Tiny White Flowers

Tiny White Flowers

Saturday, March 31, 2012

The Saturday poem

The Saturday poem: The Circling Stars from the Anglo-Saxon | Books | The Guardian

The Saturday poem: The Circling Stars from the Anglo-Saxon

By Paul Farley

Five dozen reached the brink and pulled
their horses up (eleven spectrals,
four luminous whites). They'd trained for weeks
and were green to go, but this channel was tricky:
the swell a bastard, waves lit with foam,
the current strong. So the whole outfit
got scooped into a wagon, and under
the cosmic axle grease they rode, both
tooled-up man and horse, over
the waste to solid ground. No ox,
dray horse or slave sweat drew this wagon.
This was no sea or land haulage.
No feet got wet, all stayed airborne,
and there was no winding back, but by
degrees the wagon bore its load
from pick-up point to mount the shore
one the other side: so this brave squad crossed
the deeps and landed safely home.

Friday's Poem for my Lenten Post a Poem a Day Challenge, again

Love, Delight, and Alarm [excerpt]- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

Then the treehouse burned. And continued

                                                                                        unobliterable as the sea

                                            to burn. The photo of it burning

hangs on its wall, taken from high up,

                                            but not that high. The firemen

approach cautiously, minus the

                                            four-part regimented solace, that

would repeat. If the act of 
 *   *   *
To read the poem in it's entirety, please visit the link above.  Poets.org 
is a wonderful place to find so many good poems.  And, it celebrates its 16h

Friday, March 30, 2012

Rattle Reviews FIRE ON HER TONGUE: An eBook Anthology of Contemporary Women’s Poetry

Rattle: Poetry for the 21st Century

This is a terrific anthology of women's poetry, compiled and edited by two good friends, Kelli Russell Agodon and Annette Spaulding-Convy.  It was a nice surprise this morning to find my name amongst the reviewer's (Anita Sullivan) list of favorites, and for that I'm deeply grateful.  It is a super collection, and I am well pleased to be a part of it.

So, read this review; the link is just above. And thank you, Anita, for your honest, positive words.

Cheers, dear reader~

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Thursday's Poem ~

Farewell to Adrienne Rich, who passed away at 82, on 27 March, 2012~

Diving into the Wreck- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

Diving into the Wreck
Adrienne Rich

First having read the book of myths,
and loaded the camera,
and checked the edge of the knife-blade,
I put on
the body-armor of black rubber
the absurd flippers
the grave and awkward mask.
I am having to do this
not like Cousteau with his
assiduous team
aboard the sun-flooded schooner
but here alone.

There is a ladder.
The ladder is always there
hanging innocently
close to the side of the schooner.
We know what it is for,
we who have used it.
it is a piece of maritime floss
some sundry equipment.

I go down.
Rung after rung and still
the oxygen immerses me
the blue light
the clear atoms
of our human air.
I go down.
My flippers cripple me,
I crawl like an insect down the ladder
and there is no one
to tell me when the ocean
will begin.

First the air is blue and then
it is bluer and then green and then
black I am blacking out and yet
my mask is powerful
it pumps my blood with power
the sea is another story
the sea is not a question of power
I have to learn alone
to turn my body without force
in the deep element.

And now: it is easy to forget
what I came for
among so many who have always
lived here
swaying their crenellated fans
between the reefs
and besides
you breathe differently down here.

I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail.
I stroke the beam of my lamp
slowly along the flank
of something more permanent
than fish or weed

the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty
the ribs of the disaster
curving their assertion
among the tentative haunters.

This is the place.
And I am here, the mermaid whose dark hair
streams black, the merman in his armored body.
We circle silently
about the wreck
we dive into the hold.
I am she: I am he

whose drowned face sleeps with open eyes
whose breasts still bear the stress
whose silver, copper, vermeil cargo lies
obscurely inside barrels
half-wedged and left to rot
we are the half-destroyed instruments
that once held to a course
the water-eaten log
the fouled compass

We are, I am, you are
by cowardice or courage
the one who find our way
back to this scene
carrying a knife, a camera
a book of myths
in which
our names do not appear.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Wednesday Poem, Week Four of Lent

The Surprise- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

The Surprise
by Lola Haskins  

                 St. Augustine

Light shafts down on
the assembled congregation of sails

billows my shirt      sends me to where thin countries
stretch like needles    to a low and distant shore

from which    suddenly     canoes appear


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Poem for Japan- Tuesday's Poem~

Poem for Japan- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

I don't know what I'd do without the poem received each day via email from Poets.org. And every Tuesday another poem appears, sent from Line Break.  Here's is Poem for Japan, which is featured on Poets.org:

Poem for Japan
by Matthew Zapruder   

all day staying inside

listening to a podcast

discuss how particles

over the Pacific

might drift

I knew thinking

whenever cloud

scares me

I am not alone

my umbrella slept

in the closet

I placed a few nouns

in beautiful cages

then let them out

touched with my mind

the lucky cat

asleep in the deli

I always scratch

his head he slightly

raises to meet my hand

all over the remains

contaminated shadowmen

in blue suits that seem

ecclesiastical now

that science is

a religion crawl

the emperor

everyone has forgotten

is speaking

no one knows

how to be

loving and also

hope the wind

in a certain

and not another

direction will blow

Monday, March 26, 2012

Monday Poem

A Prayer in Spring by Robert Frost | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfill.

Sunday, March 25, 2012



And, I'm taking the easy way out this weekend.  Blondie was supposedly one of the first to do a rap song.


by Blondie

Toe to toe
Dancing very close
Barely breathing
Almost comatose
Wall to wall
People hypnotized
And they're stepping lightly
Hang each night in Rapture

Back to back
Spineless movement
And a wild attack

Face to face
Sadly solitude
And it's finger popping
Twenty-four hour shopping in Rapture

Fab Five Freddie told me everybody's high
DJ's spinnin' are savin' my mind
Flash is fast, Flash is cool
Francois sez fas, Flashe' no do
And you don't stop, sure shot
Go out to the parking lot
And you get in your car and you drive real far
And you drive all night and then you see a light
And it comes right down and lands on the ground
And out comes a man from Mars
And you try to run but he's got a gun
And he shoots you dead and he eats your head
And then you're in the man from Mars
You go out at night, eatin' cars
You eat Cadillacs, Lincolns too
Mercurys and Subarus
And you don't stop, you keep on eatin' cars
Then, when there's no more cars
You go out at night and eat up bars where the people meet
Face to face, dance cheek to cheek
One to one, man to man
Dance toe to toe
Don't move to slow, 'cause the man from Mars
Is through with cars, he's eatin' bars
Yeah, wall to wall, door to door, hall to hall
He's gonna eat 'em all
Rapture, be pure
Take a tour, through the sewer
Don't strain your brain, paint a train
You'll be singin' in the rain
I said don't stop, to punk rock

Well now you see what you wanna be
Just have your party on TV
'Cause the man from Mars won't eat up bars when the TV's on
And now he's gone back up to space
Where he won't have a hassle with the human race
And you hip-hop, and you don't stop
Just blast off, sure shot
'Cause the man from Mars stopped eatin' cars and eatin' bars
And now he only eats guitars, get up!

Break Dance in Central Park

Break Dance in Central Park, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

Just found this shot from my 2007 trip to Central Park. These guys were amazing. Wish I knew their names~

Sugarhill Gang - And Your Saturday Poem

Sugarhill Gang - Rapper's Delight Lyrics

When I was in high school, years ago, the girls in the back of the gymnastics bus used to sing this.  Early rap - this song came out in 1979.

Rapper's Delight

i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie
to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop
the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie
to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat

now what you hear is not a test--i'm rappin to the beat
and me, the groove, and my friends are gonna try to move your feet
see i am wonder mike and i like to say hello
to the black, to the white, the red, and the brown, the purple and yellow
but first i gotta bang bang the boogie to the boogie
say up jump the boogie to the bang bang boogie
let's rock, you dont stop
rock the riddle that will make your body rock
well so far youve heard my voice but i brought two friends along
and next on the mike is my man hank
come on, hank, sing that song

check it out, i'm the c-a-s-an-the-o-v-a
and the rest is f-l-y
ya see i go by the code of the doctor of the mix
and these reasons i'll tell ya why
ya see i'm six foot one and i'm tons of fun
and i dress to a t
ya see i got more clothes than muhammad ali and i dress so viciously
i got bodyguards, i got two big cars
that definitely aint the wack
i got a lincoln continental and a sunroof cadillac
so after school, i take a dip in the pool
which really is on the wall
i got a color tv so i can see
the knicks play basketball
hear me talkin bout checkbooks, credit cards
more money than a sucker could ever spend
but i wouldnt give a sucker or a bum from the rucker
not a dime til i made it again
ya go hotel motel whatcha gonna do today (say what)
ya say im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spankin
drive off in a def oj
everybody go, hotel motel holiday inn
say if your girl starts actin up, then you take her friend
master gee, am I mellow
its on you so what you gonna do

well it's on n on n on on n on
the beat dont stop until the break of dawn
i said m-a-s, t-e-r, a g with a double e
i said i go by the unforgettable name
of the man they call the master gee
well, my name is known all over the world
by all the foxy ladies and the pretty girls
i'm goin down in history
as the baddest rapper there could ever be
now i'm feelin the highs and ya feelin the lows
the beat starts gettin into your toes
ya start poppin ya fingers and stompin your feet
and movin your body while youre sittin in your seat
and the damn ya start doin the freak
i said damn, right outta your seat
then ya throw your hands high in the air
ya rockin to the rhythm, shake your derriere
ya rockin to the beat without a care
with the sureshot m.c.s for the affair
now, im not as tall as the rest of the gang
but i rap to the beat just the same
i dot a little face and a pair of brown eyes
all im here to do ladies is hypnotize
singin on n n on n on n on
the beat dont stop until the break of dawn
singin on n n on n on on n on
like a hot buttered a pop da pop da pop dibbie dibbie
pop da pop pop ya dont dare stop
come alive yall gimme what ya got
i guess by now you can take a hunch
and find that i am the baby of the bunch
'but that's okay i still keep in stride
cause all i'm here to do is just wiggle your behind
singin on n n on n on n on
the beat dont stop until the break of dawn
singin on n n on n on on n on
rock rock yall throw it on the floor
im gonna freak ya here im gonna feak ya there
im gonna move you outta this atmosphere
cause im one of a kind and ill shock your mind
ill put t-t-tickets in your behind
i said 1-2-3-4, come on girls get on the floor
a-come alive, yall a-gimme what ya got
cause im guaranteed to make you rock
i said 1-2-3-4 tell me wonder mike what are you waitin for?
i said a hip hop the hippie to the hippie
the hip hip hop, a you dont stop
the rock it to the bang bang boogie say up jumped the boogie
to the rhythm of the boogie, the beat
skiddlee beebop a we rock a scoobie doo
and guess what america we love you
cause ya rock and ya roll with so much soul
you could rock till you're a hundred and one years old
i dont mean to brag i dont mean to boast
but we like hot butter on our breakfast toast
rock it up baby bubbah
baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang da boogie
to the beat beat, its so unique
come on everybody and dance to the beat

i said a hip hop the hippie the hippie
to the hip hip hop, a you dont stop
rock it out baby bubbah to the boogie da bang bang
the boogie to the boogie da beat

i said i cant wait til the end of the week
when im rappin to the rhythm of a groovy beat
and attempt to raise your body heat
just blow your mind so that you cant speak
and do a thing but a rock and shuffle your feet
and let it change up to a dance called the freak
and when ya finally do come in to your rhythmic beat
rest a little while so ya dont get weak
i know a man named hank
he has more rhymes than a serious bank
so come on hank sing that song
to the rhythm of the boogie da bang bang da bong

well, im imp the dimp the ladies pimp
the women fight for my delight
but im the grandmaster with the three mcs
that shock the house for the young ladies
and when you come inside, into the front
you do the freak, spank, and do the bump
and when the sucker mcs try to prove a point

we're treacherous trio, we're the serious joint
a from sun to sun and from day to day
i sit down and write a brand new rhyme
because they say that miracles never cease
i've created a devastating masterpiece
i'm gonna rock the mike til you cant resist
everybody, i say it goes like this
well i was comin home late one dark afternoon
a reporter stopped me for a interview
she said she's heard stories and she's heard fables
that i'm vicious on the mike and the turntables
this young reporter i did adore
so i rocked a vicious rhyme like i never did before
she said damn fly guy im in love with you
the casanova legend must have been true
i said by the way baby what's your name
said i go by the name of lois lane
and you could be my boyfiend you surely can
just let me quit my boyfriend called superman
i said he's a fairy i do suppoose
flyin through the air in pantyhose
he may be very sexy or even cute
but he looks like a sucker in a blue and red suit
i said you need a man who's got finesse
and his whole name across his chest
he may be able to fly all through the night
but can he rock a party til the early light
he cant satisfy you with his little worm
but i can bust you out with my super sperm
i go do it, i go do it, i go do it, do it , do it
an i'm here an i'm there i'm big bang hank, im everywhere
just throw your hands up in the air
and party hardy like you just dont care
let's do it dont stop yall a tick a tock yall you dont stop
go hotel motel what you gonna do today(say what)
im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spank drive off in a def oj
everybody go hotel motel holiday inn
you say if your girl starts actin up then you take her friend
i say skip, dive, what can i say
i cant fit em all inside my oj
so i just take half and bust them out
i give the rest to master gee so he could shock the house
it was twelve o'clock one friday night
i was rockin to the beat and feelin all right
everybody was dancin on the floor
doin all the things they never did before
and then this fly fly girl with a sexy lean
she came into the bar, she came into the scene
as she traveled deeper inside the room
all the fellas checked out her white sasoons
she came up to the table, looked into my eyes
then she turned around and shook her behind
so i said to myself, its time for me to release
my vicious rhyme i call my masterpiece
and now people in the house this is just for you
a little rap to make you boogaloo
now the group ya hear is called phase two
and let me tell ya somethin we're a helluva crew
once a week we're on the street
just a-cuttin' the jams and making it free
for you to party ya got to have the movies
so we'll get right down and give you the groove
for you to dance you gotta get hype
so we'll get right down for you tonight
now the system's on and the girls are there
ya definitely have a rockin affair
but let me tell ya somethin there's still one fact
that to have a party ya got to have a rap
so when the party's over you're makin it home
and tryin to sleep before the break of dawn
and while ya sleepin ya start to dream
and thinkin how ya danced on the disco scene
my name appears in your mind
yeah, a name you know that was right on time
it was phase two just a doin a do
rockin ya down cause ya know we could
to the rhythm of the beat that makes ya freak
come alive girls get on your feet
to the rhythm of the beat to the beat the beat
to the double beat beat that it makes ya freak
to the rhythm of the beat that says ya go on
on n on into the break of dawn
now i got a man comin on right now
he's guaranteed to throw down
he goes by the name of wonder mike
come on wonder mike do what ya like

like a can of beer that's sweeter than honey
like a millionaire that has no money
like a rainy day that is not wet
like a gamblin fiend that does not bet
like dracula with out his fangs
like the boogie to the boogie without the boogie bang
like collard greens that dont taste good
like a tree that's not made out of wood
like goin up and not comin down
is just like the beat without the sound no sound
to the beat beat, ya do the freak
everybody just rock and dance to the beat
have you ever went over a friends house to eat
and the food just aint no good
i mean the macaroni's soggy the peas are mushed
and the chicken tastes like wood
so you try to play it off like you think you can
by sayin that youre full
and then your friend says momma he's just being polite
he aint finished uh uh that's bull
so your heart starts pumpin and you think of a lie
and you say that you already ate
and your friend says man there's plenty of food
so you pile some more on your plate
while the stinky foods steamin your mind starts to dreamin
of the moment that it's time to leave
and then you look at your plate and your chickens slowly rottin
into something that looks like cheese
oh so you say that's it i got to leave this place
i dont care what these people think
im just sittin here makin myself nauseous
with this ugly food that stinks
so you bust out the door while its still closed
still sick from the food you ate
and then you run to the store for quick relief
from a bottle of kaopectate
and then you call your friend two weeks later
to see how he has been
and he says i understand about the food
baby bubbah but we're still friends
with a hip hop the hippie to the hippie
the hip hip a hop a you dont stop the rockin
to the bang bang boogie
say up jump the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie the beat
i say hank can ya rock
can ya rock to the rhythm that just dont stop
can ya hip me to the shoobie doo
i said come on
i go to the halls and then ring the bell
because i am the man with the clientele
and if ya ask me why i rock so well
a big bang, i got clientele
and from the time i was only six years old
i never forgot what i was told
it was the best advice that i ever had
it came from my wise dear old dad
he said sit down punk i wanna talk to you
and dont say a word until i'm through
now there's a time to laugh a time to cry
a time to live and a time to die
a time to break and a time to chill
to act civilized or act real ill
but whatever ya do in your lifetime
ya never let a mc steal your rhyme
so from sixty six til this very day
ill always remember what he had to say
so when the sucker mcs try to chump my style
i let them know that i'm versatile
i got style finesse and a little black book
that's filled with rhymes and i know you wanna look
but there's a thing that separates you from me
and that's called originality
because my rhymes are on from what you heard
i didnt even bite and not a god d--m word
and i say a little more later on tonight
so the sucker mc's can bite all night
a tick a tock yall a beat beat yall
a lets rock yall ya dont stop
ya go hotel motel whatcha gonna do today (say what)
ya say im gonna get a fly girl gonna get some spankin
drive off in a def oj
everybody go hotel motel holiday inn
ya say if your girl starts actin up then you take her friends
a like that yall to the beat yall
beat beat yall ya dont stop
a master gee am I mellow?
its on you so whatcha gonna do

well like johnny carson on the late show
a like frankie croker in stereo
well like the barkay's singin holy ghost
the sounds to throw down they're played the most

its like my man captain sky
whose name he earned with his super sperm
we rock and we dont stop
get off yall im here to give you whatcha got
to the beat that it makes you freak
and come alive girl get on your feet
a like a perry mason without a case
like farrah fawcett without her face

like the barkays on the mike
like gettin right down for you tonight
like movin your body so ya dont know how
right to the rhythm and throw down

like comin alive to the master gee
the brother who rocks so viciously
i said the age of one my life begun
at the age of two i was doin the do
at the age of three it was you and me
rockin to the sounds of the master gee
at the age of four i was on the floor
givin all the freaks what they bargained for
at the age of five i didnt take no jive
with the master gee its all the way live
at the age of six i was a pickin up sticks
rappin to the beat my stick was fixed
at the age of seven i was rockin in heaven dontcha know i went off
i got right on down to the beat you see
gettin right on down makin all the girls
just take of their clothes to the beat the beat
to the double beat beat that makes you freak
at the age of eight i was really great
cause every night you see i had a date
at the age of nine i was right on time
cause every night i had a party rhyme
goin on n n on n on on n on
the beat dont stop until the break of dawn
a sayin on n n on n on on n on...
like a hot buttered de pop de pop de pop
a saying on n n on n on on n on
cause i'm a helluva man when i'm on the mike
i am the definate feast delight
cause i'm a helluva man when i'm on the mike
i am the definate feast delight
come to the master gee you see
the brother who rocks so viciously

source: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/onehitwonders/rappersdelightlyrics.html

Saturday, March 24, 2012

While Friday was minding its own business ...

 ... I was somewhere else.  Here's is Friday's poem, for you~

A Fox's Tail is Called a Brush- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

 A Fox's Tail is Called a Brush
by Emily Pettit  

There is the room I will pretend does not exist...


As per usual, the whole poem can be viewed on Poets.org.  After reading, write a poem in response to this one.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Tommy Emmanuel guitar

This is just great - one to watch~

Tommy Emmanuel ~

Thursday, and it's still Lent - here's today's poem~

Superheroes as 2004 Volkswagen Passat: A Double Sonnet- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

My question is: does this also apply to the 2002 model?

If you don't have a Passat, just write a poem about your car.


Wednesday, March 21, 2012

BORN THIS WAY - Today's "Poem"


You might already know this song well.  Whether you do or don't, and if you love inclusiveness, visit the link above.

Here's just a bit of the song:

Give yourself prudence
And love your friends
Subway kid, rejoice your truth
In the religion of the insecure
I must be myself, respect my youth

A different lover is not a sin
Believe capital H-I-M (Hey hey hey)
I love my life I love this record and
Mi amore vole fe yah (Love needs faith)

[Repeat chorus + post-chorus]

Don't be a drag, just be a queen
Whether you're broke or evergreen
You're black, white, beige, chola descent
You're Lebanese, you're orient
Whether life's disabilities
Left you outcast, bullied, or teased
Rejoice and love yourself today
'cause baby you were born this way

What's not to like?  We are all amazing~  Write a poem about it.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Tuesday Haiku - Basho

First day of spring by Matsuo Basho
First day of spring--
I keep thinking about
the end of autumn. 

Blue Monday

Blue Monday by Diane Wakoski : The Poetry Foundation

Here's the first part of Diane's poem:

Blue of the heaps of beads poured into her breasts   
and clacking together in her elbows;
blue of the silk
that covers lily-town at night;
blue of her teeth
that bite cold toast
and shatter on the streets;
blue of the dyed flower petals with gold stamens   
hanging like tongues 
Visit the Poetry Foundation to read the rest.  Then, write a blue poem yourself~

Sunday's Poem, and Lent continues

Magdalen Walks- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

Magdalen Walks  
by Oscar Wilde

The little white clouds are racing over the sky,
   And the fields are strewn with the gold of the flower of March,
   The daffodil breaks under foot, and the tasselled larch
Sways and swings as the thrush goes hurrying by.

A delicate odour is borne on the wings of the morning breeze,
   The odour of deep wet grass, and of brown new-furrowed earth,
   The birds are singing for joy of the Spring's glad birth,
Hopping from branch to branch on the rocking trees.

And all the woods are alive with the murmur and sound of Spring,
   And the rose-bud breaks into pink on the climbing briar,
   And the crocus-bed is a quivering moon of fire
Girdled round with the belt of an amethyst ring.

And the plane to the pine-tree is whispering some tale of love
   Till it rustles with laughter and tosses its mantle of green,
   And the gloom of the wych-elm's hollow is lit with the iris sheen
Of the burnished rainbow throat and the silver breast of a dove.

See! the lark starts up from his bed in the meadow there,
   Breaking the gossamer threads and the nets of dew,
   And flashing adown the river, a flame of blue!
The kingfisher flies like an arrow, and wounds the air.

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Afternoon with Irish Cows (Billy Collins) pdf free ebook download from www.pomounties.org

Afternoon with Irish Cows (Billy Collins) pdf free ebook download from www.pomounties.org

Afternoon with Irish Cows (Billy Collins) pdf
View more  ebooks on ebookbrowse.com

Danny Boy - sung by Sinead O Connor

Here's a toast to you~


Danny Boy

Danny Boy- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

This will always bring me back to the days I used to take part in Scottish Country Dance, something I did for several years, and after each dance we'd go to our favorite pub, the Kells, in Post Alley.  When it got quite late in the evening the owner would get on the stage and sing Danny Boy.  The folks there were always so good about taking care of the kilted patrons, and for that we were truly thankful.

Here's a Black and Tan to you~

Danny Boy  
by Frederick Edward Weatherly

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And when you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

Friday, March 16, 2012

The Red Poppy- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

The Red Poppy- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More

Last night my daughter and I attended the Seattle Arts & Lectures reading at Benaroya Hall.  Louise Glück gave a fantastic reading.  This was one of the poems she shared with us:

The Red Poppy

The great thing
is not having 
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they 
govern me. I have 
a lord in heaven 
called the sun, and open 
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire 
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters, 
were you like me once, long ago, 
before you were human? Did you 
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never 
open again? Because in truth 
I am speaking now 
the way you do. I speak 
because I am shattered.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Rain on the Ferry

Rain on the ferry, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

A little more rain ... a shot taken on the ferry a while back.

Rain - Poem by Shel Silverstein

Rain - Poem by Shel Silverstein

And it is raining something fierce out there right now.  Wind too.  I rather think we'll be swept away soon, either by water or breath of air.  At least its warmer, a balmy 46 degrees.

So, I went looking for a rain poem, something layered and meaningful, something with a touch of complexity.  When I saw Shel Silverstein appear on my search page a wave of childish nostalgia lapped at my toes, and I remembered reading to my daughter and son from his wonderful books.  I look no more, and share this poem with you~

by Shel Silverstein
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

The Book Bench: Poetry Questions: Stephen Dunn : The New Yorker

The Book Bench: Poetry Questions: Stephen Dunn : The New Yorker

  Stephen Dunn's poem "Testimony" is in the New Yorker. I found this interesting note in the NYker blog:

Poetry 180 - The Bagel

Poetry 180 - The Bagel

A bagel poem - doubling my poem challenge for the day.  Sorta like having a poem savings account...

Fresh Sesame Bagel

Fresh Sesame Bagel, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.
A poem in dough. Fresh from the oven. I've been kneading, rising, boiling, baking many of these in the past week.



Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Operatic Intermission ~ Il Volo

Still watching PBS, and now Il Volo is on.  If you've never heard these three young guys singing in Italian, you are missing something.  They are amazing.  Here is a link to one of the videos of their concert at the Detroit Opera House:

So wonderful.  Enjoy~

on Radial Symmetry, poems by Katherine Larson (Yale University Press) | On the Seawall: A Literary Website by Ron Slate (GD)

on Radial Symmetry, poems by Katherine Larson (Yale University Press) | On the Seawall: A Literary Website by Ron Slate (GD)

Most evenings I watch the New Hour on PBS.  And often a poet will be featured near the close of the program.  Tonight' poet was Kathryn Larson, reading from her first book, "Radial Symmetry."  Larson is a molecular biologist, and was "trained as a writer in university workshops led by Rita Dove and Charles Wright."

To learn more, view her book, and a sample poem, visit the above link.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Monday Poem - (a Poem a Day for Lent)

Love the simplicity, and complexity of this poem.  I highly recommend a visit to Poets.org if you haven't already been.

Thinking of Work  
by James Shea

A brief storm
blew the earth clean.

There was much 
to do: sun to put up,
clouds to put out,
blue to install,
limbs to remove,
grass to implant.

(The grass failed.
We ordered new grass.)

A limb had cracked
in half in the short storm,
short with its feeling.

We saw its innards,
all the hollow places.

Something flew out of
the window and then
the window flew out of the window.

Sunday's Poem, catching up~

This poem can be found on Poets.org:         
by W. S. Merwin

with the night falling we are saying thank you 
we are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings 
we are running out of the glass rooms 
with our mouths full of food to look at the sky 
and say thank you 
we are standing by the water thanking it 
smiling by the windows looking out 
in our directions 

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging 
after funerals we are saying thank you 
after the news of the dead 
whether or not we knew them we are saying thank you

over telephones we are saying thank you 
in doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators 
remembering wars and the police at the door 
and the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you 
in the banks we are saying thank you 
in the faces of the officials and the rich
and of all who will never change
we go on saying thank you thank you

with the animals dying around us 
our lost feelings we are saying thank you 
with the forests falling faster than the minutes 
of our lives we are saying thank you 
with the words going out like cells of a brain 
with the cities growing over us 
we are saying thank you faster and faster 
with nobody listening we are saying thank you 
we are saying thank you and waving 
dark though it is

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Poetry? for Saturday, Day 18 of Lent

So, here I am, getting ready for the daylight savings time shift, and realising once again I haven't posted my poem.  I was listening to Car Talk today, which is my favorite way to start a Saturday morning, and during their short intermission was this song.  Amused, I decided this would be today's "poem."  Here is a link to the video, and some lyrics to "Truck Got Stuck," by Corb Lund.

Truck Got Stuck

The Chev got stuck and the Ford got stuck
But the Chev unstuck when the Dodge showed up
But the Dodge got stuck in the tractor rut,
Which eventually pulled out the Ford
With some difficulty

Well more rain than we’d seen for a thousand years
 Caused financial joys and biblical fears
It caused some smiles it caused some tears
But more to the point of our story
For The first time in the collective memory,
That old brown prairie that had been so dry for so long was very muddy
Boggy and sticky
We’d pull one truck out and get another stuck in
And motors would roar and tires would spin
We’d sink right down, down to the diff, and we’d all take turns and do it again
Till no one could move, we’d call one more friend,
Come on out here, we need you…bring your truck

The Chev got stuck and the Ford got stuck
But the Chev unstuck when the Dodge showed up
But the Dodge got stuck in the tractor rut
Which eventually pulled out the Ford
And the Dodge

They got me stuck in the mud, so they couldn’t rehearse
And Chavase too has missed his work
Richie, he now fears the worst, he stood up his ex wife she called him a jerk
Course Holman didn’t have nothing better do to, ‘cept ranch.

The Chev got stuck and the Ford got stuck
But the Chev unstuck when the Dodge showed up
But the Dodge got stuck in the tractor rut
Which eventually pulled out the Ford

Well it was truck after truck, we all got stuck
‘cept the big old four by hutterite truck
We all thought “lord are we in luck!”
But he wouldn’t come anywhere near us,
Mighty neighborly, mighty neighborly.

So we used a lot of our backs, a little of our brains
We jacked up the jacks, and snugged up the chains,
We all did our very best to refrain from shovelin.’
We put what timber we had, underneath the wheels
And we was all out of sand, but managed to steal
Two sacks of the best modern canola seed you ever did see,
That ‘oughta give us some traction

The Chev got stuck and the Ford got stuck
But the Chev unstuck when the Dodge showed up
But the Dodge got stuck in the tractor rut
Which eventually pulled out the Ford

We spilled genetically modified canola seed
That was genetically modified for controlling the weeds
And for big old yields and margarine oil, raised hell all over that native prairie soil
Agriculture Canada is definitely gonna be looking for us

Mind you, I'd never even heard of the song, nor the guys before today.  I can always rely on the Car Guys to broaden my poetic and lyrical horizons, as well as fix my car.  I do love a little NPR on the weekends~

Friday, March 9, 2012

Friday Photo~

I love getting flowers for my birthday.  They're kind of a gift that keeps on giving, as I get to take photos of them as long as they last.
Alstroemeria, detail

Each day the light is a little different, and each day the blossoms are changed, too. 


It is a little like poetry, digging deeply into the subject ...
Delphinium Blossom

Friday's Poem for my Lenten Post a Poem a Day Challenge

Riding Lesson by Henry Taylor | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

"Riding Lesson," by Henry Taylor from An Afternoon of Pocket Billiards (University of Utah Press).

Riding Lesson

I learned two things
from an early riding teacher.
He held a nervous filly
in one hand and gestured
with the other, saying "Listen.
Keep one leg on one side,
the other leg on the other side,
and your mind in the middle."
He turned and mounted.
She took two steps, then left
the ground, I thought for good.
But she came down hard, humped
her back, swallowed her neck,
and threw her rider as you'd
throw a rock. He rose, brushed
his pants and caught his breath,
and said, "See that's the way
to do it When you see
they're gonna throw you, get off."

Thursday's Poem, a day late

This poem is entitled "Silence," which was feature on one of my favorite sites, Poets.org.

by Marianne Moore

My father used to say,
"Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
or the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self-reliant like the cat—
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth—
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint."
Nor was he insincere in saying, "Make my house your inn."
Inns are not residences.


Yesterday I was reading "Fire on Her Tongue - an eBook Anthology of Contemporary Women's Poetry" while on the elliptical.  (I love new my Kindle Fire.)  I was looking for a poem to share with the Pilates class I was about to teach, and settled on "Southern Comfort," by Nin Andrews.  If you haven't read this wonderful anthology, I would definitely check it out.  So, so good.

Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Wednesday Poem, Week Two of Lent

Dear Reader,

Here's your poem for today.

Dear March - Come in - (1320)- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More


Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Another Day, Another Poem: Lent continues ...

Dang - I tried to upload yesterday's poem via Kindle, but was thwarted. Here is it, from The Writer's Almanac, and read by Garrison Keillor:

At Twenty-Three Weeks She Can No Longer See Anything South of Her Belly by Thom Ward | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

Linebreak :: Original Poetry, Updated Weekly

Linebreak :: Original Poetry, Updated Weekly

Today's poem is by Michelle Chan Brown, an appears on Linebreak.

Here's an excerpt:

Mar 6, 2012


Written by Michelle Chan Brown

Read by Stephanie Rogers

What we heard about thirst was true.
Everywhere, water. Everywhere, salt.
And we drank it. We learned to love
our crumpling bones. Each sunspot
on our skin deserved a christening.
Distance gifted the world a shimmer.
Time passed, perhaps. We grew wolfish...

To read the rest, or to have it read to you, visit Linebreak. You might also subscribe, and in so doing, receive a poem every Tuesday in your email box.

Poetically yours,

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Lent, Day Eleven - and Another Poem

Again, from Poets.org:

To W.C.W. M.D.  
by Alfred Kreymborg

There has been
Another death.
This time
I bring it to you.
You are kind,
You know
How to lower 
I ask only
That the rope
Isn't silk,
(Silk doesn't break)
Nor thread,
(Thread does.)
If it lifts
And lowers
Common things,
It will do.

Yesterday's poem~ Lent, Day Ten


Art Class  
by James Galvin

Let us begin with a simple line,
Drawn as a child would draw it, 
To indicate the horizon,

More real than the real horizon,
Which is less than line,
Which is visible abstraction, a ratio.

The line ravishes the page with implications
Of white earth, white sky!

The horizon moves as we move, 
Making us feel central.
But the horizon is an empty shell—

Strange radius whose center is peripheral.
As the horizon draws us on, withdrawing, 
The line draws us in, 

Requiring further lines, 
Engendering curves, verticals, diagonals,
Urging shades, shapes, figures…

What should we place, in all good faith,
On the horizon? A stone?
An empty chair? A submarine?

Take your time. Take it easy. 
The horizon will not stop abstracting us.

Sky over Puget Sound

Sky over Puget Sound, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

Just a shot from today's sunset~

Friday, March 2, 2012


Alstroemeria, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

Just a little photo of my birthday flowers ...

In Art Rowanberry's Barn by Wendell Berry | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

This is the poem for today, read on the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor. I love that little five minute bite of time. Interesting information about people born on this day, and a satisfying slice of poetry to finish.

In Art Rowanberry's Barn by Wendell Berry | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

In Art Rowanberry's Barn

by Wendell Berry

In Art Rowanberry's barn, when Art's death
had become quietly a fact among
the other facts, Andy Catlett found
a jacket made of the top half
of a pair of coveralls after
the legs wore out, for Art
never wasted anything.
Andy found a careful box made
of woodscraps with a strap
for a handle; it contained
a handful of small nails
wrapped in a piece of newspaper,
several large nails, several
rusty bolts with nuts and washers,
some old harness buckles
and rings, rusty but usable,
several small metal boxes, empty,
and three hickory nuts
hollowed out by mice.
And all of these things Andy
put back where they had been,
for time and the world and other people
to dispense with as they might,
but not by him to be disprized.
This long putting away
of things maybe useful was not all
of Art's care-taking; he cared
for creatures also, every day
leaving his tracks in dust, mud,
or snow as he went about
looking after his stock, or gave
strength to lighten a neighbor's work.
Andy found a bridle made
of several lengths of baling twine
knotted to a rusty bit,
an old set of chain harness,
four horseshoes of different sizes,
and three hammerstones picked up
from the opened furrow on days
now as perfectly forgotten
as the days when they were lost.
He found a good farrier's knife,
an awl, a key to a lock
that would no longer open.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Lent, day 8

Today was my birthday.  I didn't read to my Pilates class today, but did play a recording of Garrison Keillor reading the following poem (which I've always loved):

This poem, and more, can be found at Poets.org - one of my favorite sites~

A Blessing  
by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

NPR, and a Poem a Day


I love NPR, and this is another good link to check out.  Imagine - reading a poem every morning, no matter the fullness of the day.  Just a minute or two, that's all.  Can you spare it?

Leap Day - leapt over

Yikes!  I missed posting yesterday.  But, no worries.  I'll share yesterday's poem, and another one for today in another post. 

Yesterday was a day of poetry, from 9 am to almost 6 pm.  Good friends (poets Annette Spaulding-Convy and Kelli Russell Agodon), good food, and though-provoking poetry exercises.  It was a day well-spent.  Photos soon!

Meanwhile, here is yesterday's shared poem, from Poets.org:

Leap Year Poem  
by Mother Goose

Thirty days hath September,
April, June and November.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone,
And that has twenty-eight days clear
And twenty-nine in each leap year.


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