Mudcat Poetry Corner

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: chris nightbird childs
Date: 29 Oct 04 - 01:24 AM

Welly, well... as long as we're doing this:

No Revolution -

All my loves lost
& gained in the past
couldn't make a bit of difference
With their sayings and saviors,
& etchings on the backs
of a thousand notebooks
Now it's all down to me
Me, me, me, me

No revolution
No evolution
It won't be reinstated
like an American Dream
What that might be to millions
of unsuspecting people
might not
be that to you…

You can have your white-picket fence,
But how you get there
is up to you
& no one else.
Although people are willing
to live through you,
will they be willing
to die for you too?
---------------------------------------

Wistful Time

The Mayfair gathering outside
Blossoming rose rises in the air
Growing out of the cool ground
Of the garden
The cat's squirrel won't be caught today
Too busy chasing its tail
'round the sitting room floor –
I venture out for a quick smoke,
And notice the glow of lights
Witness the question of 'what?'
A sickness? An end?
It's strange how my life's just begun
So young, so old
I hope, I wonder, I wish them well…

I flick the end into the air,
And it rests on the cool ground
It bounces away its last life –
Walking back inside
I whistle away a wistful time
For senior citizens and squirrels

thanks Cats...

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 29 Oct 04 - 01:19 AM

The recent additions are great! Keep them coming, folks, and thanks for sharing!

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: UncleToad
Date: 28 Oct 04 - 07:39 PM

Three pieces to ponder...

I have long tried to go home
but the doors
are closed
the windows
will not open
but still I keep on hoping
that someday
    someone
will let me in
***************************

I was half way to the moon
and I thought
this is too damned cold
my ship and my bones
are too damned old
I was half way to the sun
and I thought
this is too damned hot
and like it as not
the heat shield won't hold
(goes back to "too damned old")
***********************************

It seems as though
we slipped
along the way
night after night
day after day
we colored within the lines
kept our blinds
half up and
half down
afraid we would drown
if we wandered
to close
to the edge
of the world
such a lonely death
separated
from the rest
of us
we came for you
but you had gone
hope your new home
is what
you want
it to be...

Thankee kindly, UncleToad

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Eddie O'Hara
Date: 28 Oct 04 - 05:19 PM

A poem I wrote for fun!

Stan McCann's Dinner

Stan McCann
A thinking young man
Thought, "Hot sardines are better!"

So, off he ran
And bought a can
Of sardines for his dinner

Stan, heated the can
In a frying pan
Full of water and let it simmer

Then, taking the can
From the frying pan
He opened it up for dinner

On a chair sat Stan
With fork and can
Sprinkling his salt and pepper

But, as he began
To eat from the can
He said, "Cold sardines are better!"

Moral: What may seem best, is not always best, and sometimes it's hard to know what's better.

Eddie O'Hara(c)2004

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,H.B. Carlisle
Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:14 PM

Hey there, you, walkin' all alone,
    It's me talking to ya, me, the stone!
    Why don't you haul off an' give me a boot?
    I've spent 10 years beside this root.
    I come into town on a gravel truck,
    They unloaded me here and here I'm stuck.
    The guy on my right is old Gravel Gus,
    He got stuck in the tread of a Greyhound Bus,
    Spent 15 years out on the road!
    Woulda' been there yet, but the bus got towed,
    An' he flew out and he landed here,
    Now all his travel tales I gotta hear.
    Guy on my left is Old Man Slate,
    Kid skimmed him across the lake,
    He made 15 skips far and wide,
    And fell in the grass on the other side---
    Say, you look sorta drunk the way you walk,
    And you know durn well us stones can't talk!
                                  H.B. Carlisle

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 26 Oct 04 - 10:37 AM

Wow!!

Again awed by your words.


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: UncleToad
Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:38 AM

Snow Men

I wonder
where they live
these men of darkness
with nothing to give
save a smile
and a wave.
Flying their rags
like ceremonial flags.
Where do they go
when the snows fly thin
rolling and blowing
with the harshness
of the harsh winter wind.
I wonder if they die
and are replaced
by other men
when springtime rushes in...

Or do they simply bend
and fold themselves
into the blackening night
and wait in stoned silence
for the coming of the light...


...please help homeless veterans.

Thanks to all...UncleToad

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Wilfried Schaum
Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:00 AM

MESSAGE
to Kurt Vonnegut, Jr
Infantryman, Scout, POW in Germany

Listen
So it goes
An on and on
Imagine that!

Peace

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Chris Green
Date: 25 Oct 04 - 12:37 PM

A haiku my father wrote:

Happiness
Is waking up on Monday
To find that it's Saturday.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 25 Oct 04 - 12:34 PM

I emailed Miss Buck and suggested she join and post freely.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From:
Date: 25 Oct 04 - 09:17 AM

Dear Mudcat I am sure i know you from another program. We are friends did you ever publish your cookbook? I would truly be honored to have some of my poetry viewed on your site. Please notify me via email if that is okay with you Thanks Bonnie Buck

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 06 Oct 04 - 01:29 PM

I am sure there is more and better stuff out there, fellow folkies!

I dunno about better but here's one of the more germane to the singers:

Scraps

A song well writ, each tone in place,
An' harmony's approval marked upon
The temple's face. Rancor was gone,
And envy. Desperation too
Had been dispelled by grace,
Found in the heart's deeper numbers right,
Dug out dark ciphered clay, unleashing light,
Replacing what was lost with what was true.
A song well writ, the singer and the sung-to, You.

# # #

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 28 Jul 04 - 09:59 PM

There's a different one called "Jack's People" which you may have in mind, Deda. Thanks for the kind words -- people like you keep the spark alive, for better or for worse!!!

Next time you come to town you can meet Nancy.

Love,

Bro

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Deda
Date: 28 Jul 04 - 09:42 PM

Amos, I thought I had posted an answer to this a few days ago, but it didn't arrive. Thanks for your kind words about the forehead poem. I have always loved your poem about Red, which seems quite different here than I remember it -- has it been revised? And I love the very idea of "liquid origami", which evokes the movement of water, like the currents in a river, folding into, over and below one another. "Nancy" is also lovely!

Congrats to Foolestroupe on getting into print! Bravo.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 25 Jul 04 - 12:28 PM

Dances in Silence

(for Nancy)

You are the dance that has no words and rises
In the spring's own flood to the wind and rain
That sweeps the silence into the noise-worn bone
And raises the laughing of hearts again.

Only there do none dance alone.
The hard breath and wild limbs' sway tells
All the story, and the soul's devises
Rising with the time of far and endless bells.


                                                                                    San Diego
                                                                                    February 21, 2003

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Villan
Date: 25 Jul 04 - 05:21 AM

Got up this morning and decided to put my thoughts into verse about the events related to changing venue at Market Rasen Folk Club. Never done this before so please excuse me if it not very good.

The Market Rasen Folk Club Blues

One day I had a dream
To start a folk club I did beam
I went along to the social club
Who said luvely jubbly, just the job

So we got started back in March
With much hard work and the occasional fart
The singers got quickly to their task
Much more from them I couldn't ask

It became apparent very soon
These artists sang a lovely tune
People came from near and far
As the club pulled in the money over the bar

Everybody seemed very happy
Until this little chappy
Who rose up from the committee
And said hang on here we want a bigger fee

Now the organiser said get stuffed
The committee they were not chuffed
They gave our Les a red card
Which he thought was rather hard

These little scheming money makers
With brains no bigger than a shred of paper
Would not back down on the price
And thought our Les was in a vice

But with sleeves rolled up and a big determination
Our Les set about finding a new location
This proved very difficult and hard to find
It was becoming such a bind

Then all of a sudden when out of the blue
He found a village hall that would do
The people there are very nice
They have a bar with drinks at an affordable price

This place is called Walesby Village Hall
Where a big welcome will be there for all
So come on down you have a choice
To come and sing with good cheer and voice

So here's a warning to all those money makers
Who want to screw the folk club scene shakers
If you can't see the business sense and get smart
Stick your business up your arse

Cheers
Les

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 25 Jul 04 - 01:03 AM

Congratulations, Robin Goodfellow!

Let me add that the PLURAL of do (3rd person) is "do". "Doth" is singular only. I would fix that were I you.

Best regards,

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Fooles Troupe
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 11:17 PM

WhoooHooo! I been Published for the first time!!!!

QUOTE
Hallo Robin,

This is to let you know that your poem "Gather Ye Pigeons While Ye May" has been published on the Albion Magazine Online website in the Diversions section of the Summer 2004 edition.

Many thanks for your contribution; I really appreciate it.

Cheers,

Isabel
UNQUOTE


Robin

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 09:36 PM

Heart's Places

(For Red Warren)


I.

The man said it all well. As young sunlight and old granite, he was there,
Telling stories of the world. You could feel

The worlds unfolding, taste the weather and strain, the laughing, the passions, see the long hard marches in his words.

He would lean to the children's call, and answer their wishes with worlds in the giving.
As the early sun and the ripe granite do, he gave and gave.

Tell me.


II.                           


Great spirits make great faces, colored and living.

They are the far reachers. They make world spaces,

Founded in fires and in clay, sung in high tempests

Where the hot light flashes, iced where the need for ice is,

So great spirits form the world. More than the season's passing

Marks their time. Imagine...



III.


Red drums over long rivers, black drumming cities

White singing praises, red blood on old sabers

Deep hearts full, iced lakes and hot harvesting

The long highways and the gentle furrows made.


Here is the red man's answer, there are hawks calling.

Here is the black man's sigh, there the hard cut of steel.

Here is hot horse muscle and hoofs on the dirt hills,

There the town of the dull, the wicked, the cross
tongued.

The tire's scream, and the deep cave's silent wait, all in one land.



IV.

Dry pages, running tears and deep frozen glens -- these things
Are one in the heart.

Sad dogs and laughing glory, wines and the open seas, one. Worlds in the giving,

Children can hear him answering: wishes answered with color, living men, strong faces, bright laughing reason.

A far reaching hand shows them: the heart is more than its seasons.

Here is a great spirit making great spaces, and there he is still,

Only ask again, and he will start.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 09:28 PM

Liquid Origami

We believe we know, each seeing
Who folded these deep seams and lines
In the very fabric we are.

The rivers of our times flow through
The spaces so folded; minds
And heart's panic scorch the seams

To feel the hands on the axis
Bringing the deep existnece in
To the lines adored and forming

Believing, we know
Where the folds are made.
To become the river-driver

Answers the fury
Of the plain sheet of beginnings.
Riding the river steals your days;

Reading the folding leads
Beyond the eternal belief--so
we know.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:39 PM

Great imagery, Joe_F! Reminds me of Kendall singing Dave Mallett's tune on haying, "Make Hay While the Sun Shines".

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:17 PM

Beautiful job, Deda!! Wow!! Stunning -- in every sense of the word.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:13 PM

Summer

When home the truck comes high with hay,
And divers splash and sunlight dapples,
And loud black clouds relieve the day,
And chickens peck at sour apples,
And fans drown out the drowsy word,
Then nightly sings the mockingbird
In every mode at disk and dawn,
While sweaty Gabriel mows the lawn.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Deda
Date: 24 Jul 04 - 05:28 PM

I was in a car accident on June 13, forced off the road by an SUV that didn't see me, didn't slow down. Here's a poem.

Missing my forehead

Car having struck cement embankment,
Head having struck steering wheel,
Pushing myself back to sitting up:
Rear-view mirror reflects, just above my eyebrows,
A streak of white skull, and bright red borders.

Faces of strangers show ÒOh God! Oh my God!Ó
But they say, ÒHold still. How old are you?
What is your name? This your nurse.Ó
ÒWhat is your name?Ó I ask them all, each face.
Each face too strong, too polite, too willed, too busy
To say, ÒOh my God.Ó

*********************

Now my forehead shows a well-stitched line,
Defined, of a certain shape, unexpected,
Hard to gaze upon Ð Hard to see reflected
In the gazes I see.

I remember my brow as nothing, a blank space. Not now.
I close my eyes to see it. From here it seems
A buzzing, red line of itch and burn.
It is new. It will fade, soften.
It will not vanish.
This is my face now.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 15 Jul 04 - 06:19 PM

I am constantly being surprised at the insights and skills and art that appears on this thread. Many thanks.



A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Macha
Date: 27 May 04 - 05:42 PM

My life is a thin thread
I spin the thread around my fingers
Winding, winding
Snap

- me

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 27 May 04 - 11:11 AM

That is a rich piece, Micca!

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Micca
Date: 27 May 04 - 10:54 AM

Senses

The senses
feed us
information
ephemeral and brief
enters
for a short time
Then exits
like a thief

a rose with dewdrops
A hovering kestrel
A kitten playing
Your lover asleep
fresh baked bread
Spring flowers
Crushed Basil
A loved body


velvet
Skin
A climbing rope
A cold beer

garlic
Chilled Chablis
sea on the wind
Fresh pesto

cats footsteps
baby sleeping
owl hoot
lovers groan of pleasure

the senses,
like poems
feed us
in bursts
each glimpse
bite or sniff
complete
in itself
but part
of a whole
picture

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: maisienan
Date: 27 May 04 - 08:36 AM

Woodsmoke

I am the earth
He is the sky
Ever distant and aloof
No matter how high my mountain
It will never be part of him
No matter how bright his stars
They will ever look down
Coldly glinting
Too long I longed for his love
No longer

But you
You are the fire and I am the forest
Be careful
For the smell of woodsmoke so enchants me
If I feed you my debris, my deadwood
We may enhance each other
Gypsies dancing in the clearing
But cling to me and you consume me
Possess me and you destroy me
The morning shows blackened stumps
Grey ashes

Somewhere, somewhere
There is a man of water
A lake at the mountain's foot
A river through the forest flowing
A sea around my shore
And when the rain falls
He will surely come

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: maisienan
Date: 27 May 04 - 08:15 AM

Here's one about my tangled love-life - I'm a taurus woman married to an aquarian - never an easy option - and this poem is for a lovely leo guy I met on Mayday

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: s&r
Date: 27 May 04 - 06:17 AM

Some folk would say
I live by rote
Most of my day
a golden nugget
here and there
along the way

Along the way
A stranger's smile
as if to say
A friendly 'Hi'
A little care
can make my day

Can make my day
Become a song
a tune to play
a major seventh
soft and clear
No price to pay

No price to pay
the smile was free
It made my day
it wasn't much
they didn't care
Some folk might say

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 26 May 04 - 03:34 PM

refresh

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Old Doc
Date: 25 May 04 - 04:16 AM

I recently heard a very charming song on the radio and can not seem to find out the title or artist. It is done by a male quartet with a female lead with an intrumental break. Some of the lyrics are: "You don't have to play my request, but I hope that you'll do your best. I've been listening to your show on the radio and you seem like a friend to me." Hope someone out there recognises this gem.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 May 04 - 01:39 PM

Aw, sweet fucking Jesus. LEJ, you put us all to shyme!! Effin' byootiful, man.

A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 24 May 04 - 01:38 PM

The Witness.

How delicately each flake of snow falls,
Silently landing on it's own carpet.
Swelling the ground relentlessly,
With drifts that ever cover walls.
How carefully the man next door treads,
As he de-ices and prepares his car.
He could use his legs to get to work,
It's not far.
Steadily he reverses from his drive,
Out onto the big main road.
On the ice a lorry skids to avoid him,
And spills its load.
The man next door is just oblivious,
To the carnage he's caused today.
He puts his car in forward gear.
And drives away.

Georgiansilver (2002)
Be Blessed.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 24 May 04 - 01:28 PM

The Banks of the Far Missouri


While you grappled with budgets
balancing numbers, battling bureaucratic banality
Thumbing through ledgers in a stifling room
Did you look out to the river
placid, seemingly endless
But not to you...
You had traced the path of the water
to its rocky root
stood astride and drank of it
Those days of pain, fear, awe, mystery, transcendence
Marked the crest of your life's wave
Boon companions, grace of savage tribes
Rustle of abalone shells, shrill of eagle whistle
Meat roasted like a sacrifice
in the sacred circle
All this lay across the shining mountains and years away
The long path twisted back on itself at last
leaving your body wounded in the dust of Tennessee
freeing your soul at last
to haunt the banks of the far Missouri

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Blackcatter
Date: 24 May 04 - 12:29 PM

Refresh

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jack Lewin
Date: 24 Feb 04 - 01:13 PM

To See What Those Eyes Have Seen


I took a walk down the the park in our town
To watch the parade go by
With their medals and barets, this was our day
To honor them and those who have died.
The flags were waving, the pipes were playing
And as they made their way past me
I Stood there and stared and wondered what it was like
To have seen what those eyes have seen.

Did those eyes see a friend die in his arms
His body twisting and writhing in pain.
Did those eyes see things that he'd pray to god
He will never have to see again.
Every day there was a constant struggle
To follow orders and try to survive
And after all that they still think they're lucky
Because they came home alive.

Did those eyes have the eyes of another man
In his sights as a battle began
Knowing full well it's him or it's me as he squeezed off the trigger again.
After all of these years he can still see his face
He can still hear the shot and his cries.
Innocence lost in a fight to the death
That will haunt him til the day he dies.

So as the crowd gathered around and they laid the wreaths down
The band played songs in the rain
And then for a moment the brohters in arms
Were reporting for duty again.
The the band grew quiet and we all bowed our heads
And the last post was all you could hear
Then I thought why don't we honor our heroes
More than one day a year!!

Cheers
Jack Lewin

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 15 Feb 04 - 09:30 AM

N ice piece o'work, Simon!!


A

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: harlowpoet
Date: 15 Feb 04 - 05:23 AM

OK Dave. I'm here now


Last night With Mary

How did it go
Last night with Mary?
And so, I told them
Hoary and hairy
Finding and fumbling
Tossing and tumbling
Panting and puffing
Writhing and roughing
Tying and trying
Sobbing and sighing
Seeking and shrieking
Perking and peaking
Fawning and facing
Calling and chasing
Hiding and hoping
Going and groping
Crawling and clashing
Sweating and smashing
Squashing and squealing
Rockin'and reeling
And feeling regrets
That's how it gets
Catching the cat
To take to the vets!




(c)SimonVogel

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Dave Bryant
Date: 02 Feb 04 - 09:35 AM

Simon (Harlowpoet) seems to be conspicuous by his absence.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Barden of England
Date: 02 Feb 04 - 04:14 AM

NAIVIGATOR     Copyright John Barden 2001

Imagine youself a jellyfish, pumping away in clear blue forever oceans
Never knowing where you're coming from, nor where you're going to,
But navigate you do, Vasco da Gama in living goo.

Spanning oceans glittering wide, the vast organic great divide,
Spinning, casting tentacles, of paralysing manacles.
Going nowhere with no great purpose, returning with even less,
A larger, stronger gelatinous mess.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 01 Feb 04 - 10:22 PM

Jeri, that's gotta turn into a song! Well done, womon!

Cuillion, I've been getting rusty in my reading, thansk for the practise!

Johnfitz, I've been to so many graveyards in New England, much as you describe. Quite beautiful, thanks for sharing!

Megan, that is fascinating and really poignant. Thanks!

kat

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jeri
Date: 01 Feb 04 - 10:08 PM

There is some REALLY good stuff in this thread!

Inspired by watching videos of some of those 'good time boys' with a good friend, and a long conversation I'd once had with a man who'd occasionally played with Bob Wills. This may turn out to be a song... I dunno.

He sat there in the corner
Staring miles beyond the stage
A sepia tinted image
In this electric neon age
I bought us a round and said "Friend,
There's a story in your eyes."
He said "I used to play up there,
But how the time it flies,

All the good-time boys are gone away
One by one they disappeared
Like some old photograph
Much handled and dog-eared
I guess there was too much light
And it caused the world to fade
And I lived in the shadows
So I'm the one who stayed

I don't recall the details
Of days now past and gone
But I remember lighter laughter
I remember louder song
Maybe I felt safer
To travel on my own
But now the landscape's foriegn
And this world is not my home

When I laugh now, my eyes feel cold
I laugh because I should
I see shadows in the spotlights
Where once, giants stood
Some of them were strangers
Some of them were friends
Who set out upon the road that starts
Where the horizon ends

Sometimes I hear an echo
In this empty place
Of a song they used to sing
Or I recall a face
Sometimes memory gets lost
In rude insistant noise
But oh, how I miss
Those good-time boys"

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: John Hardly
Date: 01 Feb 04 - 09:18 PM

Tonight...I'll sing you to sleep for the first time knowing
We'll be sharing this space for a while.
I'll sing and play and you'll do the growing.
Hey, can you feel it when I smile?

And I'll hold you against my rosewood guitar
While I sing from my newly blessed soul
And you'll have the best seat in the house by far.
My heart, my life, this sound---so full.

So I'll sing the high notes (a nice way to start)
This guitar will fill in the low,
Between you, and me, and this guitar,
Tonight...I'll sing to you this lulla-hello

I just had a funny thought.
If some day you should learn to play the guitar like me,
And you press your ear against its top as you play, like all guitar players do…
Will you suddenly remember this time together?

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Megan L
Date: 30 Jan 04 - 03:41 PM

Wasn't sure I got the name right so checked his writing, she was the Athenia. found this report of her sinking.

Athenia was the first British ship sunk by a German U-boat in World War II. Germany had invaded Poland on September 1 and Britain declared war on Germany at 1115 on September 3, shortly after Athenia sailed from Glasgow en route to Montreal with 1,100 passengers embarked, more than 300 of whom were American citizens. That afternoon she was spotted by U-30 about 250 miles northwest of Inishtrahull, Northern Ireland. Although German U-boats were supposed to be operating under prize regulations that obliged them to stop and search any potential targets, Lieutenant Fritz-Julius Lemp decided Athenia was an armed merchant cruiser and fired two torpedoes without warning. The ship sank with the loss of 112 passengers and crew, but despite the fact that among these were 28 Americans, within hours, President Franklin D. Roosevelt had announced that his government was preparing "a declaration of American neutrality."

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Megan L
Date: 30 Jan 04 - 03:26 PM

Farewell My Son

I waved to you my son
My chef's whites gleaming as proudly as my smile
I nudged my apprentice "That's my boy"
And as we watched you across the water
My heart was filled with joy.

At ships rail and on shore we did wave
We weren't to know that sunny day
That within the cycle of the sun
Our war would start and end
And one of us would have a sailor's grave.

The great liner sailed on
On shore the mighty shipyards thundered
453 growing daily with honest toil
Rivets flying, hammers ringing, little knowing
For one of us the war would soon be done.

And on the liner, ladies danced sequinned gowned
Men black as hell fed hungry fires
Diamonds of sweat their only adornment
A gong calling passengers to dinner
Soon all would be drowned.

Death stalked round Eire's shore
Silent streak towards the mighty hull
Ripping into her side, tearing at her life
Explosive sound, screams of trapped and dying
Stench of burning flesh. She is no more.

Still the shipyards thunder on
453 a silent shadow now waiting in the wings
The unborn ghost of Liners yet to come
Waiting till men may safely sail round Erie's shore
She will not go where I have gone
Farewell my son
......    ....    ....


My father and his apprentice stood at the edge of the Clyde and waved farewell to his apprentices father who was a cook on the Athena (think I've remembered the name) that was the last time the boy ever saw his father.

Megan L

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: johnfitz.com
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 03:36 PM

Coming home from a job in an orchard in New Salem MA I go tmy car stuck next to one of those innumerous family graveyards scattered throughout New England

Joshua Sawyer

I doubt I'd ever have taken this road
had I known how fallen it really was
to disrepair: driving comically,
skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
at every bang on the oil pan.
I tell you it's the old road to Wendell —
that they don't make them like this anymore.

We're bound by curious obligations,
and so stop by an old family plot
walled in by piles of jumbled fieldstone,
cornered to the edge of what once was field.
The picket gateway still stands intact,
somebody propped up leaning on a stick,
an anonymous gesture of reverence.
Only nature disrespects: toppling stone,
bursting with suckers and wild raggedness.
A gravestone, schist of worn slate, leans weathered:

Joshua Sawyer Died Here 1860

Another stone, cracked, has fallen over.
I reset the stone, and scrape the caked earth
as if studying some split tortoise shell,
and have keyed in to a distant birth —
His wife Ruth died young; so I picture him
stern with his only daughter, only child —
speaking for a faith which could defy her.
There'd be no passing onto when she died —
twenty-two, more words beside her mother.
Still these stones and fields you kept in order,
long days spent forcing sharp turns on nature,
accepting the loose stone and thin topsoil.
A Wendell neighbor must have buried you
whispering a eulogy which is as lost
as your daughter, your wife, and this farm:

'Joshua Sawyer

I've never been down this road before
I would like to speak with you of faith.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,mudcat haikuist
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 01:23 PM

I fart, cheeks vibrate
people gag, choke, retch and puke.
My shit doesn't stink.

Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: johnfitz.com
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 12:06 PM

Coming home from a job in an orchard in New Salem MA I go tmy car stuck next to one of those innumerous family graveyards scattered throughout New England

Joshua Sawyer

I doubt I'd ever have taken this road
had I known how fallen it really was
to disrepair: driving comically,
skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
at every bang on the oil pan.
I tell you it's the old road to Wendell —
that they don't make them like this anymore.

We're bound by curious obligations,
and so stop by an old family plot
walled in by piles of jumbled fieldstone,
cornered to the edge of what once was field.
The picket gateway still stands intact,
somebody propped up leaning on a stick,
an anonymous gesture of reverence.
Only nature disrespects: toppling stone,
bursting with suckers and wild raggedness.
A gravestone, schist of worn slate, leans weathered:

Joshua Sawyer Died Here 1860

Another stone, cracked, has fallen over.
I reset the stone, and scrape the caked earth
as if studying some split tortoise shell,
and have keyed in to a distant birth —
His wife Ruth died young; so I picture him
stern with his only daughter, only child —
speaking for a faith which could defy her.
There'd be no passing onto when she died —
twenty-two, more words beside her mother.
Still these stones and fields you kept in order,
long days spent forcing sharp turns on nature,
accepting the loose stone and thin topsoil.
A Wendell neighbor must have buried you
whispering a eulogy which is as lost
as your daughter, your wife, and this farm:

'Joshua Sawyer

I've never been down this road before
I would like to speak with you of faith.