Author Topic: Poetry Page  (Read 755808 times)

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #920 on: November 14, 2009, 02:21:51 AM »

Welcome to our Autumn Poetry Page.
A haven for those who listen to the words
that open hearts, imagination, and our feelings
that we share about the poems we post - Please Join Us.



Poetry can be part of life
      rather than a thing apart.

Share with us
      Poems about the end
         of the natural year.
          
Tell us
      How you celebrate
         a poet's life and poems.

Autumn holidays -
      Tell us about Poetry in
         Fall parties and gift giving.


Discussion Leaders: BarbStAubrey & Fairanna
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #921 on: November 14, 2009, 02:25:14 AM »
Solitude Late at Night in the Woods 

The body is like a November birch facing the full moon
And reaching into the cold heavens.
In these trees there is no ambition, no sodden body, no leaves,
Nothing but bare trunks climbing like cold fire!

My last walk in the trees has come. At dawn
I must return to the trapped fields,
To the obedient earth.
The trees shall be reaching all the winter.

It is a joy to walk in the bare woods.
The moonlight is not broken by the heavy leaves.
The leaves are down, and touching the soaked earth,
Giving off the odors that partridges love.

-   Robert Bly
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #922 on: November 14, 2009, 09:19:48 AM »
Quote
bare trunks climbing like cold fire
sublime.
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #923 on: November 15, 2009, 09:26:11 AM »
 I love the imagery in the 'Sunrise' poem.
   The thin white skirts of dawn,   
The dancer of the sky,   
Who trips daintily down the mountain-side   
Emptying her crystal chalice....   
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #924 on: November 15, 2009, 12:23:51 PM »
Ode to Autumn
          By John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #925 on: November 15, 2009, 12:25:32 PM »
Singing, the Reapers Homeward Come

Singing, the reapers homeward come, Io! Io!
Merrily singing the harvest home, Io! Io!
Along the field, along the road,
Where autumn is scattering leaves abroad,
Homeward cometh the ripe last load, Io! Io!

Singers are filling the twilight dim
With cheerful song, Io! Io!
The spirit of song ascends to Him
Who causeth the corn to grow.
He freely sent the gentle rain,
The summer sun glorified hill and plain,
To golden perfection brought the grain, Io! Io!

Silently, nightly, fell the dew,
Gently the rain, Io! Io!
But who can tell how the green corn grew,
Or who beheld it grow?
Oh! God the good, in sun and rain,
He looked on the flourishing fields and grain,
Till they all appeared on hill and plain
Like living gold, Io! Io!
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #926 on: November 15, 2009, 02:49:02 PM »
The snow level is down to 6500 feet and some of it will accumulate. Though Frost lived in New England I can imagine this scene in the wilds of the Cascades . . .

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.


My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.


He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke


BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #928 on: November 15, 2009, 04:39:19 PM »
almost looks make-believe doesn't it - I used to have a live link to a camera placed in the park but I do not know what I did with it. it was fun stopping in and seeing a deer grazing or a few cars drive by on the road near where the camera was set up in some trees.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #929 on: November 15, 2009, 09:37:41 PM »
Here it is.  Can't see much now:  http://www.fsvisimages.com/moho2/moho2.html
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #930 on: November 16, 2009, 08:28:13 AM »
Lovely poems, beautiful photos.  Thanks to you both.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #931 on: November 16, 2009, 03:17:41 PM »
Yes, Jackie, but now it's beautiful.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #932 on: November 16, 2009, 03:57:29 PM »
Had to put the heat on to warm up the house today - the sun is bright but it is crisp and cold.

Winter’s Coming On

Winter’s coming on.
The year is winding down.
Autumn’s color, gone-
her leaves piled on the ground.

The chill is in the air-
and soon there will be snow.
But we’ll keep warm and cozy,
as north winds start to blow.

We’ll sit next to the fire,
with blankets tucked in neat.
We’ll cuddle - you and I, my love -
as embers warm our feet.

We’ll have our tea or coffee,
our steamy cups to hold
up close before our faces;
to help combat the cold.

Fire logs will be handy,
Piled up in stacks so high.
We won’t meet winter, unprepared,
and never would we try!

June Kellum
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #933 on: November 16, 2009, 05:05:38 PM »
Reminds me of a recipe from an AF base in Alaska for Moose Milk:  Hot Water, Eagle Brand SweetenedCondensed
Milk, and your alcoholic beverage of choice.  Yummy
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #934 on: November 17, 2009, 12:33:39 AM »
Ohhoho it is going to be cold in the morning - they are predicting "Frost" in the hill country which is just outside Austin - I have wrapped the outside faucet on the northside of the house and taken in the garden hose. Still have the hose on the patio but that faces the southwest and I do not think the frost will be around for more than a few hours. Here is a poem in honor of the frost.

Morning Frost

The morning frost speaks of what I wish not to hear.
Step out from the warmth that embraced your soul
through the night.

Cast yourself out from the shadows and into the days sun.
Hide not from the truth.

Consume that hot cup of tea, freeing your shivers.
Move on with the tasks need be done.

robert allen kelleher
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #935 on: November 17, 2009, 08:30:42 AM »
 Oh, but Mr. Kelleher, I don't want to.    :-X
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #936 on: November 17, 2009, 04:26:42 PM »
Shivery 

This cold cold weather, bids me not
to energetic spree
I stand and shiver, wondering how
To warm that cold cold me

If only I could make a start
It would not be bad it seems.
But somehow I just linger on
And do it, in my dreams.

My ideas are brilliant
They are plain to see
But ho, this cold cold weather
Does waste my time for me.

Mary Gore
 
 
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #937 on: November 17, 2009, 04:39:20 PM »
The story of my life.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #938 on: November 17, 2009, 06:17:54 PM »
oh dear and I do not even have the cold to blame...

My ideas are brilliant
They are plain to see
But ho, this cold cold weather
Does waste my time for me
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #939 on: November 17, 2009, 08:13:06 PM »
 8)
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #940 on: November 18, 2009, 02:14:24 AM »
BASHO'S HAIKU

autumn wind’s
mouth at the sliding door
a piercing voice

fragile twigs
breaking off the scarlet papers
autumn wind

autumn has come
visiting my ear on
a pillow of wind
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

Babi

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #941 on: November 18, 2009, 08:59:22 AM »
 I was looking for a poem about thanksgiving, and came across this. It's
not exactly what I was looking for, but I like it and wanted to share it with you. Mr. Bruchac is native American, but I've alreay forgotten which
tribe.

  PRAYER—Joseph Bruchac

Let my words
be bright with animals,
images the flash of a gull's wing.
If we pretend
that we are at the center,
that moles and kingfishers,
eels and coyotes
are at the edge of grace,
then we circle, dead moons
about a cold sun.
This morning I ask only
the blessing of the crayfish,
the beatitude of the birds;
to wear the skin of the bear
in my songs;
to work like a man with my hands.'
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

bellemere

  • Posts: 862
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #942 on: November 18, 2009, 10:13:13 AM »
This time every year Smith College opens its gorgeos old conservatory/greenhouse to the public for the chyrsanthemum show. It's unbelievably beautiful; masses mums in every autumn color and a spectacular cascade of mums trained to fall over the wall of the conservatory.  They botany students also hybridized to create new varietes, and you can vote for you favorite.  But for poetry lovers, the students in the Asian studies department translated Chinese poems about chrysanthemums and autumn in general from ancient Chinese texts, and placed them among the flowers.  I asked at the d esk if copies of the poems were available; they aren't .  What a shame, they are so beauiful and the students' work should get recognition!  So I am writing to the Asia department to see if they will send me copies. If they respond, I willpost some here.
The French associate mums with death; they are the flower of funerals.  Big social mistake to take them to a dinner hostes, if she keeps to tradition.

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #943 on: November 18, 2009, 10:46:26 AM »
Babi the phrase within the poem reminded me of this video about the The Sun rising behind the Dead Planet [the moon] http://footage.shutterstock.com/video.html?id=118399

I love the lines -
the blessing of the crayfish,
the beatitude of the birds;


Because the wildlife is the prayer it seems to reach inside with an  understanding that the usual prayers have lost some of their edge since we frequently hear the words.

Bellemere thanks for sharing - we look forward to the translated Asian poems.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #944 on: November 18, 2009, 11:02:58 AM »
News Flash:

I will be leaving for my daughter's Monday or Tuesday after Thanksgiving - My grandson will have surgery just before Thanksgiving that involves breaking all of the bones on his rib cage since they have been growing inward and are now rubbing against his heart. Some 19th Birthday to remember - ah so... I will be there early to help during his recovery.  

And so - I will change our heading and focus from Autumn Poetry to Winter Poetry on Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend - a few days early since I will be on the Road on December 1.

Also, being on the road I am out of pocket and I am up to my ears the day or so before getting the car packed and then I need a couple of days to recoup and then I will be busy helping out with little time on the computer - and so please, enjoy sharing poetry however, I will probably be out of pocket for a minimum of a week and a half - If I can poke my nose in I will - but starting with Sunday November 29 we will switch to Winter and then as I say I will be out of pocket till probably the 9th or 10th of December.

And so, like the last leaves hanging on the autumn trees there is only a week and a  half to share with us the last of  your favorite Autumn poems and then we are into winter.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

BarbStAubrey

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #945 on: November 18, 2009, 11:13:14 AM »
The Last Leaf
          By Oliver Wendell Holmes - 1831 

I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.

But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"

The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.

My grandmamma has said--
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago--
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;

But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.

I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!

And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #946 on: November 18, 2009, 12:01:43 PM »
Yes, we here are clinging to our boughs.  Very apt for the Thanksgiving season.
 
How these lines resonate!
Quote
If we pretend that we are at the center
. . .
then we circle, dead moons about a cold sun.

Barb:  What a stressful time for you and your family.  We'll carry on.  Our thoughts and prayers will be with you all.
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #947 on: November 18, 2009, 09:19:47 PM »
BARBARA: my thoughts will be with you.

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #948 on: November 18, 2009, 09:22:41 PM »
Yea, I have looked, and seen November there;
The changeless seal of change it seemed to be,
Fair death of things that, living once, were fair;
Bright sign of loneliness too great for me,
Strange image of the dread eternity,
In whose void patience how can these have part,
These outstretched feverish hands, this restless heart?

- William Morris,

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #949 on: November 19, 2009, 07:54:44 AM »
 Ah, Barb, I'm sure your grandson is not happy to be having surgery
just before Thanksgiving, of all times.  Active young men are not happy
confined to bed in any circumstances. I'm sure they will all be glad you
are there to help keep him entertained. Don't worry about us; we'll
carry on.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

bellemere

  • Posts: 862
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #950 on: November 19, 2009, 12:31:39 PM »
These were chosen but not translated by the students for the chrysanthemum show

From the Smith College chrysanthemum show.

Remembering the Chrysanthemums
         By Lady Allspice

The autumn wind that through the knotgrass blowss
Blurs the sad gazer’s eye with unshed tears;
But autumn’s guest, who last year graced this plot
Only, as yet, in dreams of night appears.
The wild geese from the North are now returning;
The dhobi’s thump at evening fills my ears.
Those golden flowers for which you see me pine
I’ll meet again at this year’s double nine.

Seeking the Chrysnthemum
         By Green Boy

The crisp day bids us go on an excursion
Resistant to the wineshop door’s temptation.
Some garden, where, before the frosts, was planted
The glory of autumn, being our destination:
Which after weary walk having found, we’ll sing
An autumn song with unsubdued elation.
And you, gold flowers, if all the poet told
You understood,would not refuse his gold!

Admiring the Chrysanthemums
         By Cloud Maiden

Transplanted treasures, dear to me as gold-
Both the pale clumps and those of darker hue!
Bare-headed by yiur wintry bed I sit
And, musing, hug my knees and sing to you.
None more than you the villain world disdains;
None understands your proud heart as I do
The precious hours of autumn I’ll not waste,
But bide with you and savour their full taste.

Arranging the Chrysanthemums
         By Cloud Maiden

What greater pleasure than the lute to strum
Or sip wine by your delicate display?
To hold the garden’s fragrance in one vase,
And see all autumn in a single spray?
On frosty nights I’ll dream you back again
Brave in your garden bed at close of day.
Since with your shy disdain I sympathize,
Tis you,not summer’s gaudy blooms I prize.







Celebrating the Chrysanthemums
      By River Queen

Down garden walks, in search of inspiration,
A restless demon drives me all the time
Then brush blooms into praises and the mouth
Grows acrid-sweet , hymning those scents sublime. .
Yet easier ‘twere a world of grief to tell
Than to lock autumn’s secret in one rhyme.
That miracle old Tao did once attain;
Since when a thousand bards have tried in vain.


Questioning the Chrysanthemums
         By River Queen

Since none else autumn’s mystery can explain,
I come with the murmured questions to your gate:
Who, world disdainer, shares yur hiding place?
Of all the flowers why do yous bloom so late?
The garden silent lies in frosty dew,
The geese return, the cricket mourns his fate
Let not speech from your silent world by banished:
Converse with me, since me you understand.

The Dream of the Chrysanthemums
         By River Queen

Light-hearted in my bed I lie
And seem to chase the moon across the sky.
Well, if immortal, I‘ll go seek old Tao,
Not imitate Zhuang’s flittering butterfly!
Following the wild goose, into sleep I slid;
From which now, startled by the cricket’s cry,
Midst cold and fog and dying leaves I wake,
With o one by to tell of my heart’s ache.


The Decay of the Chrysanthemums
         By Plaintain Lover

The feasting over and the first snow fallen, ‘
The flowers frost-stricken lie  or sideways lean
Their perfume lingering, but their gold hue dimmed.
And few poor, tattered leaves bereft of green,
Now under moonlit bench the cricket shrills,
And weary goose-files in the cold sky are seen.
Yet of your passing let me not complain:
Next autumn equinox we’ll meet again!


this is just about half of them

dont you just love the poets' names?  I would love to be Lady Allspice.She sounds like  a courtesan, but , hey, I can handle that. .

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #951 on: November 19, 2009, 01:45:05 PM »
The poems are very apt, blending the sadness of the passing year with the appreciation of the mums' beauty.  Lady Allspice properly leads the way as I liked hers best.  Maybe there's something about the courtesan life style?
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #952 on: November 19, 2009, 02:03:18 PM »
The Last Chrysanthemum

 by Thomas Hardy

Why should this flower delay so long
To show its tremulous plumes?
Now is the time of plaintive robin-song,
When flowers are in their tombs.

Through the slow summer, when the sun
Called to each frond and whorl
That all he could for flowers was being done,
Why did it not uncurl?

It must have felt that fervid call
Although it took no heed,
Waking but now, when leaves like corpses fall,
And saps all retrocede.

Too late its beauty, lonely thing,
The season's shine is spent,
Nothing remains for it but shivering
In tempests turbulent.

Had it a reason for delay,
Dreaming in witlessness
That for a bloom so delicately gay
Winter would stay its stress?

- I talk as if the thing were born
With sense to work its mind;
Yet it is but one mask of many worn
By the Great Face behind.

SOMETHING TOLD THE WILD GEESE

By Rachel Field

 

Something told the wild geese

It was time to go,

Though the fields lay golden

Something whispered, "snow."

 

Leaves were green and stirring,

Berries, luster-glossed,

But beneath warm feathers

Something cautioned, "frost."

 

All the sagging orchards

Steamed with amber spice,

But each wild breast stiffened

At remembered ice.

 

Something told the wild geese

It was time to fly,

Summer sun was on their wings,

Winter in their cry.

My November Guest

Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
  Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
  She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
  She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grady
  Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
  The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so ryly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
  And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
  The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell he so,
  And they are better for her praise.
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke

BarbStAubrey

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  • Keep beauty alive...
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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #953 on: November 19, 2009, 02:19:17 PM »
Oh my a flurry at the end of Autumn just as in life there appears in  nature a flurry of smiles as we observe chrysanthemums pinned for an  upcoming important game, or gracing a table set for friends and family or growing in the garden or a neighbors garden at first all bright and then a frost bends them and their color faded reminds me of finding a pressed flower in an old fat tome.

Lady Allspice had a word I could not fatham and so here is the link fir Dhobi: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhobi

And then  how delightful - the double nine or chongyang festival is a celebration honoring elders! The day is celebrated by folks hill climbing and drinking chrysanthemum wine.
http://www.newsgd.com/pictures/peoplelife/content/2009-10/26/content_6094301.htm

Keep scrolling on this link - there is all sorts of information including a poem for double nine
http://www.squidoo.com/Double-Ninth-Festival?utm_campaign=direct-discovery&utm_medium=sidebar&utm_source=tirial

http://www.cashtochina.com/newsletter/200908/


The Rachel Field poem is lovely - those last lines...oh my...

Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry
“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful which God has implanted in the human soul.” ~ Goethe

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #954 on: November 19, 2009, 03:25:23 PM »
Three by Basho

Deep autumn.
My neighbow-
How does he live, I wonder.


Autumn evening.
A crow has settled
on the bare branch.

Autumn
That road-
no-one walks on it.

JoanK

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Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #955 on: November 19, 2009, 03:26:02 PM »
You are invited to a

HOLIDAY OPEN HOUSE  for Book and Food Lovers

December 1 - 20

Guests will be YOU and  authors of your favorite books that combine a good story with good tips on food.  Do drop in and tell us about your favorite foodies, real and otherwise, be it Rachel Ray or Kate Jacobs or Tyler Florence or Joanne Harris.  Who's your favorite cook?

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #956 on: November 20, 2009, 08:20:27 AM »
Quote
Those golden flowers for which you see me pine
I’ll meet again at this year’s double nine.


BELLEMERE, do you know what is meant by "double nine" in Lady Allspice's poem?  I haven't a clue.
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

bellemere

  • Posts: 862
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #957 on: November 20, 2009, 09:55:19 AM »
From Barb's research (above) I think we can assume that "double nine " is a nickname for the chongyang festival honoring the elders. Probably refers to its place in the chinese calendar.  The festival features hill climbing and drinking chrysanthemum wine.  Wonder how many elders partake.  I could climb a nice little hill, but I don't think the local packy carries chrysanthemum wine. Anyway, the flowers are bout the only lovely thing about November.

Babi

  • Posts: 6732
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #958 on: November 21, 2009, 08:23:34 AM »
 Okay, thanks, Belle. I don't know how I missed Barb's post.

 Here is a timely poem that I can really identify with.


I TAKE JOY
  by Sally Hemingway
 
  I take joy every day, in the simplest of things,
Like the sound of the thrush, and the song that he brings,
Like the sight of the clouds, as they're drifting on by,
All floating around me, and filling the sky.
I take joy in a smile from a genuine face,
From a tender sweet look, or a gentle embrace,
I take joy in what's free, and costs nothing at all,
A moment of laughter which sometimes I recall.
I delight in the fact I am here every day,
A chance to enjoy all which might pass my way.
We pass this way once, so many would say -
But I take joy in fact that I'm living today.
The sounds of the world brings such pleasure to me,
After years of such silence - just the sound of a bee-
Is pure magic, enriching the joys of today,
As he scurries and buzzes and goes on his way.
I delight in the kindness of folks that I know,
The caring, the thoughtfulness, people can show.
I take joy in the fact that my heart knows no fear,
For I've been given today, and another bright year.
I thank God every day for the love I have known,
For each happy sweet day, for each tenderness shown.
I take joy in my heart, more than can be expressed -
For a life of such beauty - A life truly blessed.

 
"I go to books and to nature as a bee goes to the flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey."  John Burroughs

mrssherlock

  • Posts: 2007
Re: Poetry Page
« Reply #959 on: November 21, 2009, 10:53:48 AM »
Taking joy, so much more fun than Thanks.  A new theme for this season, something that is sorely needed.
Jackie
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. Edmund Burke