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5398. NuPlanetOne - 12/28/2004 11:31:53 PM
Racing the Light
I am really getting discouraged
The light in the lens of my telescope
Just arrived. It somehow survived
A billion years. Things are not what
They seem. I put a mirror on my scope
In a dream I traced it
Back slightly faster than it came
Which should allow me to appear
Pretty much near when before it left
That is my hypothesis.
Now awake I figure it might take
A little more observation
And that is because what I found
When my trip had ended
Was that I was once again suspended
In space. Pretty much like the place
I had left. And I felt that just behind me
The light would find me
And I would see me looking at me.
It seems to be true no matter what you do
You can’t outrun the light beam
Unless you were always that fast
Cause a thing can’t occur
Unless first comes the blur
That is, you can’t pass a beginning
Not yet begun and expect to detect
It’s origin, so instead my new axiom
Destroys my hypothesis.
I thought it was clever that a man dreamed
A lever could move a heavenly body
So I dreamed that I beamed my face
Into space and skipped the part where
My beating heart really shouldn’t matter
So I’m discouraged. It’s all about the light
And as I postulate the numbers and write
Out my conclusions they seem mere illusions
So that is my theory.
5399. RickNelson - 12/29/2004 3:55:29 PM I like that last stanza particularly well Nu. Recalling that the heart, though beating juxtaposed with light and beaming your face into space. That's some good sci-fi as well as poetic mindfullness.
Hi Linnea, yes A-5 is the current nickname for our resonance. It's taking me a long time to let go of his former nick. I may never. 5400. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 4:48:15 PM Bio of Percy Bysshe Shelley
I've been reading a bit of Shelley lately. Romantic poetry wasn't my cup of tea until I found Shelley. I started with Alastor and am trying to read his Nature Poems collection. A job I was doing had a copy of his poems from 1911 published by Hutchinson & Co. with prints by William Hyde. It is really nice. I found that copy online going for $50 and I'm not to far from buying it. 5401. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 4:57:34 PM
I picked this at random from the site linked above. It's end rhyme is like I would do, which endears me to it. The whole composition might be somewhere in the recesses of my boggled realm. I'm going to crack a few windows to the greater plane, allow some scattered remnants to form a flock. To leave soaring high and behind it lines without dredge or vacancy, but flowered stems and lush green verdancy will abound.
hmmm.... Gotta keep that in mind.
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead -
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow's glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.
As music and splendour
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart's echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute -
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman's knell.
When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possessed.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?
Its passions will rock thee,
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.
5402. arkymalarky - 1/16/2005 6:36:21 PM My dad always had a prejudice wrt Shelley and he loved the Romantic poets. I inherited it, I'm afraid (and I love the Romantic poets too, for the most part), but a former student of mine came to visit a few weeks ago after studying in Florence a semester and was thrilled with having read Shelley in a class on the banks of the Arno.
Great to see you, Rick. Hope all is well with the fam. 5403. RickNelson - 1/16/2005 6:47:57 PM Thanks arky, all is well. Same to you.
after "Alastor" I can see why a romantic poetry fan would favor that style.
I was blown away. 5404. Macnas - 1/17/2005 10:59:58 AM Hello there Rick!
Hows that baby boy of yours doing? 5405. RickNelson - 1/17/2005 6:52:20 PM Hello to you too Macnas. The boy is outdoing my expectations for a 5 week preemie. I would not know he was such without having been there. He's so big, full of energy, trying new things and such a marvel I'm in my own little paradise being with him in our home.
While we enjoy being cooped up because of frigid negative 10's-40's Fahrenheit around Minnesota, the boy and I occupy time just being together. I see his actions as learning, deliberations toward new physical and mental actions. It’s so wonderful 5406. Macnas - 1/17/2005 6:56:02 PM Sounds good Rick, enjoy it while you can, you know how fast they grow up. 5407. RickNelson - 1/21/2005 1:06:16 AM To My Boy:
A moment meant to please.
For this is like walking
Through willow leaves,
While your baby is talking.
There, as along clear bubbling
Streams, and all vivid with Suns
Sheen, happiness is living,
when new life comes.
Rick Nelson, 2005
5408. RickNelson - 1/26/2005 6:14:55 PM Banknote: By Robert Pinsky, at Poetry Daily
Note:This link is good today only, after today it will be readily available in their archives.
This is the last stanza of the poem I linked, written by Robert Pinsky.
"Gulfs arched, wilderness paved. In the system
Of privilege and deprivation, the employed, the avid:
Fraught in the works, turning the gear of custom."
5409. RickNelson - 2/11/2005 8:00:00 PM The Family Garden
I tilled tears
as any good garden,
given golden sun,
watering and weeding.
Starting with curling entwined fingers
which as a sweet toned trumpet
play melodious love.
All who recall with tenderness,
the tease and laughter
of virgin love making
can unfurl that memory
as petals face a morning sun.
Those exciting days, having each other,
being in each others arms, loving.
How euphoric the expectation of being held,
entwining limbs and sensuous love.
These wonderful days
stretch out as sinuous and languid happiness.
As flowers fade and leaves fall,
a day of change plays a hand,
and the given setting is painted over.
Like artists, dissatisfied with some part,
Retouching; overlap imposes concurrent change.
Why implore you to verify grievance?
Rather take your knowing heart,
see how we all share inclusive
passions and heartbreaks,
We grieve, we love. So it is,
that heartfelt passion,
itself buried under years of events.
Equate it to the garden,
there is always a chance to grow something new.
Can the tender mercy of love,
children and their resilience,
family bonds and hope
revive me from rattling tears?
The years clearly show it can.
There is room for more dreaming,
reoccurring languid days, like
fresh morning walks in a garden.
Rick Nelson, Feb.,10th 2005
5410. resonance - 2/12/2005 9:26:18 PM She's getting dressed up.
Two hours in the bathroom.
Time slows to a crawl.
Midafternoon sun
hangs motionless behind clouds.
The furnace blows air.
Time spent on big hair
is much, much, more important
than Playstation games.
Suddenly she's done!
And it's time to get going!
Yowl, yowl, yowl, yowl, yowl.
It's very hard work
being a domestic man.
Please pray for my soul. 5411. woden - 2/12/2005 9:32:37 PM A man and his Playstation
Becoming one with the sofa
Killing mutant frogs and rats.
I enter the bathroom
One option closes off
sudden interest in getting ready.
A man in his pajamas
asks me
what's taking so long.
5412. woden - 2/12/2005 9:49:50 PM Last minute checking
craning neck in the mirror
Looking at my butt. 5413. woden - 2/12/2005 9:50:09 PM That wasn't me!!! 5414. woden - 2/12/2005 9:50:30 PM Jackass. 5415. arkymalarky - 2/12/2005 9:58:14 PM Ooooh, dueling poetry--and just in time for Valentine's Day!
5416. RickNelson - 2/16/2005 5:53:19 PM Praying.
That damn mirror
reflection of what I want to see
give me elastic skin
stretch it, weild it, fend for it
damn body just doesn't get it,
damn body. 5417. NuPlanetOne - 2/17/2005 3:00:38 AM Greetings fellow scribblers. Rick I really like your garden poem, ‘always a chance to grow something new.’ I love the hope and promise in it. Very nice. My poem that follows comes as another former priest meets his doom, simple as my talents are, would I wish such a monster the intellect to grasp its meaning. Ciao.
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