5001. RickNelson - 5/20/2003 7:15:58 PM
Nice Limerick Ulgine.
There once was an arky who sought
a chance that she wouldn't be caught
and when it was finished
she had a millenial
her work rewarded and well wrought
5002. RickNelson - 5/20/2003 7:39:27 PM
Relying on life sad man?
Time will go to the life plan.
when there's nothing
crushed and qauking
Find a broken heart poetry slam.
5003. Macnas - 5/20/2003 8:08:24 PM
There is a schoolteacher called Arky
and when her head aches she gets narky
she gets in huff
'bout education and stuff
and she hates the Republican party.
5004. PelleNilsson - 5/21/2003 12:44:59 AM
Good stuff Macnas.
5005. arkymalarky - 5/21/2003 8:16:07 AM
Hey, what a cool dividend from a Poetry millennial--two limericks about me! I'll have to print them.
5006. RickNelson - 5/24/2003 8:59:49 PM
And many a splendid dividend
lands upon paper from a silver pen
for money buys happiness
money will give you no less
So be zealous, grow and spend.
5007. Ulgine Barrows - 5/30/2003 8:42:19 AM
Be zealous, grow and spend?
What will give more dividends?
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. Iím 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 doesnít have a medicine.
Thereís time, sure, thatís always
The deal, time will heal.
But who gives ----
Iím in that pain of loss, sheís
Grown, sheíll 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, Oí glory, itíll 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. Iím heart, soul and
Mind, set on this course. Never while
I think, will she be out of my
But, as I look into it, as if
I open a book, the pages are
Not speaking to me. They speak
To her. Itís about what sheís
Doing. Now itís high school
And a commencing to college.
College to career, seeking and
Learning, feeling whatís it all
About. I hope it makes her want
To shout, to speak her mind,
Most of all,
I want her to
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, S„o Paulo
He knows it just after
some white Peugeot plinks the motorbike
almost before the two
have completed their ritual arc
from bike to pavement
headfirst into the storm grate
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
....................the european is dead
They look at the woman
splayed and writhing
in the blood wash on the curb
....................contrato de seguro?
....................insured, you think?
insurance is for suckers
(something about the way she held him)
5013. Macnas - 6/16/2003 7:02:37 PM
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
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
I truly enjoy poems like "The Lost Heifer".
5020. RickNelson - 6/25/2003 6:18:25 PM
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.