









Silence--a strangled
Telephone has forgotten
That it should ring
Michael R. Collings (Urban haiku poet)
"Haiku (hy-koo) is a traditional Japanese verse form, notable for its compression and suggestiveness. In three lines totaling seventeen syllables measuring 5-7-5, a great haiku presents, through imagery drawn from intensely careful observation, a web of associated ideas (renso) requiring an active mind on the part of the listener."
I have to strongly jump to say that John Donne was probably close to what could be considered a favorite poet of mine.
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/elegy20.htm
"What needest thou have more covering than a man"
This one, fairly often, springs to mind. Considering the masterfulness of the full work, I find myself referring to it often. It's about smoking.
--Excerpt from On Behalf of Joe
"No Vices?
we are dirty, filthy folk
corralled further and further into
little leper colonies"
-Actively Conceding Tributes.
People are not ruled by their memories.
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe
This was always my favorite John Donne:
Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like a usurped town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
^^I've often thought, how funny it would be, to totally plagiarize an excerpt of John Donne in the form of a hand written note to hand a stripper after like a ton of dances.
Considering the average stripper wouldn't know who Donne is.
People are not ruled by their memories.
I actually regularly think how funny it is to pass off the work of any number of well-known authors as my own considering how the average customer hasn't opened a book since high school and is borderline illiterate.
But then I think I "Gosh, that is sort of elitist and judgmental. And am I ever anticipating my own superiority to a stranger I know nothing about except that he goes to strip clubs, as well as imposing my own intellectual values on the universe at large. Well, that isn't very nice of me, now, is it?" So I've never done it and instead stick to establishing my superiority on a one-on-one basis.
I have taught that the sky in all its zones is mortal and its substance was formed by a process of birth
Hahahah so you got the joke!
Buuuurrrrnnnnnnnnnn. Nice though!
People are not ruled by their memories.





Glitter winks like stars
On the face of the dancer
Leasing sweet relief.
- Haiku Bastard
THE HARPY
by Robert W. Service
There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.
There is no hope for such as I on earth, nor yet in Heaven;
Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;
A loathed jade, I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.
I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;
Mine eyes with wine I make them shine, that man may seek and sate;
With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait
Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;
Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones -- 'tis I who know their shame.
The gods, ye see, are brutes to me -- and so I play my game.
For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;
And Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can --
Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;
Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire,
Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;
For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.
And though you know he love you so and set you on love's throne;
Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,
Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.
From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow,
And wedding ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe,
And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.
Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,
With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay --
With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.
One who in youth sought truest truth and found a devil's lies;
A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice.
Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?
Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?
The Maker marred, and, evil-starred, I drift upon His tide;
And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.
Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart".
The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part;
The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.




"A Blessing," by James Wright
Just off the Highway to Rochester, Minnesota
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
--From Above the River
I've never known who wrote this, but someone gave me a printed copy that just said "anonymous" after my brother died. I just googled it to find out, and one wensite credits a Norma Cornett Marek, though I'm not sure how accurate that is. Maybe I'm partial b/c of what it means to me..... My favorite poem ever:
If Tomorrow Never Comes
If I knew it would be the last time
that I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.
If I knew it would be the last time
that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
and call you back for one more.
If I knew it would be the last time
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would videotape each action and word,
so I could play them back day after day.
If I knew it would be the last time,
I would spare an extra minute or two
to stop and say "I love you,"
instead of assuming you would know I do.
If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more,
so I can let just this one slip away.
For surely there's always tomorrow
to make up for an oversight,
and we always get a second chance
to make everything right.
There will always be another day
to say "I love you,"
and certainly there's another chance
to say our "Anything I can do's?"
But just in case I might be wrong,
and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you
and I hope we never forget,
tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
young or old alike.
And today may be the last chance you get
to hold your loved one tight.
So if you're waiting for tomorrow,
why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes,
you'll surely regret the day
that you didn't take that extra time
for a smile, a hug, or a kiss,
and you were too busy to grant someone,
what turned out to be their one last wish.
So hold your loved ones close today,
whisper in their ear,
tell them how much you love them
and that you'll always hold them dear.
Take time to say "I'm sorry,"
"please forgive me," "thank you," or "it's okay."
And if tomorrow never comes,
you'll have no regrets about today.
(just click to donate FREE food to those in need...REALLY!)





New Form of Poetry
"Vertical-bar"? Whatever happened to "pipe"?
The following poem appeared recently in INFOCUS magazine. The authors were Fred Bremmer and Steve Kroese of Calvin College & Seminary of Grand Rapids, MI.
A poll conducted among INFOCUS readers had established "waka" as the proper pronunciation for the angle-bracket characters <> though some readers held out resolutely for "norkies."
The text of the poem follows:
<> !*''#
^"`$$-
!*[email protected]$_
%*<> ~#4
&[]../
|{,,SYSTEM HALTED
The poem can only be appreciated by reading it aloud, to wit:
Waka waka bang splat tick tick hash,
Caret quote back-tick dollar dollar dash,
Bang splat equal at dollar under-score,
Percent splat waka waka tilde number four,
Ampersand bracket bracket dot dot slash,
Vertical-bar curly-bracket comma comma CRASH.
The Gigglizer #106





I've always liked the imagery in a peom by Siegfried Sassoon - a British poet who served in the trenches in the First World War. It's called "The Last Meeting" and is about when Sassson meets the ghost of a friend who was killed in battle. It's too long to quote here but part goes:
Ah! but there was no need to call his name.
He was beside me now, as swift as light.
I knew him crushed to earth in scentless flowers,
And lifted in the rapture of dark Pines.
"For now, he said, "my spirit has more eyes
Than heaven has stars; and they are lit by love.
My body is the magic of the world,
And dawn and sunset flame with my spilt blood.
My breath is the great wind, and I am filled
With molten power and surge of the bright waves
That chant my doom along the ocean's edge.
"Look in the faces of the flowers and find
The innocence that shrives me; stoop to the stream
That you may share the wisdom of my peace.
For talking water travels undismayed.
The luminous willows lean to it with tales
Of the young earth; and swallows dip their wings
Where showering hawthorn strews the lanes of light.
"I can remember summer in one thought
Of wind-swept green, and deeps of melting blue,
And scent of limes in bloom; and I can hear
Distinct the early mower in the grass,
Whetting his blade along some morn of June.
"For I was born to the round world's delight,
And knowledge of enfolding motherhood,
Whose tenderness, that shines through constant toil,
Gathers the naked children to her knees.
In death I can remember how she came
To kiss me while I slept; still I can share
The glee of childhood; and the fleeting gloom
When all my flowers were washed with rain of tears.
"I triumph in the choruses of birds,
Bursting like April buds in gyres of song.
My meditations are the blaze of noon
On silent woods, where glory burns the leaves.
I have shared breathless vigils; I have slaked
The thirst of my desires in bounteous rain
Pouring and splashing downward through the dark.
Loud storm has roused me with its winking glare,
And voice of doom that crackles overhead.
I have been tired and watchful, craving rest,
Till the slow-footed hours have touched my brows
And laid me on the breast of sundering sleep."
III
I know that he is lost among the stars
And may return no more but in their light
Though his hushed voice may call me in the stir
Of whispering trees, I shall not understand.
It was also Sassoon who write those incredibly bitter words about the crowds who cheered soldiers going off to war:
"You smug-faced crowds with kindling eye
Who cheer when soldier lads march by,
Sneak home and pray you'll never know
The hell where youth and laughter go."
Phil.
^ Thank you for posting that.



Oh, man... I've got so many! I might have to go search through my collections and return with a post the size of Peru, but I'll keep it to one or two for now.
Passer Mortuus Est
Death devours all lovely things
Lesbian and her sparrow
Share the darkness, presently
Every bed is narrow.
Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation
But tell me now, my erstwhile dear
My no longer cherished,
Must we say it was not love
Now that love has perished?
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
And my mantra for those long nights and early mornings:
Midnight Oil
Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,
But the time that Sleep takes off my life,
He'll take from the other end!
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
There are so many more!
Haikus are easy,
But sometimes they don't make sense:
Refrigerator.



There are too many to really choose a favorite but here are two that have stuck with me for a long time.
Macdonough's Song
by Rudyard Kipling
Whether the State can loose and bind
In Heaven as well as on Earth:
If it be wiser to kill mankind
Before or after the birth--
These are matters of high concern
Where State-kept schoolmen are;
But Holy State (we have lived to learn)
Endeth in Holy War.
Whether The People be led by The Lord,
Or lured by the loudest throat:
If it be quicker to die by the sword
Or cheaper to die by vote--
These are things we have dealt with once,
(And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
Endeth in wholly Slave.
Whatsoever, for any cause,
Seeketh to take or give
Power above or beyond the Laws,
Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King--
Or Holy People's Will--
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
Order the guns and kill!
Saying --after--me:--
Once there was The People--Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, 0 ye slain!
Once there was The People--it shall never be again!
In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae, May 1915
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep,
though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
You might reconize this poem from the end of the movie The Outsiders.
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