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Thread: World Poetry Day, 2016

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    Standing Wolf's Avatar Senior Member
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    World Poetry Day, 2016

    I posted one of my favorite poems, Alden Nowlan's 'The Execution', on another thread.

    Here's another favorite.

    Traveling through the Dark

    Traveling through the dark I found a deer
    dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
    It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
    that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

    By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car
    and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;
    she had stiffened already, almost cold.
    I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

    My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
    her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,
    alive, still, never to be born.
    Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

    The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;
    under the hood purred the steady engine.
    I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;
    around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

    I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,
    then pushed her over the edge into the river.

    - William Stafford
    Last edited by Standing Wolf; 03-21-2016 at 11:10 AM.

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  3. #2
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    The Bridge Builder

    By Will Allen Dromgoole

    An old man going a lone highway,
    Came, at the evening cold and gray,
    To a chasm vast and deep and wide.
    Through which was flowing a sullen tide
    The old man crossed in the twilight dim,
    The sullen stream had no fear for him;
    But he turned when safe on the other side
    And built a bridge to span the tide.

    “Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
    “You are wasting your strength with building here;
    Your journey will end with the ending day,
    You never again will pass this way;
    You’ve crossed the chasm, deep and wide,
    Why build this bridge at evening tide?”

    The builder lifted his old gray head;
    “Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
    “There followed after me to-day
    A youth whose feet must pass this way.
    This chasm that has been as naught to me
    To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be;
    He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
    Good friend, I am building this bridge for him!”

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    That's a thought-provoking one, Wolf.



    Here's one of my favorites:

    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 $#@!
    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 the 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.

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    Here is my contribution. World's shortest poem with the worlds longest title.

    Exclamation of a Young Lady upon finding a dead bug

    Ugh

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    William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)
    THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
    Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. ― Gustav Mahler

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    This really is one of favorite poems. I know its a child's poem but I like it

    James James
    Morrison Morrison
    Weatherby George Dupree
    Took great
    Care of his Mother,
    Though he was only three.
    James James Said to his Mother,
    "Mother," he said, said he;
    "You must never go down
    to the end of the town,
    if you don't go down with me."

    James James
    Morrison's Mother
    Put on a golden gown.
    James James Morrison's Mother
    Drove to the end of the town.
    James James Morrison's Mother
    Said to herself, said she:
    "I can get right down
    to the end of the town
    and be back in time for tea."

    King John
    Put up a notice,
    "LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
    JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
    SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
    LAST SEEN
    WANDERING VAGUELY:
    QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
    SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
    TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
    FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"
    James James
    Morrison Morrison
    (Commonly known as Jim)
    Told his
    Other relations
    Not to go blaming him.
    James James
    Said to his Mother,
    "Mother," he said, said he:
    "You must never go down to the end of the town
    without consulting me."

    James James
    Morrison's mother
    Hasn't been heard of since.
    King John said he was sorry,
    So did the Queen and Prince.
    King John
    (Somebody told me)
    Said to a man he knew:
    If people go down to the end of the town, well,
    what can anyone do?"

    (Now then, very softly)
    J.J.
    M.M.
    W.G.Du P.
    Took great
    C/0 his M*****
    Though he was only 3.
    J.J. said to his M*****
    "M*****," he said, said he:
    "You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-
    if-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"

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    My wife, son and I were talking about music lyrics last night, and I mentioned that in my Junior year of high school, ca. 1970-71, in English class, we studied the lyrics from 'Jesus Christ, Superstar' as poetry. My wife said that in one of her classes they had done the same thing with the songs of Simon and Garfunkel.

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    What is poetry other than words, what are song lyrics other than words. Both are meant to convey images or thoughts. I don't see the difference.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Standing Wolf View Post
    My wife, son and I were talking about music lyrics last night, and I mentioned that in my Junior year of high school, ca. 1970-71, in English class, we studied the lyrics from 'Jesus Christ, Superstar' as poetry. My wife said that in one of her classes they had done the same thing with the songs of Simon and Garfunkel.

    Some of the most heartfelt poetry in the world is memorialized in song. Something about the combination of the words and the melody. How many have ridden/driven/flown into war singing? And Amazing Grace? Nothing, without the lilting bagpipes.

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    Here's one that is both music and poetry

    Well, I heard there was a secret chord
    That David played and it pleased the Lord
    But you don't really care for music, do you?
    Well it goes like this:
    The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift
    The baffled king composing Hallelujah

    Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

    Well your faith was strong but you needed proof
    You saw her bathing on the roof
    Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya
    She tied you to her kitchen chair
    She broke your throne and she cut your hair
    And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

    Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

    Baby, I've been here before
    I've seen this room and I've walked this floor (you know)
    I used to live alone before I knew ya
    And I've seen your flag on the marble arch
    And love is not a victory march
    It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

    Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

    There was a time when you let me know
    What's really going on below
    But now you never show that to me, do ya?
    But remember when I moved in you
    And the holy dove was moving too
    And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

    Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...

    Maybe there's a God above
    But all I've ever learned from love
    Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya
    And it's not a cry that you hear at night
    It's not somebody who's seen the light
    It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

    Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
    Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah...
    Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah
    Hallelujah, hallelujah



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