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Poetry

mwiggenhorn
Community Guru
Mary W Member Since: Nov 10, 2014
21 of 42

Because I adore my big brother, I must share his latest which was published by the Society of Classical Poets.  I include his bio at the end because I am so proud of his accomplishments:

Psalm CIV: Benedic, Anima Mea

O praise the Lord, my soul. The aspens sigh
As high above Mount Axtell in blue sky
The hawk cries out God’s glory, and the clouds
Grow to a thunderhead that blots and crowds
Out light. The Lord’s electric bolts flash down
Demonstrative on forests and the town:
If He but touch the hills they quake and smoke.
The mighty crashes scare and deafen folk
As far as the elegant condos. Now the sun
Returns, and shines on pumas as they run
On highest peaks, who seek their meat from God
And range down after deer on trails I trod
Before the rain, composing hymns of praise
To sing in aspen country all my days.

 
 
Psalm CXLIV: Benedictus Dominus

The Lord’s bright lightning strikes sharp Whetstone’s peak;
We see how small man is beneath these skies.
Deliver us, O Lord, for we are weak,
From preachers of new vanities and lies.
O bless the Lord, our castle and our shield,
Who cares for us though we are small poor things;
Who guards our sleek fine Herefords in this field
Slaked by canals from Whetstone’s snow-fed springs.
We pray our sons grow tall in our green county
And daughters ski high ridges in deep snow
And summers yield us tons of hay, good bounty;
We’ll savor August sweetness when we mow.
O keep us from the peril of the sword;
O save our peace and well-loved pastures, Lord.

 
 
Psalm CLVI: Domine, Extra Intellectum

O Lord beyond the ken of any mind,
We hope for peace and plenty on our earth;
For prudence, true compassion, and no lies
From leaders who we see are full of vice.
O Lord of galaxies, our human kind
Knows history shows our prayers have little worth.
What then to do but mutter and chastise?
But will complaints and grimaces suffice?
O Lord, we can do much if we are brave
Confronting those who fake the truth for gain;
Ours is a fair Republic we can save
Together in a strong and straight campaign
That works to make us free of haughty men,
Free of foul threats, equal and proud again.

 
 

Peter Bridges has been hiking and climbing for three decades in the West Elk Mountains near Crested Butte, Colorado. He holds degrees from Dartmouth and Columbia and spent a career in the U.S. Foreign Service, ending as ambassador to Somalia. His diplomatic memoir, Safirka: An American Envoy, and the biographies of two once famous Americans, John Moncure Daniel and Donn Piatt, were published by Kent State University Press. He has self-published a second memoir, Woods Waters Peaks: A Diplomat Outdoors, and a volume of a hundred Sonnets from the Elk Mountains. His articles, essays, and poems have appeared in American Diplomacy, Eclectica, Michigan Quarterly Review, Virginia Quarterly Review and elsewhere.

allpurposewriter
Community Guru
Anthony H Member Since: Feb 22, 2017
42 of 42
 
moonraker
Community Guru
Jamie F Member Since: Mar 7, 2010
42 of 42

I'm a bit if a fan of Pam Ayres

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4oydSZTAns

luce-neidert
Community Guru
Luce N Member Since: Oct 9, 2016
42 of 42

I must admit I don't really like poetry, but this is what I found when I investigated about the poem "Invictus" after watching the film "Invictus" many times:

 

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.
 
In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
      My head is bloody, but unbowed.
 
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds and shall find me unafraid.
 
It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
      I am the captain of my soul.
 
It was written by William Ernest Henley, who had to live with one leg only, after had to have the other one amputated. I just love the last stanza, a true inspiration.
luce-neidert
Community Guru
Luce N Member Since: Oct 9, 2016
42 of 42

Anthony H wrote:

Hey, I'm doing all the heavy lifting here.


There were lions in the yard last night.

There were lions in the yard last night.

The dog smelled them. They smelled atrocious.

Not to the dog. To the dog they smelled like chicken,

Turkey necks, barbecue sauce, gravy.
To the dog they smelled like Thanksgiving dinner.

 

 

 

 

ACH

3/7/20


Anthony, are you ACH?

allpurposewriter
Community Guru
Anthony H Member Since: Feb 22, 2017
42 of 42

For most of my first half-century on this planet, I assumed poetry was long dead. I'd met a few closeted poets in my time, guys who said they wrote secretly and got enthusiastic reviews from their mothers and girlfriends. Girls, of course, don't write poetry. They write fanciful spittle about unicorns and rainbows and unrequited romance. They write about their inner Cinderellas. What's that all about, right?

Then, one day a couple of jet planes flew into a couple of tall buildings in New York City and 2,996 people died and over 6,000 were hurt. About two months later, alone in my study, I was moved to write a poem about 9/11, having been out of the city on that day and feeling displaced and unsettled. So, I did that. And the poem turned out the way I wanted, so I was wondering what to do with it. Maybe I could send it to a magazine or something and they might publish it. 

 

So after a month or so I went online to peck around for ideas (in the very early days of the Internet) and in short order, I came across a website titled something like "Memorial 9/11 Poems" or "World Trade Center Poems." Something like that. Then my jaw hit the ground when I found out, soon enough, the site had published well over 40,000 poems about 9/11.

 

Poetry is not dead. In fact, the idea that it has died, which I believed for years, is to deny the workings of the human heart and the need to understand ourselves. I must say 99.99 percent of the poems on the 9/11 site could be summed up by the words anguish or pain, but there is no doubt that poetry will never die. Wherever there is love, pain or mystery,, let alone whimsy, awe, beauty and humor, there will be poetry. It is an undeniable instinct. Poetry and breathing are old friends.

 

petra_r
Community Guru
Petra R Member Since: Aug 3, 2011
42 of 42

I'm more a song lyrics kind of girl Smiley Wink

 

Poetry with music

reinierb
Community Guru
Reinier B Member Since: Nov 3, 2015
42 of 42

Petra R wrote:

I'm more a song lyrics kind of girl Smiley Wink

 

Poetry with music


Like Justin Hayward makes. Or Leonard Cohen. Or maybe Roger Waters and David Gilmour. Or Jim Steinman. Or even Neil Diamond on his better days. 

petra_r
Community Guru
Petra R Member Since: Aug 3, 2011
42 of 42

Reinier B wrote:

Petra R wrote:

I'm more a song lyrics kind of girl Smiley Wink

 

Poetry with music


Like Justin Hayward makes. Or Leonard Cohen. Or maybe Roger Waters and David Gilmour. Or Jim Steinman. Or even Neil Diamond on his better days. 


COHEN!

 

Recently discovered "Avelange!"

 

yitwail
Community Guru
John K Member Since: Feb 17, 2015
42 of 42

Petra R wrote:

Reinier B wrote:

Petra R wrote:

I'm more a song lyrics kind of girl Smiley Wink

 

Poetry with music


Like Justin Hayward makes. Or Leonard Cohen. Or maybe Roger Waters and David Gilmour. Or Jim Steinman. Or even Neil Diamond on his better days. 


COHEN!

 

Recently discovered "Avelange!"

 


I accidentally made your post the solution, then discovered there's a "Not A Solution" command. Robot Embarassed
Here's some of my fave lyrics, though it's better with the psychedelic accompaniment, of course:

Turn off your mind relax and float down stream
It is not dying
It is not dying
Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void
It is shining
It is shining
Yet you may see the meaning of within
It is being
It is being
That love is all and love is everyone
It is knowing
It is knowing
That ignorance and hate may mourn the dead
It is believing
It is believing
But listen to the colour of your dreams
It is not living
It is not living
Or play the game "Existence" to the end
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
Of the beginning
__________________________________________________
"No good deed goes unpunished." -- Clare Boothe Luce
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