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Archive for the ‘poet’ Category

Top 10 Poems of 2010

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 12/26/2010| 1 Comment »

1. Ithaca

2. I Walked a Mile with Pleasure

3. Ithaca (video)

4. After a While

5. Love Me Like You Never Loved Before

6. What You Should Know to be a Poet

7. Deathless Aphrodite of the Spangled Mind

8. The Serpent

9. The Lost Son

10. The Unicorn

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Poem of the Day: On Snow

Posted in James Parton, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 12/17/2010| Leave a Comment »

On Snow

A Riddle

From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin.
No lady alive can show such a skin.
I’m bright as an angel, and light as a feather,
But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together.
Though candor and truth in my aspect I bear,
Yet many poor creatures I help to insnare.
Though so much of Heaven appears in my make,
The foulest impressions I easily take.
My parent and I produce one another,
The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother.

-James Parton

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Poem of the Day: a clever cuss

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 12/15/2010| Leave a Comment »

copped
his snake hair coils
beneath knit caps
and smoke stained
upper lips.

his knick-knack veins
pumping copper blood
in disregard
to my cold
caring eyes…

(follow my last
smoke filled
inhalation…
…and find me,
with your palms
pressed against flat
glass – let me count
your lifelines)

i want
to be sure
you outlive me.

–Hannah Waterman (emerging poet from Western New York)

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Poem of the Day: The Thread of Life

Posted in Christina Rossetti, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 12/13/2010| Leave a Comment »

1

The irresponsive silence of the land,
The irresponsive sounding of the sea,
Speak both one message of one sense to me: —
Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand
Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band
Of inner solitude; we bind not thee;
But who from thy self—chain shall set thee free?
What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?—
And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek,
And sometimes I remember days of old
When fellowship seemed not so far to seek
And all the world and I seemed much less cold,
And at the rainbow’s foot lay surely gold,
And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.

2

Thus am I mine own prison. Everything
Around me free and sunny and at ease:
Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees
Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing
And where all winds make various murmuring;
Where bees are found, with honey for the bees;
Where sounds are music, and where silences
Are music of an unlike fashioning.
Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew,
And smile a moment and a moment sigh
Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you ?
But soon I put the foolish fancy by:
I am not what I have nor what I do;
But what I was I am, I am even I.

3

Therefore myself is that one only thing
I hold to use or waste, to keep or give;
My sole possession every day I live,
And still mine own despite Time’s winnowing.
Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring
From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative;
Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve;
And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing.
And this myself as king unto my King
I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me;
Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing
A sweet new song of His redeemed set free;
He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting?
And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?

-Christina Rossetti

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Poem of the Day: of lonely men standing left at games end

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, robert david williams, words, Write, Writer, writing on 11/30/2010| Leave a Comment »

The light the light as if there were but one

Falling in less than sphere direction yet

Slithering about the unseen modes formed

And forgotten on the windward side of

Prime so thankful to find us patient and

From the mouths of dreaming giants a cold

Black logic solid converse of shadow

Drips a torment not not sublime in its

Saccharine and relative spite torched as witch

Practice knows while shade defines edges bent

To purpose and teas brew adjacent on

Slabs called less than shrine as if there were but

Chairs to remedy this musical sort

Of lonely men standing left at games end

.

“of lonely men standing left at games end”

 

-Robert David Williams

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Poem of the Day: A Thanksgiving Prayer

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing, tagged on 11/23/2010| Leave a Comment »

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Poem of the Day: Winter Evening

Posted in Nina Alvarez, poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, Trakl, words, Write, Writer, writing on 11/21/2010| Leave a Comment »

When snow falls against the window,
Long sounds the evening bell…
For so many has the table
Been prepared, the house set in order.

From their wandering, many
Come on dark paths to this gateway.
The tree of grace is flowering in gold
Out of the cool sap of the earth.

In stillness, wanderer, step in:
Grief has worn the threshold into stone.
But see: in pure light, glowing
There on the table: bread and wine.

-Georg Trakl

The Poems of Georg Trakl

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Poem of the Day: The Owl and the Pussycat

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 11/13/2010| Leave a Comment »

I

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
‘O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!’

II

Pussy said to the Owl, ‘You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?’
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.

III

‘Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?’ Said the Piggy, ‘I will.’
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

 

-Edward Lear

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Poem of the Day: Enough

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 11/10/2010| 1 Comment »

Enough

It’s a gift, this cloudless November morning
warm enough for you to walk without a jacket
along your favorite path. The rhythmic shushing
of your feet through fallen leaves should be
enough to quiet the mind, so it surprises you
when you catch yourself telling off your boss
for a decade of accumulated injustices,
all the things you’ve never said circling inside you.

It’s the rising wind that pulls you out of it,
and you look up to see a cloud of leaves
swirling in sunlight, flickering against the blue
and rising above the treetops, as if the whole day
were sighing, Let it go, let it go,
for this moment at least, let it all go.

-Jeffrey Harrison

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Poem of the Day: Witch-Wife

Posted in poem, poem of the day, poet, poetry, words, Write, Writer, writing on 11/07/2010| Leave a Comment »

Witch-Wife

She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.

She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun ’tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of colored beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.

She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

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