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Poetry thread with a twist.

Discussion in 'Personal' started by grumpydogwoman, Oct 13, 2015.

  1. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    My word is 'sunshine'. Now you choose a poem including the word 'life', copy and paste it for us to enjoy and then set a word of your own for the next person to include in a poem of their choice.


    Gee, You’re So Beautiful
    That It’s Starting to Rain

    Oh, Marcia,
    I want your long blonde beauty
    to be taught in high school,
    so kids will learn that God
    lives like music in the skin
    and sounds like a sunshine harpsichord.
    I want high school report cards
    to look like this:

    Playing with Gentle Glass Things
    A

    Computer Magic
    A

    Writing Letters to Those You Love
    A

    Finding out about Fish
    A

    Marcia’s Long Blonde Beauty
    A+!
    —Richard Brautigan
     
    InkyP, marlin and kibosh like this.
  2. kibosh

    kibosh Star commenter

    I loved his novels when I was a teen, then about 8yrs ago I re-read one and couldn't for the life of me see the attraction. It was strangely dislocating. Maybe just a frame of mind thing.
    I'll be back later with some poetry.
     
    grumpydogwoman likes this.
  3. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    I'd never heard of him. Just random googling. But I really like that poem.

    ....so kids will learn that God
    lives like music in the skin
    and sounds like a
    sunshine harpsichord.

    And the conceit about the report card. Love that.

    The word is still 'life' I couldn't make it much easier!
     
  4. cassandramark2

    cassandramark2 Lead commenter

    Are Seven

    BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
    ———A simple Child,
    That lightly draws its breath,
    And feels its life in every limb,
    What should it know of death?

    I met a little cottage Girl:
    She was eight years old, she said;
    Her hair was thick with many a curl
    That clustered round her head.

    She had a rustic, woodland air,
    And she was wildly clad:
    Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
    —Her beauty made me glad.

    “Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
    How many may you be?”
    “How many? Seven in all,” she said,
    And wondering looked at me.

    “And where are they? I pray you tell.”
    She answered, “Seven are we;
    And two of us at Conway dwell,
    And two are gone to sea.

    “Two of us in the church-yard lie,
    My sister and my brother;
    And, in the church-yard cottage, I
    Dwell near them with my mother.”

    “You say that two at Conway dwell,
    And two are gone to sea,
    Yet ye are seven! I pray you tell,
    Sweet Maid, how this may be.”

    Then did the little Maid reply,
    “Seven boys and girls are we;
    Two of us in the church-yard lie,
    Beneath the church-yard tree.”

    “You run about, my little Maid,
    Your limbs they are alive;
    If two are in the church-yard laid,
    Then ye are only five.”

    “Their graves are green, they may be seen,”
    The little Maid replied,
    “Twelve steps or more from my mother’s door,
    And they are side by side.

    “My stockings there I often knit,
    My kerchief there I hem;
    And there upon the ground I sit,
    And sing a song to them.

    “And often after sun-set, Sir,
    When it is light and fair,
    I take my little porringer,
    And eat my supper there.

    “The first that dies was sister Jane;
    In bed she moaning lay,
    Till God released her of her pain;
    And then she went away.

    “So in the church-yard she was laid;
    And, when the grass was dry,
    Together round her grave we played,
    My brother John and I.

    “And when the ground was white with snow,
    And I could run and slide,
    My brother John was forced to go,
    And he lies by her side.”

    “How many are you, then,” said I,
    “If they two are in heaven?”
    Quick was the little Maid’s reply,
    “O Master! we are seven.”

    “But they are dead; those two are dead!
    Their spirits are in heaven!”
    ’Twas throwing words away; for still
    The little Maid would have her will,
    And said, “Nay, we are seven!”


    This poem resonated with me after I lost my younger brother.

    My word is 'gyre'
     
    Last edited: Oct 13, 2015
    marlin and grumpydogwoman like this.
  5. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    cassandramark2 likes this.
  6. cassandramark2

    cassandramark2 Lead commenter

    I'm afraid I was thinking of a somewhat darker poetic setting for my word choice.

    Good idea for a thread though.
     
    grumpydogwoman likes this.
  7. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    I bet you were! (Thinking of something darker).

    The Wordsworth. Can't make up my mind whether it's mostly positive (because I think it's right to look at families in that way) or mostly sad. No, it's VERY positive!

    You mean there's more than one poem with 'gyre'??? I'll let someone else pick though whilst I do my research.
     
  8. marlin

    marlin Star commenter

    Can only think of the obvious one!

    Jabberwocky

    By Lewis Carroll 1832–1898 Lewis Carroll
    ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    “Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
    Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
    The frumious Bandersnatch!”

    He took his vorpal sword in hand;
    Long time the manxome foe he sought—
    So rested he by the Tumtum tree
    And stood awhile in thought.

    And, as in uffish thought he stood,
    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
    Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
    And burbled as it came!

    One, two! One, two! And through and through
    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
    He left it dead, and with its head
    He went galumphing back.

    “And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
    He chortled in his joy.

    ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
    All mimsy were the borogoves,
    And the mome raths outgrabe.

    My word is Fog.
     
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  9. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

  10. marlin

    marlin Star commenter

    Oh - I have found this one. Was too hasty with Jabberwocky.
    William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

    THE SECOND COMING
    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.
    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
     
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  11. TheoGriff

    TheoGriff Star commenter

    .

    Thought at first it was frog, Marlin!

    This is a great thread, @grumpydogwoman . This poem is in easy French . . .

    Le brouillard

    Le brouillard a tout mis
    Dans son sac de coton;
    Le brouillard a tout pris
    Autour de ma maison.

    Plus de fleurs au jardin,
    Plus d’arbres dans l’allée;
    La serre du voisin
    Semble s’être envolée.

    Et je ne sais vraiment
    Où peut s’être posé
    Le moineau que j’entends
    Si tristement crier.

    (Maurice Carême)

    My word is (in any language) Silver

    Best wishes

    .
     
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  12. cassandramark2

    cassandramark2 Lead commenter

    That's the one, Marlin.

    I'm a regular bundle of lightness and joy
     
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  13. cassandramark2

    cassandramark2 Lead commenter

    It's ok, GD. He died years ago when I was in the middle of my degree and this was the first poem I was given to analyse after his funeral. His name was John, hence...
     
  14. Flere-Imsaho

    Flere-Imsaho Star commenter

    William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

    THE SECOND COMING

    Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

    Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

    And lion can be the next word for whoever picks it up from this strand!
     
    grumpydogwoman likes this.
  15. Flere-Imsaho

    Flere-Imsaho Star commenter

    (Must read whole thread in future)
     
  16. marlin

    marlin Star commenter

    I love this poem Theo :)

    Slowly, silently, now the moon
    Walks the night in her silver shoon;
    This way, and that, she peers, and sees
    Silver fruit upon silver trees;
    One by one the casements catch
    Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
    Couched in his kennel, like a log,
    With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
    From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
    Of doves in silver feathered sleep
    A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
    With silver claws, and silver eye;
    And moveless fish in the water gleam,
    By silver reeds in a silver stream.
    Walter de la Mare

    So we don't get confused we'll keep Flere's word.
     
  17. Flere-Imsaho

    Flere-Imsaho Star commenter

    I was thinking we could branch off with a whole range of strands rather than having it very linear.
    I like the moon poem!
     
  18. racroesus

    racroesus Star commenter





      • FEAR death? -- to feel the fog in my throat,
        The mist in my face,
        When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
        I am nearing the place,
        The power of the night, the press of the storm,
        The post of the foe;
        Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
        Yet the strong man must go:
        For the journey is done and the summit attained,
        And the barriers fall,
        Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
        The reward of it all.
        I was ever a fighter, so -- one fight more,
        The best and the last!
        I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore,
        And bade me creep past.
        No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
        The heroes of old,
        Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
        Of pain, darkness and cold.
        For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
        The black minute's at end,
        And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave,
        Shall dwindle, shall blend,
        Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
        Then a light, then thy breast,
        O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
        And with God be the rest!
    My word is Tiber.
     
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  19. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    Tiber! Tiber??

    Not.....tiger??? ;)

    Oh. You're a regular ray of sunshine today, rac!
     
  20. grumpydogwoman

    grumpydogwoman Star commenter

    1. Yes, I love the de la Mare.
    2. Yes, let's go off any which you want, @Flere-Imsaho . What are you thinking?
     

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