Posts tagged ‘poets corner’

March 23, 2020

Silences

by HemmingPlay

What an odd boy, they used to say of me.
They’re still saying it.
But I’m a writer, my dear, and not right in the head.
That’s all it is. But I do know how to
take my time and listen,
sitting under the willow tree in the spring as the birds
bring me happy messages from God.
I will take my time with other important things, too,
so lay your curves of water here beside me.

If this pleases you,
You may pay me back with your
gift of second sight,
and tell me where my true nature hides,
where my pain
scuttles unhealed,
my illusions fester.

I will love you all the more for it.
These are gifts we give, freely
and they bind us in profound ways
because they reveal.

read more »

March 20, 2020

Love in the Time of Corona

by HemmingPlay

I’ve grown tired of disappointing women.
And of being disappointed in them.
I know that’s too broad a conclusion
from a very small sample.
Don’t care. I need a break,
and Corvid-19 is a convenient excuse.

I’m hiding out from another virus
of my own making,
sheltering in place and
eating frozen vegetables.
Aware this might become permanent.

I had a long life with a woman who died,
a life better than most, I think,
not as good as some.
But still, what do I have to complain about?

Younger people have their difficulties,
stemming mostly from being naively stupid,
but older men and women bring
a lot of experienced stupidity to the bed, too.
(If it ever gets that far.)

read more »

March 16, 2020

Vanities

by HemmingPlay

Feel your belly button,
where you were attached to
your mother. But
try not to think about
about the night you were conceived.
Whether it was a result of
a hand up a skirt, urgent kisses
and fevered promises
and premature explanations
on your mother’s couch.
(After consultations with
your inner editor,
let’s instead say it was
after a long talk over wine,
Chopin on the stereo,
tender kisses and happy plans.)

What does it matter now? You’re here.
Don’t screw up.
That’s what it comes down to.

Or wind your watch forward
(humor me, you digital ones)
a thousand years.
Was there ever a coffin
built to last the whole trip?
One that was worth the price?
We could ask Tutenkamen, I suppose,
(Who was bad at office politics
and is still dead.)

read more »

March 12, 2020

Old and Young

by HemmingPlay

A difference between

the young and the old….

Most of the people the young loved

are still around.

March 11, 2020

Eyes

by HemmingPlay

I met a widow once,
wrapped in loss.
She said
she could not see a better
day coming.

I looked over my shoulder,
along the long road,  
and gave her my eyes.

March 2, 2020

Purpose

by HemmingPlay

Sooner or later
each of us asks
did I have a purpose?
What was I born to?

I had such a moment this morning.
Each of my life’s 2. 22 billion seconds
had to have gone exactly as it did
to bring me to this,

to experience the flock of warblers
that burst out of the sky
into the middle of my morning, singing
of their wild and precious lives–

up from Mexico, or Central America,
bonded in struggle from all those days aloft,
looking for food,
for grass and moss for a nest.

The things prayers are made of,
for this moment.

 

March 1, 2020

Mountain Morning

by HemmingPlay

The mountains, lustrous at dawn.
Below, here in the valley,
the droplets of last night’s rain
shimmer on blades and twigs, their
molecules respond to the sun
like a woman rising to
meet a beloved’s touch.

Wait.
Something is going on up there
on the deep-packed slope.
A whirling figure of white, of mist,
there, yet almost not;
A snow giant,
like a tranced dervish, twirls in
the morning’s new energies—
it whirls violently,
fingerless, wispy hands thrust
high into the cold blue,
200 feet tall, or more.
A mile, maybe. It’s hard
to tell from here, as it’s
insubstantial. Massive.

read more »

February 26, 2020

The Curvature of Water

by HemmingPlay

The curvature of water

And here, in the kingdom of clouds,
vast continents of mist
dwarf the mountains,
lumber lightly
in from the ocean,
float improbably, silently.
They sometimes, when the air is cold,
leak acres of crystal
in the high wilderness of fir and grizzly,
burying the trees and crags of the
inaccessible mystery in white.

And here, over the empire of emeralds,
they sweep and swell and
break apart and spill out
mighty rivers and silver lakes,
wash the air clean and
sift down through my willow tree,
bit by drop, sink from sight and
hurry to refill the ocean.

read more »

February 22, 2020

A “Best Advice To A New Incoming College Freshman” Limerick

by Joel Kravitz

My Alma Mater recently asked it’s alum what would be the best advice they could give an incoming freshman student. Of course, they were asking for real, serious and valuable advice. I had some of that for them – EMBRACE THE ADVENTURE. College will be a big part of the story of your life. Make it a story that you love to tell.

read more »

February 6, 2020

Questions That Come With Age

by HemmingPlay

185762016_0

The clock… relentless.
What’s my allotment going to be?
How to make the best of it?
How to keep dignity,
avoid a failure of imagination,
avoid self-pity….

“Savor each moment…”
Yes, well that’s a cliché.
I know what’s coming,
What I’ve lost for good.
The trick is to
Savor these, too,
With a little grace.

No lies in the mirror.
No false smiles.
No regrets.
No cruelties.
Kindnesses given
with no expectations.

There are enough
bitter herbs around.
But

One surprise smile is enough
to recharge a whole day.
Thank you, darlin’

read more »

February 5, 2020

Among Thistles and Roses

by HemmingPlay

I’ve disappointed a few.
A few have returned the favor;
I’m angry for a while at both of us, but
also wonder if I am simply wrong
to expect more.

My beard is grey, but inside
is the deluded spirit of Ulysses,
yearning to go down again to the sea
in ships, to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
But let me refill that cup, and from somewhere,
perhaps in my own throat—
is that a bird? or merely
the cry of a frightened child,
longing to be gentled
against the soft comforts of
undemanding love?

February 3, 2020

Island Moon

by HemmingPlay

Full moon sliding fast over the water,
enough to read by,
be burned by,
rolling bright and cool
to the west, painting
a wrinkled, twinkled path
on restless waves of
aching blue turned dark,
reflecting clouds and stars.

Magical island nights, but doomed.
As the moon waned
a little more each night,
so did the magic.
Precious, but fragile.

read more »

February 3, 2020

Distorted Passage

by HemmingPlay

I swim in
streams and rivers
instead of on land,
looking up
through ripples
seeing mere refractions
of unknowns
filtered through milky moonlight.

Down small creeks,
under
branches splitting
the sky,
dark firs waving in
the breeze like monks
chanting,
and oaks bragging of age;
rocks and crags,
shifting, rippling,
dropping dappled shards of
sunlight on
crystal, chuckling waters.

read more »

January 31, 2020

Cowgirl

by HemmingPlay


I encountered a young Colorado woman, once,
from a distance. Our trails crossed in our personal badlands.

A beauty, she had the raw fire of a mustang.
I caught her at a terrible time in her life.
Or should I say, she caught me.

Her marriage was coming apart,
her husband having lost interest and sunk into cruelty and betrayals.

We never met, except
as passing
electronic ghosts. She writhed and wrote of her pain,
her bruised pride and injured beauty.
She touched us with her anger and anguish,
her soul’s search for beauty nonetheless,
In that state she painted lurid images of
what she would do with me,
to me, what she wanted from me,
pinned against a wall, legs apart,
full of anger, fury, revenge.

read more »

January 29, 2020

Passion, Courage, Choice

by HemmingPlay

I have chosen to seek
each day the path of courage
and passion.
I fail, often.

I don’t
say this with bravado,
because I do not feel brave.
If I could choose something
easier, I would.
It never gets easier.

But to make the choice each day,
Each minute, to turn and
face the sadness and suffering,
of the world; the pain and joy,
each on it’s own terms
and not be defeated by it—
that is something that
must be chosen again,
and again, and again.
It is the job of poetry.
No compromises.

It is not a choice of pleasant fictions,
a diversion of entertaining nothingness;
nor like the fog of opium that
leaves us still breathing,
but dead.

Each night, darkness does not fall.
That is the wrong image.
Rather, when the earth spins away
from the sun, it rises up from the deep places
of the earth and the oceans, from
the caverns and the bottom of rivers and lakes and seas.
A deep exhalation.
A time for alternatives.

read more »

January 28, 2020

Too Anything

by HemmingPlay

She said it was too hot,
too slow,
too fat,
too skinny,
too long,
too short,
too near,
too far,
too messy,
too loose,
too tight,
too much,
too little,
too soon,
too late.

We were too drunk. Too stoned. Then, in the afternoon,
too sober.

But it was not, and never would be, too anything.
Except, maybe, too unkind.

January 28, 2020

School of the Electric Fence

by HemmingPlay

Photo by Richard Calmes

I suppose I knew this,
once upon a time,
but love is a little like
the electric fence I used to
crawl through to get to the woods.

You have to be cautious, not timid.

(I wouldn’t go so far as to agree with
Crosby when he said being with Joni was
like falling into a cement mixer.)

read more »

January 26, 2020

Grief Journey

by HemmingPlay

 

Loss and pains.
though just part of living…
set us apart,
others didn’t understand.
But we knew. We just knew. 

We wrapped ourselves 
in each other’s griefs,
grateful to need no explanations,, 
understanding without words;
afraid of more losses
(can I go through that again?) 
resisting pain, 
change and the unknown.

January 17, 2020

Lost to time passing

by Jem Croucher

In a small corner I curl
turning pages, I am lost to imagination
oblivious to time passing
minutes meld to hours
And this time is mine
Absorbing words from far away minds
Caught in that beautiful moment
when words caress my soul
with a comfort wholly realised

read more »

January 5, 2020

How To Write Poetry

by HemmingPlay
wisaawa-szymborskaAdvice for blocked writers and aspiring poets from a Nobel Prize winner’s newspaper column. 

INTRODUCTION

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/68657

In the Polish newspaper Literary Life, Nobel Prize winning poet Wislawa Szymborska answered letters from ordinary people who wanted to write poetry. Clare Cavanagh, translates these selections.


The following are selections from columns originally published in the Polish newspaper
Literary Life. In these columns, famed poet Wislawa Szymborska answered letters from ordinary people who wanted to write poetry. Translated by Clare Cavanagh.

To Heliodor from Przemysl: “You write, ‘I know my poems have many faults, but so what, I’m not going to stop and fix them.’ And why is that, oh Heliodor? Perhaps because you hold poetry so sacred? Or maybe you consider it insignificant? Both ways of treating poetry are mistaken, and what’s worse, they free the novice poet from the necessity of working on his verses. It’s pleasant and rewarding to tell our acquaintances that the bardic spirit seized us on Friday at 2:45 p.m. and began whispering mysterious secrets in our ear with such ardor that we scarcely had time to take them down. But at home, behind closed doors, they assiduously corrected, crossed out, and revised those otherworldly utterances. Spirits are fine and dandy, but even poetry has its prosaic side.”

To H.O. from Poznan, a would-be translator: “The translator is obliged to be faithful not only to the text. He must also reveal the full beauty of the poetry while retaining its form and preserving as completely as possible the epoch’s spirit and style.”

To Grazyna from Starachowice: “Let’s take the wings off and try writing on foot, shall we?”

To Mr. G. Kr. of Warsaw: “You need a new pen. The one you’re using makes a lot of mistakes. It must be foreign.”

read more »

November 18, 2019

Her, Poetry

by Stephen

I do not write poems for her,
true,
she completes the poem.
Words cannot replace
her presence.
Emotions inspired
by our love
told by the twinkling
wealth of night.

read more »

October 18, 2019

October dawned again

by Jem Croucher

10 of 12 in the Jemverse ‘October’ series

With rain today October dawned
Autumn’s finally here
but I’m grateful for the summer
which has brought us lots of cheer

Colder now the sun has gone
The green though still remains
The memory has yet to fade
The warmth still in my veins

read more »

October 1, 2019

Puffy and Fluffy

by Colly

image from google search

autumn pile

 

 

 

Puffy and Fluffy have much to do.

 

Sometimes they want to play with you.

read more »

September 24, 2019

Starsun II

by Jem Croucher

Leigh-on-Sea here in Essex
At the end of the day
The sun setting low in the West
Sitting with friends
On which one depends
This time of day is the best

read more »

September 13, 2019

Korcula (aka ‘Korcula revisited’)

by Jem Croucher

10 of 12 in “the bucket list” series from Jemverse

To Korcula by tender
Inside the city wall
I climbed the tower of St Marks
some thirty metres tall

The view across the rooftops
full of terracotta red
took my breath away, although
the drop filled me with dread

But I made it back down safely
to walk streets of ancient stone
on this island in Croatia
Marco Polo once called home

read more »

August 25, 2019

unending pain

by Colly

read more »

August 25, 2019

Snazzy Calico Cavies

by Colly

image found on google search

cute brown cavy

 

 

 

(pg. 1)

 

Shimmy and Fimmy 

read more »

August 24, 2019

I eat colorful fruit!

by Colly

 

 

Shutterstock image

 

shutterstock image

 

(pg. 1)

 

PURPLE

read more »