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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. 5418. NuPlanetOne - 2/17/2005 3:01:17 AM \
Altar Boy
And if it happens that at ten years old
You are made to realize that lust, cold
Blooded perversion, like a filthy demon
Thrust into the heart of your soul, trust
And love which was your known reality
If you were forced to see the evil, visit
In surrealistic horror the awful moments
Of abuse, then you learn the length of
A merciless ticking second where the
Strength to endure the next moment are
Two wide eyes not seeing or understanding
And the shock and indescribable fear that
Illuminate everything from that instant in time
Becomes your alter-existence. To feel
How unsafe life is and attempt simple joys
But now aware always that the demon
Exists, that toys and games and birthday flames
Do not belong to you. Because you know…
You have seen it, you are aware that someone
Is looking in. You stand aside. Thinking
Wondering about stuff. Alien. Hopelessly
Guilty. Trying to understand what you did
How you would hide, how you hid, how a kid
Could hold a secret.
5419. Ulgine Barrows - 2/24/2005 9:37:12 AM You weren't there. Stop. 5420. NuPlanetOne - 2/24/2005 5:28:39 PM /
/
...who wasn't where? And stop what? 5421. uzmakk - 2/27/2005 2:52:25 PM *If this sentence doesn't make sentse please ask me to clarify.
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