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Mudcat Poetry Corner

Cuilionn 29 Jan 04 - 09:22 AM
Amos 29 Jan 04 - 04:55 AM
Teresa 29 Jan 04 - 01:41 AM
GUEST,Tang the Orangutan 29 Jan 04 - 01:05 AM
Joe_F 28 Dec 03 - 07:38 PM
Bearheart 28 Dec 03 - 02:45 PM
GUEST,sandy creek 26 Dec 03 - 10:20 AM
beardedbruce 25 Dec 03 - 11:55 AM
katlaughing 24 Dec 03 - 10:52 PM
Joybell 24 Dec 03 - 08:06 PM
Amos 24 Dec 03 - 06:20 PM
Raedwulf 24 Dec 03 - 05:08 PM
Peg 23 Dec 03 - 02:40 PM
Amos 23 Dec 03 - 02:26 PM
Joe_F 10 Sep 03 - 11:05 AM
The Barden of England 10 Sep 03 - 02:33 AM
Jack Lewin 05 Sep 03 - 11:54 AM
Amos 05 Sep 03 - 09:48 AM
The Barden of England 05 Sep 03 - 03:48 AM
GUEST 04 Sep 03 - 10:54 PM
Amos 04 Sep 03 - 10:40 PM
katlaughing 04 Sep 03 - 10:20 PM
kendall 04 Sep 03 - 07:30 PM
kendall 04 Sep 03 - 07:26 PM
kendall 04 Sep 03 - 07:24 PM
Amos 04 Sep 03 - 02:48 PM
katlaughing 13 Jun 03 - 12:01 AM
Amergin 12 Jun 03 - 05:29 PM
Mudlark 17 Apr 03 - 01:38 AM
beardedbruce 16 Apr 03 - 02:04 PM
Amos 16 Apr 03 - 10:16 AM
Celtaddict 15 Apr 03 - 10:56 PM
Uncle_DaveO 15 Apr 03 - 06:35 PM
Uncle_DaveO 15 Apr 03 - 06:32 PM
Amos 15 Apr 03 - 04:59 PM
Micca 22 Feb 03 - 07:47 PM
Sandy Creek 22 Feb 03 - 01:08 PM
Amos 22 Feb 03 - 12:30 PM
EJ 21 Feb 03 - 06:47 PM
GUEST,stone 21 Feb 03 - 02:38 PM
Schantieman 21 Feb 03 - 01:54 PM
Rustic Rebel 21 Feb 03 - 01:43 PM
GUEST,Promises like pie crust by C Rossetti sound 21 Feb 03 - 12:57 PM
Amos 21 Feb 03 - 12:51 PM
GUEST,stone 21 Feb 03 - 08:55 AM
posterchild 20 Feb 03 - 02:46 PM
Sandy Creek 20 Feb 03 - 07:50 AM
Dexter 19 Feb 03 - 10:50 AM
Amos 18 Feb 03 - 10:49 PM
Dexter 18 Feb 03 - 09:53 PM
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Cuilionn
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 09:22 AM

Och, ye're aye a glorious bunch o wairdsmiths! But yir wee lassie's back tae test yir Scots-readin skills, sae Ah'm postin a "warm up exercise" (on mair than ane level) for ye tae peruse...

Ah postit this ane elsewhaur, twa days back, but Ah've tweakit the wairds a bit syne. Tis basit on the auld Celtic kythin that Winter cam when the Crone hardenit the yirth wi her sillar (silver) hammer, an Spring cam when the Maiden (aiblins Bridgit) cam thro, wavin her white wand tae saften the yirth aince mair.


IMBOLCTIDE

When yon Auld Grannie gyres an gimps                
an unco dance on cranreuch groond                        
an gies her sillar curls a crimp,                        
Ye ken that Imbolc's comin roond.                        

When sillar hammers, blaw for blaw                        
fa habber-haird in hinmaist hone                        
then haud ye fast, for soon the thaw                        
will prize awa cauld winter's loan.                

Nae lang she'll lanesame bide, nor sup                 
Wi'oot the dochter she lo'es best;                         
Nae grannie redds the kailyaird up                        
But for the thocht o some comin guest!                
Nae mair the lanesame anvil-drum                
Will mark the pace o Grannie's dance--
The Lass o the Lintin Wand shall come                
An lowpin lambies hae their chaunce--                 

For Grannie Cailleach's time grows short                
An wee snaw-drappies rowthie ring                        
for Bridgit cams, blithe hope tae sport                
An after Bridgit cams-- the Spring!


Glossary: unco=strange, cranreuch=frosty, ken=know, Imbolc=Celtic Feast/source of Groundhog's Day, blaw=blow, fa=fall, habber=stutter, hinmaist=last, haud=hold, prize=pry, awa=away, wi'oot=without, dochter=daughter, redds the kailyaird up=cleans the place, thocht=thought, comin=coming, Lintin Wand=glinting wand of Bridgit, lowpin=leaping, chaunce=chance, Cailleach=crone/Celtic Earth-Goddess, snaw-drappies=snowdrops, rowthie=abundantly, cams=comes, blithe=joyous

--Yir vairsifyin lass, Cuilionn


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 04:55 AM

LOL!


You're welcome/!


A


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Teresa
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 01:41 AM

Thank you, Amos! How inspiring all you 'catters are; beautiful poems here!


The Ocean

Here is a water droplet
Aware of an ocean;
So near, so near ...
Where is it?
It can be heard;
It can be felt;
But as soon as it's grasped,
It can't be held.
It pours;
It seeps;
It is everywhere.

The drop of water
Is at first afraid
Not to know where it ends
And the ocean begins ...
"Where is the ocean?" it wants to know.

The ocean carries the droplet
The ocean is made up of this
And many others.

The drop of water
Forgets itself
And suddenly
There is only the ocean
Made up of everything the drop of water is
And much, much, much more!
(12-31-01

[And now, for something completely different ... ]


There once was a man of our time
Who tried his best to rhyme.
He thought and he thought,
His brain in a knot,
But all he could do was write nonsequiturs.
(11-05-03)
[sorry, couldn't resist; running away fast now ;) ]
Teresa


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Tang the Orangutan
Date: 29 Jan 04 - 01:05 AM

Ode To Lice

White and brown
Crawling on many legs
In the reddish brown jungle
Of my body hair
Communing with the fleas
Creating itches everywhere
Food for my empty belly
You crawl around me
Hiding amongst the mats
Of my soft long hair
Sucking my blood
Feeding your young
As I hunt for you
To eat you
A vicious circle.

TTO


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 28 Dec 03 - 07:38 PM

Through the years, we've grown used
to the truth-telling boor,
    so rejoice in the yeast
      and its white lies on beer --
in the bubble-borne boost
to the bedlam where you're
    a contented old beast
      in a Happy New Year.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bearheart
Date: 28 Dec 03 - 02:45 PM

Thanks all, I haven't even been able to read all of it, so many good words.

Little here has left me untouched-- but thanks especially to Peg and Deda for their contributions... and to Amos for the idea.

I'll be back for more.

Bekki


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,sandy creek
Date: 26 Dec 03 - 10:20 AM

dancing in the dark (growing up)

the boys hold up the wall
shuffling feet
in heat
afraid they will fall
if they step away...
the girls are all chatter
and clatter
of bangles and beads
and full of needs
of young women
coming of age...


post mortem(vietnam)

we felt much better
when the bad people died
we laughed
when the old women cried
it felt real good
when i killed him
i shot him
in the head
i held him by his hair
and shook him
as he bled
and laid on his bed
and sang death chants
with his children


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 25 Dec 03 - 11:55 AM

Sonnet 24/12/03                                    DCCCLXIX

Shall I light candles, thinking of my muse,
And the bright warmth that her smile gives to dawn?
Or should I incense burn, to let smoke choose
The future path to which my heart is drawn?
Shall I in solemn ceremony chant
A listing of desires, to offer wine
To wash away my fears? My efforts can't
Give absolution for dream she'd be mine.
Shall I in isolation inward turn,
To look upon forever, and abyss?
Is faith the answer, that my heart will learn
If I might find true heaven in her kiss?
I offer prayer to muse, that she might send
Enough of heart's desire to my soul mend.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 24 Dec 03 - 10:52 PM

Joy and Raedwolf, well done! I really like the way those read aloud.

The imagery in all recent postings is just wonderful. Thanks to all for sharing!

kat


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joybell
Date: 24 Dec 03 - 08:06 PM

Paddy was a little boy who was a Changling - (in modern terms a brain-damaged human child) He loved old fashioned stories and songs. "Undies" was the funniest word he knew, but it wouldn't fit into this poem. One day he wandered into the Australian bush and was never found.

PADDY'S SONG

Come away with me my Faerie-child
Away from the tears and pain
Come away my Changling, Faerie-child
Back to your home again.

You shall wear, on your golden curls
A shining, jewelled crown
Your shirt shall be of the finest silk
Your cloak of the feather-down.

A sleek grey hound I'll give to you
And a hawk with a sad, sweet cry
And you shall ride a Faerie steed
Into the sunset sky.

Silver-shod his hoofs shall be
And gaily you shall ride
A saddle hung with silver bells
A sword hung by your side.

By day we'll sleep 'neath the mossy bank
On a bed of the Wildwood flowers
And you must not heed the mortal ones
Who call through the sunshine hours.

And we shall rise in the green twilight
With a warm wind in our hair
And ride away to the Rainbow bridge
And cross in the evening air.

So come away my Faerie-child
Away from your Earth-bound pain
Come away my Faerie Changling child
Back to your home again.

                         Paddy's friend Joy


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 24 Dec 03 - 06:20 PM

Pretty work, Raedwolf!!

Peg -- breathtaking images and overtones. Love it!!

A


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Raedwulf
Date: 24 Dec 03 - 05:08 PM

90% perspiration, 10% inspiration? More like 1% inspiration, 99% blind panic! My medieval society holds a Gorsedd (song, poetry or story) every Autumn. I made the mistake of winning it in 2001 (with a story). This granted me the dubious privilege of opening the Gorsedd in 2002.

I rarely poet, being (like Kipling, a writer I much admire) a storyteller & wordsmith, rather than a genuine po! ;) Nevertheless, for a cause that will never be adequately explained, I just had to write a poem... I sat under an Avebury stone (I wish I could claim some poetic inspiration from this, but no, I have the sensitivity of a brick...) on Friday afternoon desperately scribbling that which would be performed the following evening, trying to capture the essence of the competition that would follow my Intro piece...

It seemed to work... :)

I AM



I am the laughter in the voice
The sparkle in the eyes
The sorrow in the heart
I am the darkness at the core

I am the words that stir your soul
And the melody that lifts your heart
I am the ache of empty loneliness
And the strength that carries to the end

I am a candle, a bowl, a mysterious stranger
The cry of gulls, a stout companion, I am a silken thread
I am the raven, the lion, the broken word
The tattered rags, a forest's gloom, and the warming welcoming fire

I am the silent footfall that pursues
The unexpected cracking twig
The eyes that glitter in the night
The howling carried on the wind…

I am the shining sun, the driving rain
The boundless joy, the endless pain
I am the snowy blanket, the wind in the hair
I am the chill of death, & the life that dares…

I am madness and reason, both in one
The axe that severs bone from bone
I am the cunning and guile that steals as it please
I am the love that cleaves close, and the love that frees

Can you guess my name? This I doubt
For I am every thing, I am no thing
I am the song, I am the story
I am the Gorsedd

I am begun…


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Peg
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 02:40 PM

ooh! Amos, nice one! I a very curious as to what it's about...

I will share one I wrote about a month ago...



Transplendent We

It's deceptive, this light at Hallows.
A mask of wind and water, spinning, sparkling,
like silver spokes, or falling leaves, or candy floss,
or false conviviality, too-fast friends.
As the river curves to meet us, we shamble along,
soaked with mist, parched for ale,
like troubadours, or troubled ghosts,
on our way to a midnight market,
there to choose cakes and berries from the goblin stalls,
in the shadow of forbidden castles and glowing maples,
the walkways bright as coins beneath our feet.

Here where the sloping banks converge,
the trees lean in, as if to kiss,
thorned and black on the right, airy and golden on the left,
Bacchus, Hecate,
Apollo, Aphrodite,
nuzzling, glancing approval as we invent words
to mark this season of harvest.
No yellow moon, no sheaves of wheat, no bawdy lyric,
but ploughshares swinging,
hoofed beasts clocking over wet grey streets to sleep in tranquil
   barns.

The red blush creeping up your throat surprises us all,
like brazen hollyhocks that suddenly realize
they've reached the second floor.
Dizzy with drink and drunk on autumn's ether,
we find the otherworld we've sought all evening.
Its hollow hills ring, empty as dessicated bulbs,
yet bright with color, flowing with nectar,
its great halls lit with rustic lanterns,
candles set in carved-out turnips, meant to keep spirits at bay,
and yet soon the very air is keening.
The sky is slowly tinted green.
Our tongues are slippery with juice.
The clock strikes three, three times,
and we are younger than we were.

I started to like you, your small hands like Proustian sweets.
I started to like you, you and your words like dark abundant rain,
poppyseeds poured out on cobblestones.
Simple folk we, laughing long songs like books of fruited verse.
There where the cats consider the canal,
the moon at last emerges, and we become
more and more
unfashionable by the minute.
I conjure a forest from a single tree:
like ardent sloths, we hold fast to its mutant trunk,
hard, rough, pulsing with faint heat.
It multiplies into a fairy-tale wood, varied as Paradise,
thick with English bluebells and rhetorical mushrooms;
it smells of sex and stagnant water,
hashish, leafmold, bile and burnt sugar, rotting velvet,
and tobacco that ought to be Turkish.

We could be anywhere: a Holland of the Mind,
or drowned Ys, forgotten Brittany,
a temple of jewels in Morocco,
a chalk hillside hewn by pagan muralists,
a green field in America,
a Danish bog stuffed with dead druids,
Constantinople, Brigadoon,
or a fragrant churchyard that beckons in dreams,
like mementos from a love lost in war-time,
coal-dust in your hair, violets in your pocket.

The veil between the worlds is thin, they say, tonight.
And if we walk now to the marketplace
(we fancy it built of fog and fireflies)
the goblins will smile, cry hail and welcome!
They nod their heads, stroke our hair, grasp our fingers,
whisper, yes, the veil grows thin, grows thin.
They hand us three lengths of shimmering cloth,
dyed the colour of winter plums, smelling of old roses.
We give them all the gold we have.
We wrap ourselves in purple.
We wake, and seven days have passed, or seven years.
Our fingers are torn, stained red with fruit.
Our lips are bruised, and taste of truth.
I touch your mouth, and it is the sun.


Leiden, Samhain, 2003


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 23 Dec 03 - 02:26 PM

Lady In the Greens


Choosing green colors, braver souls
Forswear the blues,
Discard the grays,
Pursue fire in the form, and
Demand life or nothing.

These are the hearts -- bright blooms on the
screen of the soul, detected like nuclear tests,
The signature, unmistakeable,
of souls unwilling to die and
Choosing greens for all nows...

Fired in the bone, brightened in eye
These are the ones who see and
Who have learned the name of freedom
Is saying what you have seen, just
Part of the package, one
Well worth defending.

If hearts can go out, these
Always do, and mine
As part of this amazing
light-webbed world
Goes, so, to you.

This is the web that births song --
The one the birds in morning fly to --
How is it, when I approach its center,
I see you,smiling?


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 10 Sep 03 - 11:05 AM

ObSongs: I wrote this in 1953; it was published in my high school's magazine. The tune that inspired it was that of "Golden Vanity".

An Argument About That Which is Holy

There are many ghosts in life,
But a ghost begets love
And love begets curiosity
And curiosity begets light
And light kills ghosts.


"Once you learn a song, it is dead:
A song out of the darkness attracts you;
It is soft and beautiful:
It is an angel or a ghost
Floating free.
But you love it
And catch it somewhere else,
Get a good look,
Write it down,
Learn it, sing it,
Chain it to a piece of paper and a brain,
Enslave it, make it do your bidding,
And it seems to pine away and die in chains."

"But this is all wrong!
                Not red-blooded --
Ghosts are killed by their descendants; they are cannibal;
Not fit; they'll die out:
Facts and fun live on, and that is good;
That is the way to look at it:
Dying men leave ghosts, but dying ghosts
Leave better things behind:
Sing your song loudly -- give the spirits blood!"


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Barden of England
Date: 10 Sep 03 - 02:33 AM

Amos

You can hear the first part of 'Why?' at the following URL:- http://www.folknet.co.uk/johnbarden/sounds.htm . There are 1 minute samples from some of my other songs there too.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Jack Lewin
Date: 05 Sep 03 - 11:54 AM

Ode to Pete and Jack

On every farm not long ago
You had to have a team
To turn the sod, to haul the hay
To realize your dreams

Pete and Jack, you did just that!
That and so much more
You hauled the wood that fed the fires
You worked hard every day
If you didn't do what you did so well
We wouldn't be here today

With power and grace and steady of pace
The future rested on your backs'
So raise your glases and offer a toast
To the memory of Pete and Jack!

Cheers
jl


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 05 Sep 03 - 09:48 AM

Well! those are both mighty fine verses. Guest, your tale on New Hampshire is especially funny and well-built. John. I really like the song. Love to hear it.

A


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Barden of England
Date: 05 Sep 03 - 03:48 AM

I had a tune going round in my head, and these words sort of 'popped' out. I think they work as a poem too, which isn't always so with words from songs.


WHY?   © John Barden 1999

Why worry 'bout tomorrow, when tomorrow never comes?
Why fill yourself with sorrow, when joy within you runs?
Softly, slowly, listen hard you'll find.
Deep down, in there, an inner peace of mind.
So don't be blind

Why talk of all this fighting, when it always leads to war?
So many wrongs need righting, tell me what they do that for?
Can't they, just see, it's all a waste of life.
Each one precious to a mother, father, wife.
And child of strife.

Why fill our air with gasses, when it's none that we can breathe?
Why impoverish the masses, when they're just the ones we need?
Give of yourself, compassion is a start.
Soon you'll notice, the world of which you're a part.
Cross my heart.

Why is our planet dying, when it's all been done for greed?
Why are politicians lying, when the simply is no need?
Just once, maybe, they'll think of you and me.
No self interest, just let the people be.
Well - wait and see.

Why worry 'bout tomorrow, when tomorrow never comes?
Why fill yourself with sorrow, when joy within you runs?
Softly, slowly, listen hard you'll find.
Deep down, in there, an inner peace of mind.
So don't be blind


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 10:54 PM

No doggerelists need apply

(Inspired by the currently ongoing scouring of the shires of New Hampshire for a poet laureate)

The poets of the Granite State
From top gun down to not-so-great
Are clucking like a brood of hens,
They seek a Poet Laureate.

Let's hope those folks will take up pens
Who write verse no one comprehends,
(For clarity is worse than rhyme)
And nominate themselves - or friends.

For those who grasp the paradigm,
And are in versifying prime,
Who know enigma wins the day,
This is indeed a heady time.

You'll sense those poets by their ways,
They've not quite shaken all clichés,
With sandals, flowery dress or beard,
Or strutting round in French berets.

Soon one will be e'en more revered,
Raised aloft, with fame veneered
With ancient Greek-style laurels crowned,
In shopping malls and classrooms cheered.

Will our next Laureate be found
Like Dalai Lama, unrenowned,
In humble, rural trailer park,
And academia confound?

Or will it be a hierarch,
Who has already left a mark
Within the corridors of fame,
With rhymeless verse, obscure and stark?


New Hampshire poets seek a name,
It matters not if Knight or Dame,
A hayseed or a city dwellah,
To fill the vacant throne's the aim.

Please help them find their Cinderella
That poetess or poet fellah
Think – who could be the Laureate?
Now mail that choice to Pat Frisella*.

*Pat Frisella is the President of New Hampshire Poetry Society.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 10:40 PM

Skipper:

Your granddaughter has the real poet's genius in her -- let it be fostered!!

A


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 10:20 PM

Heavy stuff for a 14 yr old, Kendall, you've a right to be proud of her. I LOVE your Hazards...love to read those kinds of poems out loud...one can be so dramatic! Thanks!


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: kendall
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 07:30 PM

Here is a poem from my 14 year old grand daughter. Her father is a misogynist rat bastard who abused her. I didn't know it until he was long gone.


The world is too close in us
Late and early
Caressing and dying we lay waste our powers
Little we see in grief that is ours
We have given our love away,
A bleeding death.
This demise that lays vulnerable to the lies
This hound that wails into the night,
And, is collected now, like bleeding flowers,
For this, for everything, we are discomforted,
It does not touch us,
But, still, we ask,
"How could you do this to me"?
I'd rather be a child, wrapped in a torn shirt
So that I, running on this broken land,
Could have glimpses to make me less forlorn
And, see myself rising from the sea
And hear the Gods blare comfort from a horn.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: kendall
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 07:26 PM

That was based on a true incident, but I did stretch the truth a bit.
If I can figure out how to do it, I'll submit one that was written by my 14 year old grand daughter.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: kendall
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 07:24 PM

HAZARDS TO NAVIGATION       by kendall morse

Did I ever tell you people, about a time long years ago,
When Jackson and I left No Man's, in a fog that hung heavy and low?
From No Man's into Camden, is almost 30 miles, no radar in those days, dead reckoning all the while.
Coming across Penobscot Bay in a fog that was dungeon thick, I knew we could be run down, by tanker or a cargo ship.
We could hear the horns and whistles of those monsters all around, One could ram us in that soup and never hear a sound.
Jack was standing on the bow to get a better view, "We're surrounded Cap'n" he yelled back "What are we gonna do"?
"Throw some of them Maine potatoes, like snowballs, hard as you can, and, if one of them don't splash, I'll know it's time to turn."

We left the channel far behind, but, I couldn't find The Graves,
Our time was up, and it wasn't there, and, the Mate began to rave.
His girl was waiting on the shore, all the time we were at sea,
And the last thing in the world he wanted to do, was spend another hour with me.

He'd had enough of the sea that day, but, I just let him steam, I killed the engine and listened hard, for that buoy off our beam.
We didn't know which way to head, 'cause we didn't know where we were,
The buoy I wanted wasn't there was all I knew for sure.

Then all at once, it came to me, the smell of new mown hay,
And, a real odd sound come with it from somewhere across the bay.
In that soup we didn't know we were so close to the shore,
But, a boy was out there mowing his lawn, we could hear his engine roar!
"We're lost in the fog," I hollered, "After a week at sea, how do you get to Camden"?
He said, "My Dad takes me."
There was no help there, so,we came about to get her well off shore, then, the fog gave up, and there was The Graves, 'twas only a mile or more.
We tied her up in Camden, after a long hard jog, and we promised ourselves that never again would we sail in that kind of fog.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 04 Sep 03 - 02:48 PM

Chez La Lune

Yes, she had beauty, sure and clear
Reaching   deep in the eye, and calmly still
That sort of beauty which invites the see'r
To think of dying or retiring, all fulfilled.

Perhaps too beautiful to care,
Like some confection, bringing hard remorse
Seeming more appetite than truth
Like guileful fire, painted on a screen of force,

Or musical deception, luring hearts away
With the tones and rhythms of imagined hours,
Lying delightfully about the end of winter
Until the silence came, killing the flowers.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: katlaughing
Date: 13 Jun 03 - 12:01 AM

Very evocative, Amergindarlin'....


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 12 Jun 03 - 05:29 PM

I found this in my saved drafts in one of my email addresses....its a couple of years old...

Standing On the Dyke

I stand on the dyke...
Watching the river gurgle across the sunburnt stones...

I stand on the dyke...
Listening to the bees buzz in my ear...

The wind blows through my hair...
Whistling as he clambers through the trees...

The wind blows through my hair...
Dancing with the grass tickling my knees...

Swimmers dive beneath the river...
Cool water slides passed their faces...

Swimmers dive beneath the river...
Rushing downwards to meet with wet embraces...

Lovers stand on the shoreline...
Their laughter marching lightly up the bank...

Lovers stand on the shoreline...
Whispers of love spoken in their eyes...

I turn back to an empty house...
Ghosts gently peaking through the curtains...

I turn back to an empty house...
Slowly, I step through a darkened doorway, alone...

nathan tompkins 2001


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Mudlark
Date: 17 Apr 03 - 01:38 AM

Thanks for all submissions...not surprising that Mudcatters are good poets. Here's one of mine

OLD MOON

The moon, squashed and misshapen
        Rises above a jumble of pickup sticks--
                Crossed contrails in the night sky.

No slim crescent this, its void a
        Future contract, its open circle
                So suggestive of possibilities, fulfillment.

Neither has it the lush ripeness
        Of the full moon, clearly at the top
                Of her game, all promises granted.

No, gravity has had it's way with
        This moon, blowsy now and bulging,
                Firm contours gone, symmetry erased.

How could it come to this, the moon
        Asks, gazing sadly into some puddle or
                Sylvan pond, in just four short days?

Like some earthly body she is shocked
        At the disparity between mirror and
                Inner eye, an unwilling shape-shifter.

She wraps herself in veils of cloud
        And climbs high into the sky, knowing
                The kindness of distance, and waits for day.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 16 Apr 03 - 02:04 PM

Sonnet 07/05/02        Banshee                DCLXXXVIII

It was an odd noise that I heard, this night:
Not quite a scream, but far more than a gasp,
From moonless darkness, with no stars in sight.
What is this coldness, that my insides clasp?
Why do I weaken, hearing sound so far
Only the echo reaches ear, yet mind
Is twisted from intent? How can I bar
Gate of imagination to wyrd bind?
I fall, boneless with fright, and sweat breaks out;
Bowels turn to water with despair. I weep,
To lose all. I moan, but cannot give shout
To more than whimper, nor my reason keep.
She passes, and I live! Yet dare not rise
For fear of seeing Death within her eyes.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 16 Apr 03 - 10:16 AM

To us, who travel time,
All stories have been heard before;
Head full of folk-songs.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Celtaddict
Date: 15 Apr 03 - 10:56 PM

Glad to find haiku amongst folkies.

       Swirl-black Spanish lace,
       Backed by wool of oyster white:
       Winter tree and sky.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Uncle_DaveO
Date: 15 Apr 03 - 06:35 PM

The fourth-last line should be, of course:

But the modest girl does not chase bachelors    (plural)

Dave Oesterreich


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Uncle_DaveO
Date: 15 Apr 03 - 06:32 PM

I saw a two-line joke in the Saturday Evening Post 50-some years ago. Thus a poem of sorts, and then a song. The poem is as follows:

Come all you young maidens and listen
And gain some instruction from me.
Be modest, demure, and retiring,
And chase not the bachelor so free.
Oh, do not act bold, free, and brazen;
Be modest, retiring and shy.
Men flee from the woman who chases
And the brazen young lady pass by.
But the modest girl does not chase bachelors
As doubtless you have been aware,
For the modest girl does not chase bachelors
As the bear-trap does not chase the bear!

Dave Oesterreich


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 15 Apr 03 - 04:59 PM

Plain Beauty, Too

The plain side has its own time and bend--
Not so bright, but long, long --
Which must be known to comprehend
The rainbow song.

Bright colors, alas, can be too easy; shrill
In seeming, rich in fear,
When even fire can be fooled, and Will
Will not stand near.

With effort plain, sharing the ground,
Even a dirge will show an honest face
To anyone whose name is bound
And earned in common space.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Micca
Date: 22 Feb 03 - 07:47 PM

Everyone knows exactly where
They were, it's sad alas
Like older folks in a different time
First heard the news from Dallas

World events leave lasting marks
On us or so it seems
And how and when we heard the news
Is etched into our dreams


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 22 Feb 03 - 01:08 PM

I'll start this one.


Where were you standing
when the towers fell.
What were you doing
when the Earth hung suspended
between heaven and hell.


If you care to, jump in and add it to or change it or do whatever you like, then pass it on.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 22 Feb 03 - 12:30 PM

Dances in Silence




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 teeth of hearts again.

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


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: EJ
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 06:47 PM

Does anyone have any poetry written to honor the events of 911? I have read some great works in this thread. EJ


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,stone
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 02:38 PM

On Losing Your Friend

There is no song
for a broken heart
and no place to start
when no stone
is left to turn
and no lesson
is left to learn.
The spirit is dark when
there is no gift for giving.
We are not yet dead.
We have just quit living.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Schantieman
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 01:54 PM

I wrote this addition to William Blake's Jerusalem many years ago. It always seemed to me (singing it) that it needed another verse, and the sentiments are a bit old-fashioned. This brings it up to date a bit.


And shall the joy be thus confined,
Cease at the bounds of England's shore?
Shall minds be closed and hearts unmoved
While mute starvation pleads for more?
This must not be, we shall fight on -
Our love extend, our greed destroy.
Then truly shall Jerusalem
The whole world o'er shout out her joy!


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Rustic Rebel
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 01:43 PM

Vodka makes me turn pretty red
Tequila makes me forget what I said,
Whiskey makes me wish you were dead,
I think I should smoke pot, instead!


Peace. Rustic, getting deep!


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,Promises like pie crust by C Rossetti sound
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 12:57 PM

The reclusive mystical genius Christina Rossetti expressed so many of her thoughts and frustrations through her poetry this delightful lyrical poem gives us perhaps some insight into the mind of this deeply religious Victorian lady who shunned close friendship prefering to live within her close-knit family unit away from the attentions of outsiders who perhaps she never entirely trusted....Heres the link to the page with the sound file..
Promises like pie crust by Christina Rossetti 1830 - 1894 (sound poem set to mus


Regards.

Jim Clark

PS..Dont forget you can if you prefer listen to my sound poems at my Yahoo "sound poetry" web group (look in "files") heres that link
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/bloozman_uk/

All rights are reserved on this sound recording/copyright/patent Jim Clark 2003

Promises like pie crust

Promise me no promises,
So will I not promise you:
Keep we both our liberties,
Never false and never true:
Let us hold the die uncast,
Free to come as free to go:
For I cannot know your past,
And of mine what can you know?

You, so warm, may once have been
Warmer towards another one:
I, so cold, may once have seen
Sunlight, once have felt the sun:
Who shall show us if it was
Thus indeed in time of old?
Fades the image from the glass,
And the fortune is not told.

If you promised, you might grieve
For lost liberty again:
If I promised, I believe
I should fret to break the chain.
Let us be the friends we were,
Nothing more but nothing less:
Many thrive on frugal fare
Who would perish of excess.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 12:51 PM

Thought Bazaar


We are the thought mongers. We make hard noise.
Guts rumble with unquenchable smoke – the furnace only roars.
Heads rattle with machinery, attitudes built into plastic parts,
The rattle of fast translations, too hard to love, that love destroys.
Peering through windows where we build no doors,
Fanning minds not joined to human hearts.
We have left no-one on watch in the furnace-room below.
No fires call -- the basement is adrift in blowing snow.

We are churning the chimes of the weird bazaar
As all our kind do, and have since young.
Smoke throated, voices aflame
Tongues waving at the hopeless stars
Hopes in mean messages, meanly flung
And the hard calling of names.
And, floating up from the furnace room below,
Coals scream, surrendering to snow.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST,stone
Date: 21 Feb 03 - 08:55 AM

sniper

when we did our killing
we slid from sight
we left no shadow
      we hid our faces
      ten paces
      from the light


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: posterchild
Date: 20 Feb 03 - 02:46 PM

Sandy Creek, your war poems are very strong. Do you have more? If you do please post them or email them to me.

Thank you, Aronelle


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Sandy Creek
Date: 20 Feb 03 - 07:50 AM

Where was I
when yesterday came
when the stars
of last night
stayed out of sight
hidden behind
the only cloud
in the sky
I missed the sound
when day broke
striking back
from the dark.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Dexter
Date: 19 Feb 03 - 10:50 AM

yes. thank you.

dex


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 18 Feb 03 - 10:49 PM

Very droll, Dexter.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Dexter
Date: 18 Feb 03 - 09:53 PM

Ode to a Bluebird
Good morning, little bluebird
Upon my windowsill.
I saw you in my dreams,
And now, I see you still
Dancing to and fro
Upon my window ledge,
Fresh from last night's rest
Of nesting in a hedge;
And, as I see your beauty
Against the morning fog,
I hit you with the waste can,
And feed you to my dog.


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