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5007. Ulgine Barrows - 5/30/2003 8:42:19 AM Be zealous, grow and spend?
What will give more dividends?
Refinance today
Fixed rates are yesterday
ARMs will get you more in the end 5008. RickNelson - 6/11/2003 1:56:56 AM I wrote this yesterday, and today is commencement. I'm excited and expect something good. I wanted to share more, but I've been too busy working and getting ready for her party this Saturday.
Best to you all.
A few thoughts as she graduates.
Hello, what do we have here?
Seems like just the other day now,
I likened my denial to the Nile.
How did I let- Oh, there it is
Another trick of thought
One that I know ought
Settle down, dig deeper
Relinquish is such a harsh
Word, deals a slap to hard.
Feeling this coming on,
Mixture of pride, awe, wonder
And an undercurrent of sadness
Settling like fog the sun of her
Burns off. There it is then. I’m like
So many other fathers. Though, among
Those with only one. I sit now, with
A thud, I have those pains. But, this-
This pain doesn’t have a medicine.
There’s time, sure, that’s always
The deal, time will heal.
But who gives ----
I’m in that pain of loss, she’s
Grown, she’ll set off like a butterfly
To a bloom. Find something, see
How high she can climb, testing
Limits, setting a course toward the
Glitter and shine, O’ glory, it’ll be fine.
When I held here new body,
Set her in my forearm and looked
Her up and down, all my soul set
Ablaze. Nothing has compared, not
One thing as close. I’m heart, soul and
Mind, set on this course. Never while
I think, will she be out of my
Thoughts.
But, as I look into it, as if
I open a book, the pages are
Not speaking to me. They speak
To her. It’s about what she’s
Doing. Now it’s high school
And a commencing to college.
College to career, seeking and
Learning, feeling what’s it all
About. I hope it makes her want
To shout, to speak her mind,
But,
Most of all,
I want her to
Say,
Daddy,
I love you.
5009. Macnas - 6/11/2003 4:19:29 PM Oh but that's nice. 5010. Macnas - 6/13/2003 12:34:31 AM And, if only because the weather is good and I'm away home soon, here's one of my favourite poems. It's meant to be read in Irish, but it translates well.
The Blackbird Of Derrycairn
by Austin Clarke
Stop, stop and listen for the bough top
Is whistling and the sun is brighter
Than God's own shadow in the cup now!
Forget the hour-bell. Mournful matins
Will sound, Patric, as well at nightfall.
Faintly through mist of broken water
Fionn heard my melody in Norway.
He found the forest track, he brought back
This beak to gild the branch and tell, there,
Why men must welcome in the daylight.
He loved the breeze that warns the black grouse,
The shouts of gillies in the morning
When packs are counted and the swans cloud
Loch Erne, but more than all those voices
My throat rejoicing from the hawthorn.
In little cells behind a cashel,
Patric, no handbell gives a glad sound.
But knowledge is found among the branches.
Listen! That song that shakes my feathers
Will thong the leather of your satchels.
5011. Seamus - 6/13/2003 5:19:18 AM Yo, Rick, that is nice.
And Macnas, you goat, how goes? That is one of my favourites as well. Are we about Irish anthems then?
This then, isn't any kind of any anthem... 5012. Seamus - 6/13/2003 5:24:01 AM Love in front of the MASP, São Paulo
He knows it just after
some white Peugeot plinks the motorbike
Realizes it
almost before the two
stick
figures
have completed their ritual arc
from bike to pavement
The man
the driver
headfirst into the storm grate
The woman
the passenger
settles back to the street
The two policemen
have been watching the motorbike
weave and weave
in the congealing of cars
that is Avenida Paulista
....................branco inoperante
....................the european is dead
sim
yes
They look at the woman
splayed and writhing
in the blood wash on the curb
....................contrato de seguro?
....................insured, you think?
provavelmente não
no, probably
insurance is for suckers
(something about the way she held him)
not lovers 5013. Macnas - 6/16/2003 7:02:37 PM Seamus!
Ta'm go maith, buiochas le Dia.
Are you still in Bondi? or have you moved on?
Clarke is my kick at the minute, even with his Dain Direach, as I haven't read him in an age.
The Lost Heifer
When the black herds of the rain were grazing,
In the gap of the pure cold wind
And the watery hazes of the hazel
Brought her into my mind,
I thought of the last honey by the water
That no hive can find.
Brightness was drenching through the branches
When she wandered again,
Turning silver out of dark grasses
Where the skylark had lain,
And her voice coming softly over the meadow
Was the mist becoming rain. 5014. arkymalarky - 6/20/2003 1:50:33 AM Bob's best friend wrote this poem and gave me permission to post it here. It fits in with what Jex was posting earlier.
Never Forget, Never Forgive
You claim the cross, the sword, the arm of the Lord.
Though many may misunderstand,
So much hate in the name of love
For the One enlightened Man.
You curse and you lay non-believers low,
Save center stage for the right-wing band,
Claiming as you charge the Grace of God:
Adjust wrong in the holy land.
You close our eyes and cloud your minds
And kiss blood-bought freedoms away,
Betraying your souls for pieces of gold,
Judas well might be President today.
You abuse the rod in the guise of God,
May the mask never slip away:
Righteous roulette is your bigot's bet;
It's a sorrowful game you play.
You fly your flags and flout your right
To give the devil his due;
You raise one voice and the preachers rejoice,
Aren't you proud to be the Chosen few?
You may maim and kill, have a heavenly thrill,
For God commands what you must do:
Stamp out the scourge, be part of the purge,
Corrupt the Constitution, too.
You buy a Bill of Wrongs while singing sacred songs,
"Onward Christian Soldiers" you call;
Inquisitors storm from door to door
As you watch towers fall.
Your highest court is where the rich resort
When justice must be stalled:
You have no doubt God will sort them out,
So why not kill 'em all. 5015. wonkers2 - 6/20/2003 2:06:02 AM Great poem! I wonder who he had in mind? 5016. arkymalarky - 6/20/2003 2:55:13 AM Hmmm. Bet it was Clinton. Yeah. It must be. 5017. wonkers2 - 6/21/2003 10:20:29 PM After "The Bell Jar" here 5018. RickNelson - 6/25/2003 6:04:59 PM Seamus,
Death via motor bike-
I like the idea of having the police talking like you've done.
I like your line breaks and pauses. The pauses I cannot translate, though it didn't detract the reading for me. I usually just move through when I see a story developing.
The ending is enigmatic.
I'm understanding they're not lovers, but how did she hold him? That throws mystery in the midst of story.
A bit O Sherlock Holmes? Whom I do enjoy by and by. 5019. RickNelson - 6/25/2003 6:06:34 PM Macnas,
I truly enjoy poems like "The Lost Heifer".
Thanks. 5020. RickNelson - 6/25/2003 6:18:25 PM arky,
That's a powerful poem. Smack's the ol W right up side the head.
I ranted a couple of times about his prayer and Bible study goings on at the White House and how he drives his agenda via his (somewhat) new faith. I think he's all politics and uses it to get the right on his side. But, that's nothin'.
Nothing compares to the unleashed power and mighty sword wielding. If there were less impact I would have it.
I'm suprised at myself by my sideline quiet. I know I am against war, but the 911 deal still wrankles me. I don't like protracted ANYTHING when it builds up a monserous military machine. An unwieldy beast, and a long, long term burden to us now and those yet to have a future.
Strong and sad poetry.
I can see each stanza's p.o.v. and the work is good.
Thanks. 5021. arkymalarky - 6/25/2003 10:54:30 PM I'll pass your remarks along Rick. He'll really appreciate them.
I think he's all politics and uses it to get the right on his side. But, that's nothin'.
Dealing with that on the state level too makes it doubly frustrating.
5022. RickNelson - 7/4/2003 12:12:12 AM Canopied Path:
That squirrels dance through the branches
somehow making them more alive.
Limbs full of leaves move in the wind
and the sky behind adds depth perception.
As many make their way into gardens,
I look to treed paths and the canopy.
When I hear the crunch of pebbled
or wood-chipped paths under my boots,
I feel more alive. My movement adds
to the noises above. There are special,
poignant moments during such times.
For example the sun may suddenly
appear from behind clouds and
the rays shoot down through the
canopy. Then the sun and moving leaves
create hypnotic movement. I peer through
the glistening movement for birds and squirrels.
When the small red ones move, my heart
jumps just a bit. These are somehow
important to me, and for no apparent
reason.
I was small once and felt different. One
feels that way from time to time. Out here,
alone on a canopied foot path, being small
takes on new meaning. Letting what is be
and what might be out of the equation.
It’s just now, and with reverence, I open
my little notebook and write .
Inspired by Billy Collins via the Fallible Fiend (in Slate). Good Ol' Billy was on the t.v. with Charlie Rose the other day. Damn he's good! 5023. RickNelson - 7/4/2003 12:36:19 AM Hey! I see a few Moties about. I suppose you might have popped in and read this and others.
Stop and give me a note. Or Seamus or Macnas too. There've been some good poems during this lean time.
I like the one I just wrote and I want to know if others like it or not. Drop me a note. 5024. NuPlanetOne - 7/5/2003 4:03:21 PM Rick…
Well, and you should like ‘Canopied Path.’ That is solid. You moved through it and never strayed. No fillers, and nothing wasted. You have always been a work in progress, my friend, and I have had doubts, I will admit, but I feel with that one, you are at a nice level. Do you feel it?
Anyway, I have been absent as always, not even lurking. The nice thing is though, that aside from seeing you reach a point where putting the words together is finally coming naturally, I am quite pleased to check back in and find that our mutual friend seamus didn’t just drop in with his usual encouragement or good tidings. Seamus, you old dog, that São Paulo piece is just marvelous! All of it, well designed. It is nice, at least, even though we are not here often, that we are working at trying to make the ideas, obtuse or otherwise, come alive. I’m drinking to that!
5025. NuPlanetOne - 7/5/2003 4:04:09 PM
/
These Things
I must agree, that our beginnings
And endings appear to be unique
That our collection of cells, smells
Sights and sounds, recollection
In a conscious way, the ability to say
To wonder, to try to explain, to pray
These things, and our blind empathy
With a universe, perhaps wholly alien
Yet made of the same stuff, it brings
Me to clichéd conclusions, full of fluff
The usual suspected illusions, the grand
And expected delusions, repackaged
Algorithmic denials, the false hopes
Or eureka pained smiles, all symphonized
By digitally perpetuating files. What
Else to call the universe, but our own
I swat a bug because it annoys me. I hug
The icon so that nothing destroys me. I chug
Along like a car in the train and I refrain
From circumspection, that upon intense
Inspection, these things, are, one definable
Continuum. And so I morph into oblivion
Into the obvious, like ants or bees, those
Clichés hung on trees, all alive in a hive
In a line with a purpose with a point. Yes,
Having a point is our purpose. It ought never
Be proved that life is meaningless, we are alive
And death is beside the point.
5026. RickNelson - 7/5/2003 11:24:28 PM NuPlanetOne,
Thanks my friend! This one does give me that feeling. You're praise adds volumns to my well being around it.
Then you grace us with another poem, alive and to the point.
Damn you're talented! I just happen to mention you, cigarlaw and Hashke' to Seamus' post to 'Canopied Path' poem in Slate's P-Fray. You've strong influence with me. I wish you all the best, always.
I've been busy in Slate's P-Fray, and I was inspired as I said by a Billy Collins style poem by The Fallible Fiend.
I've some long-winded sharing to relate also. (Smiling, and thinking how others will think about me being long-winded). I'm the epitome of long-winded.
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