem sparkles.

[bellemere]

Anna, how right that the sun fools you into thinking it's not cold out.  But if I have to have a cold day, make it one with sunshine!
Thanks for your lovely poem.
Here's one from a homesick island boy in a cold Harlem winte

POEM
The Tropics in New Yorkby Claude McKay

Bananas ripe and green, and ginger-root,
      Cocoa in pods and alligator pears,
And tangerines and mangoes and grape fruit,
      Fit for the highest prize at parish fairs,


Set in the window, bringing memories
      Of fruit-trees laden by low-singing rills,
And dewy dawns, and mystical blue skies
      In benediction over nun-like hills.


My eyes grew dim, and I could no more gaze;
      A wave of longing through my body swept,
And, hungry for the old, familiar ways,
      I turned aside and bowed my head and wept.

[mrssherlock]

Powerful.

[BarbStAubrey]

Wow - The Tropics in New York is moving and as Jackie says, powerful.

The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?
He'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm
and hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

[ALF43]

The north wind was sure blowing when we were in NY for Christmas, Barb and there were no robins visible.  
Percy Bysshe Shelley had the delightful habit of personifying the natural sounds and sights which appealed to him.

 Rough wind, that moanest loud
  Grief too sad for song;
Wild wind, when sullen cloud
  Knells all the night long;

Sad storm, whose tears are vain,
Bare woods, whose branches strain,
Deep caves and dreary manin,
  Wail, for the world's wrong!
I remember reading this as a young teenager and thinkinf it was about impending death.  It may have been just that as it was written in the last two years of his life.

[mrssherlock]

I was reading some Cowbpy Poetry and found these by Mike Pulhallo:

Home From Winter Range

We gathered the winter range today,
and brought the cattle in.
The old cows still were fat as hogs,
but the two year olds were thin.
It’s sixteen miles of downhill road,
and the cows all know the way.
They’re tired of eating slough-grass,
and looking forward to some hay.

A cattle drive in January,
aint generally so nice.
But today the sun shone brightly,
on our world of snow and ice.
An easy day for horse and man,
because, as all cowboys know,
it aint too hard to chase a cow,
some place she wants to go!

Deadman Creek, Blizzard.

We picked up their trail around midday,
Fresh tracks in the new fallen snow.
Two hours more, we found the cows,
Then the wind commenced to blow.

Al and Tex were breaking trail,
Cows followed single file,
But the snow had drifted in so hard,
By dark, we’d scarcely made a mile.

Big Tex started playing out,
So I took the lead on Cinnamon,
The next eight hours was an icy blur...
I figured, we were done.

The storm blew out by midnight,
They found the road by two.
Three cows, two calves, two cowboys,
Those two brave horses pulled us through!

A New Year a New Day!

A crisp new canvas on the easel,
An untouched meadow, snowy white,
 We pause to choose our palette,
To see what tale our tracks may write.

So rest a while.
Reflect a bit,
Start your New Year slow,
Lest rage and passion of bygone days,
 Stain crimson on the snow.

Choose the path that suits you best,
Paint with colours that will last!
For the future lies unblemished,
By the errors of the past.

[mrssherlock]

This one's by Mag Mawhinney"

The Stranger

One dark and blustery winter night

when the gauge dropped to forty below,

our fam’ly and crew hugged the cookstove

‘neath the gas lamp’s flickerin’ glow.

 

Suddenly, interruptin’ the wind,

came a faint, muffled knock at the door.

Frozen hinges creaked out a welcome

as the snow swirled around on the floor.

 

Like a ghostly-white apparition,

a frost-covered stranger stood there.

Mom pointed to a place by the fire

and the seat of her old rockin’ chair.

 

He was wearin’ a broad-brimmed cowboy hat

and a scarf that encircled his head.

He tried to speak through the frozen wool,

but “hammer” was all that he said.

 

We were just a little bewildered

‘cause we were greenhorns, new to this place,

but our teamster understood his request

and a smile crossed over his face.

 

“We’ll get to that later,” the teamster said,

“but first sit awhile by the stove.”

Seems the stranger was on his way home

to a reserve beyond Forest Grove.

 

Mom offered a cup of hot coffee

and a slice of her homemade bread.

He grinned shyly and mumbled a “thank you”

and untangled the scarf from his head.

 

The crew carried on with their banter

while the stranger warmed himself as he sat,

then he rose, wrapped the scarf ‘round his face

and reached for his battered old hat.

 

His coal black eyes peered over the wool

that was coverin’ his nose and his chin,

and he left in a misty-white fog

just the very same way he’d come in.

 

The teamster said he gave him a blanket

‘cause the stranger was travelin’ light,

then he hammered the ice from his horse’s hooves

and watched him ride into the night.  

[BarbStAubrey]

    Oh my - the  last one - you can just see and feel the story - it is icy cold here tonight - it has not been this cold since 1982 - I gave up on the game - playing a freshman quarterback brings no glory to Alabama anymore than thinking we are watching a championship game - what an anticlimactic end to this season. When I called my son in Houston he was thinking it was because McCoy is trying to protect his body for his pro career - I am not sure I can agree - McCoy is such the religious and upright gentleman I can't see him caving on his team. Except that this is football this final supposed to be championship game reminds me of the baseball poem...

"...
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

...Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Austin [Mudville] -  winning McCoy is injured. [mighty Casey has struck out.]

Done With Football

as the years grow harder
so do the choices
should i listen to myself
or listen to the voices

for over three years
football's been my thing
i dealt with the failure
i pushed through the sting

but now I'm getting older
classes need attention
football should be done
but i twitch at the mention

football is a pain
it's losing what was fun
i want to quit i do
but I'm not quite done

i was the worst
no good at all
now that could change
but to rise id have to fall

if i stop i can't start
if i start i can't stop
I'm still at the bottom
oh so far from the top

if i quit now,
i can't start again
I'll fall far behind
there's no way ill win

but if i keep going
my grades may slip
and it's not even fun
so i have to get a grip

well whether i play
or i fall apart
football will stay
somewhere in my heart

Aaron Fullbright

[Babi]

Brrr!  I think I need to read something warming.

[BarbStAubrey]

Winter Sun

The winter sun
Hangs low in the sky
The navy blue sea
Sparkles in the sunlight
The trees are silhouetted
Shafts of lights shining through
Their barren branches
Frosty nights leave icing
Covered lawns and cobwebs
The winter sun
Pale and watery
Hardly warming the hard earth
But welcome like an old friend,
On this cold winter day.

Lynda Robson

[BarbStAubrey]

Sitting by the Fire

I'm sitting by the fire
My feet are warm and my body is tingling
My hair is blowing through the breeze
The fire glows intensely with embers bursting
And shooting out up to reach the night sky
I'm sitting by the fire still feeling the warmth
Throughout my body
Sitting by the fire
Sitting by the fire

Nicole Mead

[BarbStAubrey]

This poem is definitely tongue in cheek.

Kindness to Animals
          by J. Ashby-Sterry 

Speak gently to the herring and kindly to the calf,
Be blithesome with the bunny, at barnacles don't laugh!
Give nuts unto the monkey, and buns unto the bear,
Ne'er hint at currant jelly if you chance to see a hare!
Oh, little girls, pray hide your combs when tortoises draw nigh,
And never in the hearing of a pigeon whisper Pie!
But give the stranded jelly-fish a shove into the sea,--
Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!

Oh, make not game of sparrows, nor faces at the ram,
And ne'er allude to mint sauce when calling on a lamb.
Don't beard the thoughtful oyster, don't dare the cod to crimp,
Don't cheat the pike, or ever try to pot the playful shrimp.
Tread lightly on the turning worm, don't bruise the butterfly,
Don't ridicule the wry-neck, nor sneer at salmon-fry;
Oh, ne'er delight to make dogs fight, nor bantams disagree,--
Be always kind to animals wherever you may be!

Be lenient with lobsters, and ever kind to crabs,
And be not disrespectful to cuttle-fish or dabs;
Chase not the Cochin-China, chaff not the ox obese,
And babble not of feather-beds in company with geese.
Be tender with the tadpole, and let the limpet thrive,
Be merciful to mussels, don't skin your eels alive;
When talking to a turtle don't mention calipee--
Be always kind to animals wherever you may be.

[Babi]

That was fun, BARB.  Gave me a smile. Of course the sunshine outside
helps, too.  Be not deceived; it is cold out there!

I like this. Not a poem, but it's about Janurary and really good prose.

"There is a privacy about it which no other season gives you ..... In spring, summer and fall people sort of have
an open season on each other; only in the winter, in the country, can you have longer, quiet stretches when
you can savor belonging to yourself."
-  Ruth Stout

 

[mrssherlock]

Barb:  The folks at PETA could use those verses as their anthem; seems like a sense of humor is lacking in most zealots.
Babi:  How appropos: only in the winter, . . . you can savor belonging to yourself

[BarbStAubrey]

The Idea of Florida During a Winter Thaw
           by Gail Mazur

Late February, and the air's so balmy
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.

In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Escapees from the cold work of living,

the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.

At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
A salamander scuttles across the quiet
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....

Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
and turn it into something cartoon-funny.

She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.

[JoanK]

"She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches".  That's me.

[mrssherlock]

I didn't know that about aligators.  Wonder how someone discovered it?

[Babi]

 I loved that description of the kids, so delighted to be set free to have
fun. I'd rather watch youngsters play than the best team out there.

[bellemere]

I loved the poem about the retirement life in Florida, although I have never lived it.  And making the alligator sleep reminds me of when Ed Muskie, the Maine senator , used to "hypnotize" lobsters, by stoking their tummies. 

[BarbStAubrey]

The Camel's Hump
          by Rudyard Kipling

The Camel's hump is an ugly lump
Which well you may see at the Zoo;
But uglier yet is the hump we get
From having too little to do.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo,
          We get the hump-
          Cameelious hump-
The hump that is black and blue!

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head,
And a snarly-yarly voice.
We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
At our bath and our boots and our toys;

And there ought to be a corner for me
(And I know' there is one for you)
          When we get the hump-
          Cameelious hump-
The hump that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
Or frowst with a book by the fire;
But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
And dig till you gently perspire;

And then you will find that the sun and the wind,
And the Djinn of the Garden too,
          Have lifted the hump-
          The horrible hump-
The hump that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo-
If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo!
          We all get hump-
          Cameelious hump-
Kiddies and grown-ups too!

[JoanK]

Great! May I post that in "Kim"?

[BarbStAubrey]

Are there camels in Kim or maybe a frouzly headed character with a snarly-yarly voice.

I do not think you need our permission since the writings of Rudyard Kipling is no longer private property - have fun with it.

[Babi]

I had to grin at that one.  I am learning that Kipling was more productive
and fun than I had realized.  I am quite certain he must have written that
poem with particular kids in mind...likely his own. 

[fairanna]

Inside my head are poems that I cant seem to get out...they come full blown and I say them outloud but by the time I ahve time to write them they are gone...a word or a line will hang about but I dont seem t to have them laying about so I am posting a few lines by Tom Kooser an American  poet whose verse speaks to me...I  love the way he sees things

A FroZen Stream

This snake has gone one,
all muscle and glitter,
into the woods,
a few leaves clinging,
red, yellow, and brown.
Oh, how he sparkled!
The roots of old trees
gleamed as he passed.

Now there is nothing
to see, an old skin
caught in the bushes ,
bleached and flaking,
a few sharp stones
already poking through.

Snow Fence

The red fence
takes the cold trail
north, no meat
on its ribs,
but neither has it
much to carry.

[mrssherlock]

Anna:  Sounds like you need a pocket recorder where you can speak your thoughts/poems.

[Babi]

This is probably the longest poem I've posted, but oh!, it is a lovely thing.

  Lord of the Dance

I danced in the morning when the world was begun
I danced in the moon and the stars and the sun;
I was called from the darkness by the song of the earth,
I joined in the singing and she gave me birth.

(chorus, repeat after each verse)

Dance, then, wherever you may be!
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he,
And I'll lead you on, wherever you may be, I will lead you all in the Dance, said he!

I sleep in the kernel and I dance in the rain,
I dance in the wind, and through the waving grain,
And when you cut me down, I care nothing for the pain --
In Spring I'll be Lord of the Dance again!

I see the maidens laughing as they dance in the sun,
I count the fruits of the of the harvest, one by one;
I know the storm is coming, but the grain is all stored,
So I sing of the dance of the Lady and the Lord.

We dance ever slower as the leaves fall and spin
And the sound of the Horn is the wailing of the wind;
The Earth is wrapped in stillness and we move in a trance,
but we hold on fast to our faith in the dance.

The sun is in the south and the days lengthen fast,
And soon we'll sing for the winter that is past,
Now we light the candles and rejoice as they burn,
and Dance the dance of the sun's return.

They cut me down, but I leap up high!
I am life that will never, never die.
I'll live in you and you'll live in me --
I am the Lord of the Dance, said he!

The moon in her phases and the tides of the sea,
the movement of Earth, and the seasons that will be
Are rhythm for the dancing and a promise through the years --
The Dance goes on through joy and tears.

[BarbStAubrey]

What a lovely to read this morning Babi - thanks - I will re-visit it a couple of times today - it will be a busy and not an enjoyable busy day - this poem will help put it all in perspective.

[mrssherlock]

Memorable images in those words.

[Babi]

 I seem to remember that the famous Irish dancing group..can't think of
the name just now...does a number to "Lord of the Dance".  I've seen it
danced and found it an experience to be remembered.

[BarbStAubrey]

After Earthquake

Here was a home
Five rooms were in to it
Where whole family fit
Hedges of happy flowers
And a big wooden tower
Hugs it, and pours love shower
Sweet dreams and children
Giggles there and woven
In to untied divine knot

But very different was last morning
Argument in earth’s womb; she was trembling
Innocent sleep disturbed by enormous sound
Body of home had lots of wound
Roof mingle with floor
And window with door
Dead bodies laid on ground
Deep silence and a ret around
Ruined dreams and debris
Victim of that crisis
Nature’s anger manifested in many way
But always innocent has to pay

Now that childish home is no where
And sweet family has no body to care

Aashish Ameya