RP Listener Forum

Posted: Jun 17, 2013 - 1:07pm

And So We Go Alone

A poem in blank verse.

In mists of calm I remember dinner conclave gatherings where

Our nuclear family fought to fold the day’s events onto our

Floating isolate home. There you sat in your high-backed chair

Explaining how our worlds worked and where wisdom lay.

Innocents Aboard, we clung to our gunnels and swept up

What could only be the vision of an elder of the highest calling.

Worshipful, we sureties purchased against an unknown future

Listened to our father tell us the holy truth of the whole wide world.

Soon our knowledge clashed and too soon our holy icon showed

His feet were made of earthen source and ready to be questioned.

Then came stormy days and fiery nights, never again the idyll glowed.

Sides were picked for verbal dodgeball and hidden bruises beckoned.

Though waves have tossed the ship we never cease to steer our craft

And though the master has lost his place, there is left in his place

A generous fraternal crafting which walks the after-deck with warm weather-eye

And perhaps will call a sighting of that, our farthest shore.

Oh Captain, my captain. Why do you vex me so? I know that harbored

Hatreds never fill my sails and yet I blow to the fabric and hope to

Make this barque move ahead. I slave up these holystoned decks and cast

Withered glance to where your tread once marked my mind’s daily worry.

But now we must master the craft. Hatreds and wistful worry won’t carry.

I pull my daily fear into a moment’s peace and let the regretful accusations fly away.

In this moment will we steer to our future, without you.

Father, you took us this far. We, the sons of the man will take it from here.

S.A.M. Tanner

June 2013

Posted: Jun 15, 2013 - 5:38am

ScottN wrote:

From Woody's Restaurant, Middlebury

Today, noon, a young macho friendly waiter and three diners,
               business types—two males, one female—
are in a quandary about the name of the duck paddling
               Otter Creek,
the duck being brown, but too large to be a female mallard.
               They really want to know, and I'm the human-watcher behind the nook
               of my table,
camouflaged by my stillness and nonchalant plumage.
               They really want to know.
This sighting I record in the back of my Field Guide to People.

GREG DELANTY

Great minds love the same poetry...

Posted: Jun 15, 2013 - 5:36am

From Woody's Restaurant, Middlebury

Today, noon, a young macho friendly waiter and three diners,
               business types—two males, one female—
are in a quandary about the name of the duck paddling
               Otter Creek,
the duck being brown, but too large to be a female mallard.
               They really want to know, and I'm the human-watcher behind the nook
               of my table,
camouflaged by my stillness and nonchalant plumage.
               They really want to know.
This sighting I record in the back of my Field Guide to People.

GREG DELANTY

Posted: Jun 12, 2013 - 3:23pm

samiyam wrote:

In Spite of Everything, the Stars

~ by Edward Hirsch ~

....

Very nice. LOTS of metaphors in the first stanza! {#Cheers}

Posted: Jun 12, 2013 - 6:36am

samiyam wrote:

Clear and clean... I loved the imagery of this poem...

A very nice one, for sure.

Posted: Jun 12, 2013 - 6:30am

wallacehartley wrote:

samiyam wrote:

In Spite of Everything, the Stars

~ by Edward Hirsch ~

Like a stunned piano, like a bucket
of fresh milk flung into the air
or a dozen fists of confetti
thrown hard at a bride
stepping down from the altar,
the stars surprise the sky.
Think of dazed stones
floating overhead, or an ocean
of starfish hung up to dry. Yes,
like a conductor's expectant arm
about to lift toward the chorus,
or a juggler's plates defying gravity,
or a hundred fastballs fired at once
and freezing in midair, the stars
startle the sky over the city.

And that's why drunks leaning up
against abandoned buildings, women
hurrying home on deserted side streets,
policemen turning blind corners, and
even thieves stepping from alleys
all stare up at once. Why else do
sleepwalkers move toward the windows,
or old men drag flimsy lawn chairs
onto fire escapes, or hardened criminals
press sad foreheads to steel bars?
Because the night is alive with lamps!
That's why in dark houses all over the city
dreams stir in the pillows, a million
plumes of breath rise into the sky.

A name I have never heard of, and will look for again. This has such clear imagery, it's lovely.

Clear and clean... I loved the imagery of this poem...

Posted: Jun 11, 2013 - 12:27pm

samiyam wrote:

In Spite of Everything, the Stars

~ by Edward Hirsch ~

Like a stunned piano, like a bucket
of fresh milk flung into the air
or a dozen fists of confetti
thrown hard at a bride
stepping down from the altar,
the stars surprise the sky.
Think of dazed stones
floating overhead, or an ocean
of starfish hung up to dry. Yes,
like a conductor's expectant arm
about to lift toward the chorus,
or a juggler's plates defying gravity,
or a hundred fastballs fired at once
and freezing in midair, the stars
startle the sky over the city.

And that's why drunks leaning up
against abandoned buildings, women
hurrying home on deserted side streets,
policemen turning blind corners, and
even thieves stepping from alleys
all stare up at once. Why else do
sleepwalkers move toward the windows,
or old men drag flimsy lawn chairs
onto fire escapes, or hardened criminals
press sad foreheads to steel bars?
Because the night is alive with lamps!
That's why in dark houses all over the city
dreams stir in the pillows, a million
plumes of breath rise into the sky.

A name I have never heard of, and will look for again. This has such clear imagery, it's lovely.

Posted: Jun 11, 2013 - 8:25am

In Spite of Everything, the Stars

~ by Edward Hirsch ~

Like a stunned piano, like a bucket
of fresh milk flung into the air
or a dozen fists of confetti
thrown hard at a bride
stepping down from the altar,
the stars surprise the sky.
Think of dazed stones
floating overhead, or an ocean
of starfish hung up to dry. Yes,
like a conductor's expectant arm
about to lift toward the chorus,
or a juggler's plates defying gravity,
or a hundred fastballs fired at once
and freezing in midair, the stars
startle the sky over the city.

And that's why drunks leaning up
against abandoned buildings, women
hurrying home on deserted side streets,
policemen turning blind corners, and
even thieves stepping from alleys
all stare up at once. Why else do
sleepwalkers move toward the windows,
or old men drag flimsy lawn chairs
onto fire escapes, or hardened criminals
press sad foreheads to steel bars?
Because the night is alive with lamps!
That's why in dark houses all over the city
dreams stir in the pillows, a million
plumes of breath rise into the sky.

Posted: Jun 11, 2013 - 8:22am

oldviolin wrote:

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

Like stars within the Milky Way,
Like tiny dots in night-time waters,
These lives will fill me and then be gone.
And in the multitudes and plethora wasting
I find the presence which calls me beyond
the who who is me. ... *Snap*
We berate ourselves for the wasted time and find
that it is just a sneeze.
And as the fish dies and his body sinks to the bottom
I ask... "Who is the watcher?" And find that it is us.

S.A.M. Tanner
2013

Posted: Jun 9, 2013 - 2:55pm

Enriching the Earth

To enrich the earth I have sowed clover and grass
to grow and die. I have plowed in the seeds
of winter grains and of various legumes,
their growth to be plowed in to enrich the earth.
I have stirred into the ground the offal
and the decay of the growth of past seasons
and so mended the earth and made its yield increase.
All this serves the dark. I am slowly falling
into the fund of things. And yet to serve the earth,
not knowing what I serve, gives a wideness
and a delight to the air, and my days
do not wholly pass. It is the mind's service,
for when the will fails so do the hands
and one lives at the expense of life.
After death, willing or not, the body serves,
entering the earth. And so what was heaviest
and most mute is at last raised up into song.

WENDELL BERRY

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 12:04pm

wallacehartley wrote:

oldviolin wrote:

At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands. I drink

a long time. It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Mary Oliver

Beautiful.

Yes it is.

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 10:29am

oldviolin wrote:

My Shiloh's gait slows, now

He gives me a knowing glance

to this I do my best to avert his still clear brown eyes

as if I have such power

so sweet; so soulful

I wonder where he came from.
I wonder how he stays so very young inside.
I wonder how I will ever cope with his good-bye

For now, we; he and I; follow his bright star

Me, knowing...unafraid

He is not mine, after all

I am his.

"He's just a dog!" she exclaimed...

Truly, there are mysteries in life that reflect and project certainties

Here, now, we qualify the messages

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 10:27am

My Shiloh's gait slows, now

He gives me a knowing glance

to this I do my best to avert his still clear brown eyes

as if I have such power

so sweet; so soulful

I wonder where he came from.
I wonder how he stays so very young inside.
I wonder how I will ever cope with his good-bye

For now, we; he and I; follow his bright star

Me, knowing...unafraid

He is not mine, after all

I am his.

"He's just a dog!" she exclaimed...

Truly, there are mysteries in life that reflect and project certainties

Here, now, we qualify the messages

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 10:13am

wallacehartley wrote:

Beautiful.

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 10:06am

oldviolin wrote:

At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands. I drink

a long time. It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Mary Oliver

Beautiful.

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 10:01am

samiyam wrote:

I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 9:57am

oldviolin wrote:

At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands. I drink

a long time. It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Mary Oliver

Posted: Jun 8, 2013 - 9:54am

At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled

after a night of rain.

I dip my cupped hands. I drink

a long time. It tastes

like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold

into my body, waking the bones. I hear them

deep inside me, whispering

oh what is that beautiful thing

that just happened?

Mary Oliver

Posted: Jun 7, 2013 - 5:53am

The song I have come to sing

remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my life

stringing and unstringing

my instrument.

Tagore

Posted: Jun 7, 2013 - 12:34am

Wishes

Now I wish I were asleep, to see my dreams taking place
I wish I were more awake
I wish a sweet rush of tears to my eyes
Wish a nose like an eagle
I wish blue sky in the afternoon
Bigger windows, & a panorama—light, buildings & people in street air
Wish my teeth were white and sparkled
Wish my legs were not where they are—where they are
I wish the days warmly cool & clothes I like to be inside of
Wish I were walking around in Chelsea (NY) & it was 5:15 a.m., the
sun coming up, alone, you asleep at home
I wish red rage came easier
I wish death, but not just now
I wish I were driving alone across America in a gold Cadillac
toward California, & my best friend
I wish I were in love, & you here

TED BERRIGAN