Poetry Page

[BarbStAubrey]

Babi it appears that Auden is carrying back and forth the metaphor of describing nature as if the body and mind of Yeats.

Although, in this stroph there are two sentences - you can see it better if you read the first line (the line you are questioning) with the last line.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

Notice this poem is using the alternating form on which the structure of this poem is based.

First a stanza describing something of the man followed by a stanza that relates to nature - tying the two thoughts together by repeating this turn which, if this was further structured for a Greek Chorus there would be a back and forth between the Chorus and the speaker - one describing the man and the other nature.

It appears Auden is making the point that not only his words but all Yeats stood for, all that he attempted to communicate, not only through his poetry but in addition, through the pattern of his life has been infused, and developed further by "the living."

And so it is not literal that his body has been "scattered among a hundred cities" and "modified" by "the living" but rather than his mind, his work (which is his writing), his lifestyle choices, his values were active as if running free in in "the evergreen forest" or as a "river" that avoided taking on "fashionable" thinking that he describes as "the quays" (most of his poetry is about an ancient historical and mythological Ireland) and then, all this outpouring of life and word is contained in the provinces of his body revolting that soon emptied his mind and his body of life -

Then Auden takes us back to the concept of running free by suggesting he is among a hundred cities but more, he said an evergreen forest so that all Yeats wrote and stood for is modified - which I take to mean adjusted as we each bring to the poetry of Yeats and our examination of life our own point of view based in our life experience described as "modified in the guts of the living."  

[BarbStAubrey]

Another short W H Auden poem that seems appropriate to the news here of late...

Epitaph on a Tyrant    
by W. H. Auden

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

[Babi]

 Ah, I see!  Yes, thank you, BARB.

 I've never seen the "Epitaph on a Tyrant" before. Most timely, with more people
revolting against such tyrants everywhere you turn. One can't help hoping that
this time, things will change for the better instead of just exchanging one
tyranny for another.

  I found this quote, which fits our topic well.

  The right of a nation to kill a tyrant, in cases of necessity, can no more be doubted, than to hang a robber, or kill a flea. But killing one tyrant only makes way for worse, unless the people have sense, spirit and honesty enough to establish and support a constitution guarded at all points against the tyranny of the one, the few, and the many.
 JOHN ADAMS, A Defence of the Constitutions of Government
 


 
 
 

 

[BarbStAubrey]

Than we have the words of Donne - tongue and check from him that still hundreds of years later can bring a draw out a smile...

The Sun Rising
          ~ John Donne

 Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
        Why dost thou thus,
Through windows and through curtains call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
        Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
        Late schoolboys and sour 'prentices,
    Go tell court huntsmen that the King will ride,
    Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
        Thy beams, so reverend and strong
        Why shoulds't thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long;
        If her eyes have not blinded thine,
        Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,
    Whether both th'Indias of spice and mine
    Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me?
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, 'All here in one bed lay.'
        She's all states, and all princes, I;
        Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
        Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
        In that the world's contracted thus;
    Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
    To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here, to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

[BarbStAubrey]

Now this one is new to me but leave it to Billy Collins...

Memorizing "The Sun Rising" by John Donne
          ~ Billy Collins

Every reader loves the way he tells off
the sun, shouting busy old fool
into the English skies even though they
were likely cloudy on that seventeenth-century morning.
And it’s a pleasure to spend this sunny day
pacing the carpet and repeating the words,
feeling the syllables lock into rows
until I can stand and declare,
the book held closed by my side,
that hours, days, and months are but the rags of time.
But after a few steps into stanza number two,
wherein the sun is blinded by his mistress’s eyes,
I can feel the first one begin to fade
like sky-written letters on a windy day.
And by the time I have taken in the third,
the second is likewise gone, a blown-out candle now,
a wavering line of acrid smoke.
So it’s not until I leave the house
and walk three times around this hidden lake
that the poem begins to show
any interest in walking by my side.
Then, after my circling,
better than the courteous dominion
of her being all states and him all princes,
better than love’s power to shrink
the wide world to the size of a bedchamber,
and better even than the compression
of all that into the rooms of these three stanzas
is how, after hours stepping up and down the poem,
testing the plank of every line,
it goes with me now, contracted into a little spot within.

[Babi]

Oh, my, Donne was truly smitten, wasn't he.  Most of his verses regarding women
and love tend to be somewhat sour, don't you think?  Enraptured or grousing, he is
always great.
  My compliments to Billy Collins, and now I must offer another, more ironic, Donne favorite.

           Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil's foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet;
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.- John Donne

[BarbStAubrey]

This is interesting - note; no mention of the Americas so it must be written before the existence of the Americas were common knowledge - aside from the literal it is awesome to think that tears could fall and make their way through ground water to the streams and rivers that flow into the sea where the moon regulates the tides - almost justifies the concept that the phases of the moon regulate a women's emotions since for [I wonder for how long?] a long time crying was considered the providence of women and of course our monthly cycle was considered in direct control by the moon.

A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING.
           ~ by John Donne


                LET me pour forth
My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here,
For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear,
And by this mintage they are something worth.
                For thus they be
                Pregnant of thee ;
Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ;
When a tear falls, that thou fall'st which it bore ;
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore.

                On a round ball
A workman, that hath copies by, can lay
An Europe, Afric, and an Asia,
And quickly make that, which was nothing, all.
                So doth each tear,
                Which thee doth wear,
A globe, yea world, by that impression grow,
Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so.

                O ! more than moon,
Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere ;
Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear
To teach the sea, what it may do too soon ;
                Let not the wind
                Example find
To do me more harm than it purposeth :
Since thou and I sigh one another's breath,
Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death.

[PatH]

I'm a day or two late in my comment, but I have to add to Auden's Epitaph on a Tyrant. The last line is

"And when he cried the little children died in the streets."

If you know the reference, this is a stunning comment.  The last line of John Motley's "The Rise of the Dutch Republic" refers to the death of William the Silent, a well-loved ruler:

"As long as he lived he was the guiding star of a whole brave nation,
and when he died the little children cried in the streets."

Wow.

[BarbStAubrey]

Pat I found it - whee - and  yes, the book is online
http://www.americanpresbyterianchurch.org/rise_of_the_dutch_republic.htm

And then Google does this thing where they reprint most but not all of a book and sure enough the very last page with the quote is included online in this Google site - hope the link goes to the proper page but if not it is on page 627 - http://tinyurl.com/3zcsgxz

As long as he lived, he was the guiding-star of a whole brave nation, and when he died the little children cried in the streets.

Looks like a book to read - though I may skim through - it appears to be the history of the how, when, where and who of the Dutch leaving the Catholic Church which I would think means Phillip of Spain is the king that is disposed - not sure who or how William of Orange fits but I need to read and learn.

Found this great quote today - This is not exact but very close

Learners inherit the future

The learned are equipped to live
in a world that
no longer exists.

As Senior Learn seems we are all a bunch of learners who will inherit the future...lovely...

[Babi]

 That does sound like a most interesting book, though the language might be a bit florid. It
apparently dates from 1855.  I wonder how hard it would be to find a printed copy?  I've
jotted down the title and author; I'll have to see what I can find.

  Actually, since the moon does affect the tides, I find it not at all implausible that
it could affect people as well.

[PatH]

I have no idea if Motley's book is even readable.  I've seen the last line quoted in several places, so it's known, but I've never looked at the book.

[Babi]

  I would imagine a copy of the book might be hard to find. I've placed the
link BARB found on my favorites, and I think I'll peruse that as time allows.
I read the opening about the abdication of Charles V. and found that
interesting.  I should probably read the 'historical introduction', too, since I'm
not very knowledgeable there.  It's been a very long time since my 'World
History' classes.
  I'll let you know my preliminary impressions as it goes along.

[BarbStAubrey]

November Night
          ~ By Adelaide Crapsey 1878–1914

Listen. .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

[BarbStAubrey]

I Taught Myself To Live Simply
          ~ by Anna Akhmatova

I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.

Here is a treat - while reading Anna Akhmatova's poem we can watch this YouTube video of this poem - I remember our AnnaFair introduced us to this Russian Poet and we spent a month discovering her poetry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_YDw_Dh7CE&feature=related

[Babi]

I must have missed the Akhmatova month, but strangely enough I did think of Annafair
while reading it. I can't 'wander long', but I think we all sleep better if we can
"tire my superfluous worries". 

 Here's another on the same theme:

   The peace of wild things by Wendell Berry
When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

[BarbStAubrey]

Wonderful Babi - just wonderful - I think it is this line and then no, that line but in truth the entire poem is a wonder... so glad you found it and shared it.

[Octavia]

It is gorgeous, isn't it? I was reminded that I had it on my computer before it crashed. One of these days I'll wake up and transfer stuff to storage promptly, instead of putting it off and losing the lot.

[Babi]

  Been there, OCTAVIA.  In fact, I'm still there.  I've only moved one thing to
a disk, and that's only because I could never retrieve it again if I lost it.  I
dug up some clever sayings about procrastination.  They gave me a smile,
but I doubt if they'll make any difference.   
 
   
"If and When were planted, and Nothing grew." Proverb

  "You may delay, but time will not." Benjamin Franklin

  "Even if you're on the right track - you'll get run over if you just sit there." Will Rogers
 

[BarbStAubrey]

Babi a trick I learned - all we have done is postpone what is not bringing us fun or relaxation or a feeling of success that matters - by scolding ourselves we simply enthrone a parent in our heads -

Amazing to me is how many famous quotes come from a negative point of view - realized this summer when I started a blog to encourage myself and it shocked me for weeks with one delete after another till I got the hang of quoting and re-writing from a positive perspective. Now I have 10 pages of quotes to review - some are mine, some with pictures - I learned that for every negative we hear it takes 5 positive statements to balance our thoughts.

If you are interested here is a link to my blog  http://ican2012.tumblr.com/ and this gal has a great blog about using poetry to encourage her to get things done...http://windykai.wordpress.com/2011/04/19/getting-things-done/

Meadowlark Mending Song
by Margaret Hasse

What hurt you today
was taken out of your heart
by the meadowlark
who slipped the silver needle
of her song
in and out of the grey day
and mended what was torn.

[Babi]

 Lovely poem, BARB.  I  enjoyed having a look at your blog and reading the quotes.  I don't
allow myself to get involved with blogs, tho', since my computer time is limited.  Valerie needs
it for her job, and my time here is pretty full already.

[BarbStAubrey]

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES
          ~ by Allison Goldstein

Curtains by the window,
Crickets by the door,
Loon song haunts the dark of night,
Beaver by the shore.

Dust along the roadways,
Daisies in the ditch.
Potpourri of wildflowers,
Tell me which is which.

Cows between the cornfields,
Barns of bygone days,
Bustling towns and villages,
Quiet lakes and bays.

Motorboats and cruisers,
Cradled in the locks,
Little kids and grandads,
Fishing off the docks.

Turtles sunning on a log,
"Gotta catch those rays!"
These are precious memories;
Our happy Rideau days.

[BarbStAubrey]

Thanks to all of you who read and contribute to this discussion and especially Babi a daily regular - just realized how we assume how we feel that everyone is special

Memories
          ~ by Annabelle

Within my book of memories,
Are special thoughts of you.
And all the many nice things
You often say and do -

As I turn the pages,
And recall each single thought,
I realize the happiness
That knowing you has brought.

There are memories of the times we've shared
Both bright and sunny days.
There are memories of your kindness
And your friendly thoughtful ways.

There are memories of all those notes,
we would write back and forth,
When we would just get together,
And talk of this or that.

And when I recall these memories
As I go along life's way,
I find they grow more precious still
With every passing day.

[BarbStAubrey]

November Evening
          ~ by Lucy Maud Montgomery

Come, for the dusk is our own; let us fare forth together,
With a quiet delight in our hearts for the ripe, still, autumn weather,
Through the rustling valley and wood and over the crisping meadow,
Under a high-sprung sky, winnowed of mist and shadow.

Sharp is the frosty air, and through the far hill-gaps showing
Lucent sunset lakes of crocus and green are glowing;
'Tis the hour to walk at will in a wayward, unfettered roaming,
Caring for naught save the charm, elusive and swift, of the gloaming.

Watchful and stirless the fields as if not unkindly holding
Harvested joys in their clasp, and to their broad bosoms folding
Baby hopes of a Spring, trusted to motherly keeping,
Thus to be cherished and happed through the long months of their sleeping.

Silent the woods are and gray; but the firs than ever are greener,
Nipped by the frost till the tang of their loosened balsam is keener;
And one little wind in their boughs, eerily swaying and swinging,
Very soft and low, like a wandering minstrel is singing.

Beautiful is the year, but not as the springlike maiden
Garlanded with her hopes­rather the woman laden
With wealth of joy and grief, worthily won through living,
Wearing her sorrow now like a garment of praise and thanksgiving.

Gently the dark comes down over the wild, fair places,
The whispering glens in the hills, the open, starry spaces;
Rich with the gifts of the night, sated with questing and dreaming,
We turn to the dearest of paths where the star of the homelight is gleaming.

[BarbStAubrey]

  ~ by Emily Dickinson ~

One Day is there of the Series
Termed Thanksgiving Day.
Celebrated part at Table
Part in Memory.

Neither Patriarch nor Pussy
I dissect the Play
Seems it to my Hooded thinking
Reflex Holiday.

Had there been no sharp Subtraction
From the early Sum --
Not an Acre or a Caption
Where was once a Room --

Not a Mention, whose small Pebble
Wrinkled any Sea,
Unto Such, were such Assembly
'Twere Thanksgiving Day.

[Babi]

 We love you, too, BARB. 

  Much as I love Emily Dickinson, I find myself at a loss with this poem?  Is this one of a 'Series'
that she wrote?  I don't understand her reference to 'dissect the Play', or 'Reflex' holiday.
She speaks of a subtraction from the 'early Sum', but then speaks of an 'acre or  a caption where there was once a room'.  Obviously, and acre is much larger than a room.  The 'mention'
and the 'assembly', to whom it would be a Thanksgiving Day, are equally obscure.
  Am I the only one who doesn't  understand any of this?

[BarbStAubrey]

I think she is decrying the loss of a real feeling of thanks and giving thanks so that the day already in her time came to be simply a holiday that we celebrate with certain traditions but not the spontaneous heartfelt thanks that she believes was part of the first thanksgiving. I think she is suggesting that our heart is like land or a home with an acre or even the sea or a pebble or a wrinkle that I see as a wave that should be set aside from other feelings for thanksgiving so that she is turning inward to again decry and ask where has our ability to given heartfelt thanks disappeared.

[Babi]

 I went back and read the Dickenson poem again, BARB, after reading your
post.  I see, of course, that she does not feel we celebrate Thanksgiving as
it was originally intended.  The rest of the poem, however, still reads to me
like so much gibberish.  Forgive me, but I wonder if she had too much cider
or wine during that year's celebration.    Even "Jabberwocky" made more
sense to me.

[BarbStAubrey]

Ya win some and Lose some    with so many poems to her credit I think we can giver her some slack but it must not give a message that folks can latch onto because when I found it I thought I was reading it for the first time so it is just not one of her more popular poems.

The time seems to be flying by and Thanksgiving is a week away - then Christmas - I have gotten to the stage in life where I am not getting as much accomplished in a day so I need to start planning differently - Here I am worrying about rain and trying to do some thing with the burned out spots on my lawn while the calendar rolls on with other tasks on my list for the day - ah so...better to be busy than bored.

Not a poem but I love this...

A large, still book is a piece of quietness, succulent and nourishing in a noisy world, which I approach and imbibe with "a sort of greedy enjoyment," as Marcel Proust said of those rooms of his old home whose air was "saturated with the bouquet of silence."  ~ Holbrook Jackson

[Babi]

 So true...all of it!  And dear Emily remains one of my very favorite poets.

 You might like this one.

  Quiet Times 

    Sometimes
When I am especially quiet
I can hear the stars laughing
The rain pouring far away
A tiny, trusting voice
Whispering.

Sometimes
When I am especially quiet
I can hear my heartbeat thumping
I am so undeniably alive
And you are, too.

Sometimes
When I am especially quiet
The little things are huge
Everything is so important
A whole new way to live.

Sometimes
When I am especially quiet
The earth seems to be breathing
The planet seems to be singing
The world seems to be moving
The universe seems so
ALIVE.


Nina Dringo
 

[Octavia]

That's a lovely poem, Babi.
I can't quite believe that Christmas is next month, it seems to be earlier every year
I really think the time has come to ditch the snow and holly etc on our Christmas cards. Most Australians have only experienced Christmas as sweltering heat and cold foods like prawns, chicken, and salads. It wouldn't be Christmas if it was cold!

[Babi]

 Go for realism, OCTAVIA.  There was no snow and holly in Bethelehem, either!   

[BarbStAubrey]

OH Babi what a lovely and wonderful poem - yes, Quiet Times - regardless our age we are always seeking a time of whispers when we can hear the birds and the movement in creeks the slight stirring of air through the leaves - even as a child I remember those magical times when it felt like you could hear the earth breathing.

Octavia I'm with Babi on celebrating Christmas in warm climates - I do not know that I have ever seen snow on Christmas except a few times when I visit my daughter in the mountains of North Carolina. But here in Austin maybe once or I will even give it twice it snowed a bit before Christmas - some years it is warm enough for coffee on the patio - We are not in mid-summer temps as you are but the traditional look of holly and snow is strictly a fantasy. Like Babi says, there is no snow or holly in Bethlehem

I have a friend who is such the UT alumni fan that everything - E-V-E-R-Y thing is orange for Christmas - every light on her tree, every ornament, candle, ribbon, package wrap. She serves sweet potato and for salad does an orange Jello affair filled with nuts and fruit, half oranges surround her turkey and of course pumpkin pie for desert all for the color. She has so much fun with it that you can only laugh along with her.

One year I did a blue, green and white Christmas but did not go to the extent of color coordinating our meals.

With summer in full swing I can only imagine your garden in full bloom with lots of flowers to decorate the house and if it were me I think I would spray paint a large branch white and attach flowers and ivy to it - either hang it from the ceiling or stand it in a large ceramic pot instead of decorating a traditional fir tree.

We will be anxious to hear what you decide - what a fun time of year we can have with our homes.

Here is a fun Christmas Poem by - Shel Silverstein. You know from, Where the Sidewalk Ends.

I Made Myself A Snowball

I made myself a snowball,
As perfect as could be,
I thought I'd keep it as a pet,
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas,
And a pillow for its head,
Then last night it ran away,
But first - it wet the bed!

[Babi]

Got a smile from that one, BARB.  It's easy to see why kids enjoy Silverstein so much.
Just for fun, I went looking for a 'silly' Christmas poem, too.  How about this one?

   When christmas comes already yet...
When christmas comes already yet,
Mit presents large and sweet.
The tings I like in mein stockings best,
By jiminiy, are my feet!

[winsummm]

I finished ELEPHANT before I realized you all weree reading it an how much information you found. I just found a deightfully rendered tail of a relationshiip and an adventure History isnt my strong point but I do know wonderful writing when I read it.  I've just started Saramagos THE DAY NO ONE DIED.  I'LL READ EVERYTHING of his on my kindle.  but discussion is limited to appreciation  for me.. those elongated twisted sentences with cute little endings. I smile all the way through.
claire.

[BarbStAubrey]

ah Claire - glad to know you read and enjoyed the story - and so you also have a reading devise - I must say that for most books l really like the feel of a book in my hands but the large over 900 page books a kindle or something similar would be a boon - trying to read the new Haruki Murakami novel that is 926 pages and the effort to be comfortable - thanks goodness it is cold at night because placing it on a pillow on my lap seems to be the answer and if the weather was warm I would not want all that heating me up.

Here is an elephant poem....

My elephant thinks I'm wonderful.
My elephant thinks I'm cool.
My elephant hangs around with me
and follows me into school.

My elephant likes the way I look.
He thinks that I'm fun and smart.
He thinks that I'm kind and generous
and have a terrific heart.

My elephant thinks I'm brave and bold.
He's proud of my strength and guts.
But mostly he likes the way I smell.
My elephant thinks I'm nuts.

--Kenn Nesbitt

I am remembering as a kid we used to sing song out...

I asked my mother for fifty cents. To see the elephant jump the fence. He jumped so high he touched the sky, And never came back till the Fourth of July

[Babi]

 Thanks, BARB.  Both the poem and the little jingle gave me a smile.  I remember how those
things would catch our imagination as kids and we would sing them over and over.  Remember
"John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith"?  Silly, but fun.

[BarbStAubrey]

Things to Think About
      ~ by Bob Bly

Think in ways you've never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you've ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.

Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he's carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you've never seen.

When someone knocks on the door,
Think that he's about
To give you something large: tell you you're forgiven,
Or that it's not necessary to work all the time,
Or that it's been decided that if you lie down no one will die.

[BarbStAubrey]

The Word
          ~ Tony Hoagland

Down near the bottom
of the crossed-out list
of things you have to do today,

between "green thread"
and "broccoli" you find
that you have penciled "sunlight."

Resting on the page, the word
is as beautiful, it touches you
as if you had a friend

and sunlight were a present
he had sent you from some place distant
as this morning—to cheer you up,

and to remind you that,
among your duties, pleasure
is a thing,

that also needs accomplishing
Do you remember?
that time and light are kinds

of love, and love
is no less practical
than a coffee grinder

or a safe spare tire?
Tomorrow you may be utterly
without a clue

but today you get a telegram,
from the heart in exile
proclaiming that the kingdom

still exists,
the king and queen alive,
still speaking to their children,

—to any one among them
who can find the time,
to sit out in the sun and listen.

[BarbStAubrey]

November Memories
          ~ By Delicia Powers

Standing tall on the hills,
Evergreens fill the white horizon
With the sweet fragrance of yesterday.

The blue sea below
By the forgotten fields of hay-
And there, beyond,
Stretching as far as you can see...
November memories.

[BarbStAubrey]

John William Waterhouse Famous Poets and Poems - Winter Winter Poems Discussion Leaders: Barb

Share With Us The Magic, The Words Of... Winter Poetry Deer Park ~ Wang Wei An empty mountain. No one seen, but heard is someone talking here. The sun re-enters forest depths; green lights on mosses reappear.