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  1. TopTop #2371
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Hope and Love
    All winter
    the blue heron
    slept among the horses.
    I do not know
    the customs of herons,
    do not know
    if the solitary habit
    is their way,
    or if he listened for
    some missing one—
    not knowing even
    that was what he did—
    in the blowing
    sounds in the dark.
    I know that
    hope is the hardest
    love we carry.
    He slept
    with his long neck
    folded, like a letter
    put away.


    - Jane Hirshfield
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  2. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  3. TopTop #2372
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Necklace

    Take, from my palms, for joy, for ease,
    A little honey, a little sun,
    That we may obey Persephone’s bees.

    You can’t untie a boat unmoored.
    Fur-shod shadows can’t be heard,
    Nor terror, in this life, mastered.

    Love, what’s left for us, and of us, is this
    Living remnant, loving revenant, brief kiss
    Like a bee flying completed dying hiveless

    To find in the forest’s heart a home,
    Night’s never-ending hum,
    Thriving on meadowsweet, mint, and time.

    Take, for all that is good, for all that is gone,
    That it may lie rough and real against your collarbone,
    This string of bees, that once turned honey into sun.


    - Osip Mandelstam
    (Translated by Christian Wiman)
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  4. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  5. TopTop #2373
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Before The Men's Retreat


    She asks: “What is it?”
    And I say: “100 men naked in the woods.”
    She wrinkles her nose and says: “No clothes?”
    And I say: “Sometimes.”
    And she says: “What do you do?”
    I say: First we removed the coat of corporate soldier, of worker
    bee, of boss, of coach, of business owner.
    Then we pull off the jacket of marriage.
    Toss aside the shoes of parenthood.
    The umbrella of son.
    The backpack of friend.
    The helmet of hero, savior, tough guy.
    We pull from our pockets the mantle of lady’s man, lover,
    slayer of the weaker sex.
    We check in our charm and toss away the pants of romance.
    All the roles and expectations we carry about in our
    lives, we leave behind like a pile of clothes on the floor.”
    She says: “On the floor? That’s what I thought. Then you’re naked?”
    Says I: “Not yet. We promise not to engage in physical violence,
    then we strip off unnecessary civilization. Toss it in the
    pile with all the rest.”
    She: “Then you’re naked.”
    I: “No. We still hold onto our tattered dysfunctions and
    threadbare beliefs like a 10 year old pair of bikini briefs.
    That’s the last thing, but we hold fast, because, you know,
    those stinking little lies and truths, that stained and
    shredded pair of underwear held our life together for 10,
    20, 40 years. And only when we can toss that old thing away
    are we truly naked”
    She blinks and says: “So it’s 100 men in the woods in tattered
    underwear.”
    I say: “Yes. But over the course of the week, it washes away in
    the realm of ritual. Blown away by the breath of spirit.
    Cracked open under the scrutiny and support of men. Pried
    off by the power of story.”
    She stares at me, silent, and then: “Why? ... Why do you do it?”
    I say: “So we can see what’s left. That’s us. Naked. We can
    hardly recognize ourselves, but that’s who we are. It’s
    blinding. Dazzling. Beautiful. Very painful, but very real.
    We walk with it. Work with it. Sing songs to honor and
    protect it. Wounds are revealed, healed, become our
    strength and our shield. Internal lands are explored.
    Monsters are banished. And in the end, we bring some
    of all this back into life, even as we put our clothes back on.”
    She shifts and settles, ponders and pads about the room, then
    smiles and says: “Well have a good time then.”

    - Greg Kimura
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  6. Gratitude expressed by 6 members:

  7. TopTop #2374
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Reckoning


    All profits disappear: the gain
    Of ease, the hoarded, secret sum;
    And now grim digits of old pain
    Return to litter up our home.


    We hunt the cause of ruin, add,
    Subtract, and put ourselves in pawn;
    For all our scratching on the pad,
    We cannot trace the error down.


    What we are seeking is a fare
    One way, a chance to be secure:
    The lack that keeps us what we are,
    The penny that usurps the poor.


    - Theodore Roethke
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  8. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  9. TopTop #2375
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Funeral Blues

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    - W.H. Auden
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-19-2015 at 02:02 PM.
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  10. TopTop #2376

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    I love this poem! One (meaning I) usually thinks of Auden as a "public poet" somehow, mainly. But as a love poet he can be sublime! Here's another one which a friend sent me recently:

    SONG
    W.H. Auden

    The chimney sweepers
    Wash their faces and forget to wash the neck;
    The lighthouse keepers
    Let the lamps go out and leave the ships to wreck;
    The prosperous baker
    Leaves the rolls in hundreds in the oven to burn;
    The undertaker
    Pins a small note on the coffin saying, "Wait till I return,
    I've got a date with Love."

    And deep-sea divers
    Cut their boots off and come bubbling to the top,
    And engine-drivers
    Bring expresses in the tunnel to a stop;
    The village rector
    Dashes down the side-aisle half-way through a psalm;
    The sanitary inspector
    Runs off with the cover of the cesspool on his arm --
    To keep his date with Love.
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  12. TopTop #2377

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    ps: a friend in Walnut Creek was a protege of Auden, as a young man. I'll ask him if he has anything to share.
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  13. TopTop #2378
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Every Revolution Needs Fresh Poems

    Every revolution needs fresh poems
    that is the reason
    poetry cannot die.
    It is the reason poets
    go without sleep
    and sometimes without lovers
    without new cars
    and without fine clothes
    the reason we commit
    to facing the dark
    and
    rein ourselves, regularly, to the possibility
    of being wrong.
    Poetry is leading us.
    It never cares how we will
    be held by lovers
    or drive fast
    or look good
    in the moment;
    but about how completely
    we are committed
    to movement
    both inner and outer;
    and devoted to transformation
    and to change.

    - Alice Walker
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-20-2015 at 01:19 PM.
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  14. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  15. TopTop #2379
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Reading Neruda While Waiting for an Ultrasound


    We try hard not to fall into error - like trying to avoid the beehive, though it's where the honey is kept.
    Autocorrect wants to make beehive Bernice, wants to turn Neruda into Jerusalem
    My own eyes, when they spot The Redress of Poetry on my shelf, see The Red Dress of Poetry.
    When i love you less than perfectly, it is the same.
    When I am the sand in your soap, it is the same.
    Peel back the edge for the honey.


    - Michael Sierchio
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  16. Gratitude expressed by 7 members:

  17. TopTop #2380
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Reckoner
    You open your mouth—wide, wider—
    and voilà, a foggy forest
    slips out. Open again and spit
    a castle. And so on…for a moat,
    a stable, and the ever
    sallying-forth dead aunties.
    Sure, you can spew a distant fire-chucking
    volcano. Or blow a spit-bubble
    with a baby in it. What language,
    what words will said baby let fly
    when you’re nowhere? When you’re
    roaming her dreams with her dear deceased
    (& why were hers all ball-gowned up?),
    when you’re a dirt speck in an earth clod
    in a world that’s eventuated…back to
    warlessness, back and back to only rats
    in the underground, back back back
    to fowl becoming fish.
    - Nance Van Winckel
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  19. TopTop #2381
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Forgetfulness

    The name of the author is the first to go
    followed obediently by the title, the plot,
    the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
    which suddenly becomes one you have never read, never
    even heard of,
    as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
    decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
    to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
    Long ago you kissed the nine Muses goodbye
    and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
    and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
    something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
    the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
    Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
    it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
    not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
    It has floated away down a dark mythological river
    whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
    well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
    who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a
    bicycle.
    No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
    to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
    No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
    out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

    - Billy Collins
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  20. Gratitude expressed by 6 members:

  21. TopTop #2382
    Roland Jacopetti's Avatar
    Roland Jacopetti
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    What a great poem! Just as Al Young is now characterized as "California Poet Laureate Emeritus", let's not ever forget Billy, America's Renowned Poet Laureate Emeritus.

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Forgetfulness...
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  23. TopTop #2383
    Ronaldo's Avatar
    Ronaldo
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    When I forget how to use Google, will I then know that I've gotten truly forgetful?

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Forgetfulness

    The name of the author is the first to go
    ....
    Last edited by Barry; 03-24-2015 at 02:52 PM.
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  25. TopTop #2384
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Spring

    Somewhere
    a black bear
    has just risen from sleep
    and is staring

    down the mountain.
    All night
    in the brisk and shallow restlessness
    of early spring

    I think of her,
    her four black fists
    flicking the gravel,
    her tongue

    like a red fire
    touching the grass,
    the cold water.
    There is only one question:

    how to love this world.
    I think of her
    rising
    like a black and leafy ledge

    to sharpen her claws against
    the silence
    of the trees.
    Whatever else

    my life is
    with its poems
    and its music
    and its cities,

    it is also this dazzling darkness
    coming
    down the mountain,
    breathing and tasting;

    all day I think of her –
    her white teeth,
    her wordlessness,
    her perfect love.

    - Mary Oliver
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-24-2015 at 01:33 PM.
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  26. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  27. TopTop #2385
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Litany


    For all that is done and said.
    We know their dream; enough
    To know they are dreamed and are dead.
    from Yeats’ “Easter, 1916”


    Enough to know.
    They are dreamed.
    And are dead.
    The litany in my head
    Utters their names
    One by one.
    Dead. Not dead.
    Dreamed.
    The beginning. Kneel down
    On the cold stone floor.
    The stone of the heart recalls first
    Her name. Mary. The Grandmother,
    The grandmother from Wales
    Whose voice always took me to the lilt
    Of Dylan Thomas.
    Then the children: Marietta Walker,
    First child of the young bride.
    Donald, after her husband,
    Who worked in the mine.
    Carrie. Bill. Sam. Norval.
    The family grew, boys
    Following their father
    Into the coal-dark days.
    The child Kenneth,
    The only one never to reach adulthood,
    Adored by my mother, Maggie May.
    (Maggie May, Margeret, Midge—
    Alll names worn by my mother.)
    And the youngest: Betty (Mary Elizabeth).
    Elbert. Lucy Florence. Robert.
    Twelve children and never an angry word
    From the parents from Wales, from Scotland.
    But the names go on. Chidren
    Of their children. Cousins. Brothers.
    My knees, on that ancient stone
    Known to my memory, have no feeling.
    Only telling.
    The names
    Come faster.
    They are hard to say.
    And now, in silence,
    The stone. My heart. My love.
    Say it.
    Enough to know.
    Dreamed.
    And dead.


    - Fran Claggett
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  28. TopTop #2386
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Quiet Psalm

    Let there be a quiet that falls like grace,
    over all of us:
    over our hands
    which have slowly become guns,
    our teeth, now daggers,
    and over our hearts,
    which explode with the suicide bombs.
    Let us take ourselves back
    to the first time we saw each other
    on the Fertile Crescent,
    where we drew water to drink
    from the same river,
    or back to the first playground
    where you asked, What's your name?
    and I responded, I am you.
    Let us follow this unmentioned history
    back in time so that we may see
    that the suffering of one
    is the suffering of all,
    and furthermore,
    the responsibility.
    Let us gather up our missiles,
    our shrapnel, our tanks,
    our nuclear threats, and our hatred
    and ask:
    How could I have thought
    to use these against you?
    And let there a quiet that falls over us like grace,
    as we stand dumbed by the asking.
    And then
    let there be a Listening

    for the deepest of answers.

    - Silvio Machado
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  29. Gratitude expressed by 8 members:

  30. TopTop #2387
    Roland Jacopetti's Avatar
    Roland Jacopetti
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    So beautiful. Thanks again, Larry.

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Quiet Psalm
    ...
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  31. TopTop #2388
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Red Brocade

    The Arabs used to say
    When a stranger appears at your door,
    feed him for three days
    before asking who he is,
    where he's come from,
    where he's headed.
    That way, he'll have strength enough
    to answer.
    Or, by then you'll be such good friends
    you don't care.

    Let's go back to that.
    Rice? Pine nuts?
    Here, take the red brocade pillow.
    My child will serve water
    to your horse.

    No, I was not busy when you came!
    I was not preparing to be busy.
    That's the armor everyone put on
    to pretend they had a purpose
    in the world.

    I refuse to be claimed.
    Your plate is waiting.
    We will snip fresh mint
    into your tea.

    - Naomi Shihab Nye
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  32. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  33. TopTop #2389
    Dorothy Friberg's Avatar
    Dorothy Friberg
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    This brings to mind Waccobees following the quest of the black bear cub last year at about this time on this website. Can we all resolve that should such an event recur, that we take whatever measures necessary to preserve the life of these treasured beings. I, for one would gladly contribute to the owner of injured or dead goats in hopes of preserving the larger animal's life.

    That bear traveled several miles through whatever wild places were available to it. and the people who killed it over a dead goat live in a wild area very near Boho Grove. Let's make every effort to preserve whatever wildlife we have left as long as we are not in danger and be unified in this effort.

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Spring

    Somewhere

    a black bear
    has just risen from sleep
    and is staring

    down the mountain.
    All night
    in the brisk and shallow restlessness
    of early spring

    I think of her,
    her four black fists
    flicking the gravel,
    her tongue

    like a red fire
    touching the grass,
    the cold water.
    There is only one question:

    how to love this world.
    I think of her
    rising
    like a black and leafy ledge

    to sharpen her claws against
    the silence
    of the trees.
    Whatever else

    my life is
    with its poems
    and its music
    and its cities,

    it is also this dazzling darkness
    coming
    down the mountain,
    breathing and tasting;

    all day I think of her –
    her white teeth,
    her wordlessness,
    her perfect love.

    - Mary Oliver
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  34. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  35. TopTop #2390
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Reverse Living

    Life is tough.
    It takes up a lot of your time. All your weekends.
    And what do you get at the end of it -
    Death - A great reward.
    I think that the life cycle is all backwards.
    You should die first. Get it out of the way.
    Then you live 20 years in an old folks home.
    You get kicked out when you're too young.
    You get a good watch. You go to work.
    You work for 40 years until you are young enough to enter college.
    You learn to party until you are ready for High School.
    You go to High School, Grade School,
    You become a little kid.
    You play, you have no responsibilities.
    You become a little baby.
    You go back into the womb.
    You spend the last nine months floating
    Only to finish off as a gleam in somebodies eye.

    - Lynne Vance
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  36. Gratitude expressed by 8 members:

  37. TopTop #2391
    gardenmaniac's Avatar
    gardenmaniac
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    this is a grand scheme, but knowing what I/we know now, just how innocent could I/we become when regressed to youth and infancy? just sayin' ...

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Reverse Living... - Lynne Vance
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-30-2015 at 12:58 PM.
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  39. TopTop #2392
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Beet Poetry

    I have seen the best veg of my germination destroyed by cooking:
    carrots, beetroot, swedes; mashed with butter by angry chefs at dusk,
    or grated and juiced by the illuminated machinery of kitchens
    purple-headed onions burning in forgotten pans in neon-lit takeaways
    and lettuce, turning, turning:
    caught in the starry dynamo of the machinery of saladspinner.
    Carrots, who curled, abandoned, on chopping boards; and leeks
    who ran through streets in mad dreams screaming “celeriac! celeriac!”.
    who rotted down on compost heaps
    who sprouted in the supernatural dark of larders,
    who were lost, beneath mouse-grey mould on ectoplasmic fridge-door shelves

    who were rooted in the shadow of Didcot smokestacks
    who cowered in terror under September squash-leaves
    who tasted radiant cool flesh, of early-morning marrows
    and who wept onion-tears as they contemplated
    knifesteel, from hessian sacks and box-scheme crates:
    who faced the peeler and the grater in insane fear of casserole
    and nightmares of spilt beetrootblood, and gouged potato-eyes

    who were macerated, blended, chopped; or marinated overnight with wine:
    who leached their flavours into stock, or roasted crisp around the body of a duck
    who dreamed of honey-glaze. Chillies,
    who spilled their hot seed carelessly on formica worktops, and parsnips
    too obscene for supermarket shelves: who were diced and boiled
    for pasties and trapped inside the crescents of crusts, or
    who found their place in cold cottage-pies

    who were gently peeled, and chopped and sliced
    with beetroot in the quiet of Oxford kitchens
    who were dressed in oil in soft wooden spoonfuls:
    who were served in bowls in cornerless rooms,
    haunted by the echoes of verse and song
    who shared their hearts with loving people,
    who dream of broccoli forests and
    who understand the power and the poetry
    in these thin green stems.

    - Jack Prichard


    All the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking happiness for others.
    - Shantideva
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-30-2015 at 12:58 PM.
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  40. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  41. TopTop #2393
    Victoria Street's Avatar
    Victoria Street
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    This one put a smile on my face!
    It reminds me of Jiddu Krishnamurti (but with a twist!) who said "Die a little every day" referring to the need to let go of the past in order to make room for the present. As always, thank you Larry!



    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Reverse Living... - Lynne Vance
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  42. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  43. TopTop #2394
    Roland Jacopetti's Avatar
    Roland Jacopetti
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Get a job, Beetnik!

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Beet Poetry

    I have seen the best veg of my germination destroyed by cooking:
    carrots, beetroot, swedes; mashed with butter by angry chefs at dusk,
    or grated and juiced by the illuminated machinery of kitchens
    purple-headed onions burning in forgotten pans in neon-lit takeaways
    and lettuce, turning, turning:
    caught in the starry dynamo of the machinery of saladspinner.
    Carrots, who curled, abandoned, on chopping boards; and leeks
    who ran through streets in mad dreams screaming “celeriac! celeriac!”.
    who rotted down on compost heaps
    who sprouted in the supernatural dark of larders,
    who were lost, beneath mouse-grey mould on ectoplasmic fridge-door shelves

    who were rooted in the shadow of Didcot smokestacks
    who cowered in terror under September squash-leaves
    who tasted radiant cool flesh, of early-morning marrows
    and who wept onion-tears as they contemplated
    knifesteel, from hessian sacks and box-scheme crates:
    who faced the peeler and the grater in insane fear of casserole
    and nightmares of spilt beetrootblood, and gouged potato-eyes

    who were macerated, blended, chopped; or marinated overnight with wine:
    who leached their flavours into stock, or roasted crisp around the body of a duck
    who dreamed of honey-glaze. Chillies,
    who spilled their hot seed carelessly on formica worktops, and parsnips
    too obscene for supermarket shelves: who were diced and boiled
    for pasties and trapped inside the crescents of crusts, or
    who found their place in cold cottage-pies

    who were gently peeled, and chopped and sliced
    with beetroot in the quiet of Oxford kitchens
    who were dressed in oil in soft wooden spoonfuls:
    who were served in bowls in cornerless rooms,
    haunted by the echoes of verse and song
    who shared their hearts with loving people,
    who dream of broccoli forests and
    who understand the power and the poetry
    in these thin green stems.

    - Jack Prichard






    All the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking happiness for others.
    - Shantideva
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  45. TopTop #2395

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Just listen to those veggies HOWL!
    Janet

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Beet Poetry...
    Last edited by thedaughter; 03-31-2015 at 12:40 PM.
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  47. TopTop #2396
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Where Is God?

    It’s as if what is unbreakable -
    the very pulse of life - waits for
    everything else to be torn away,
    and then in the bareness that
    only silence and suffering and
    great love can expose, it dares
    to speak through us and to us.

    It seems to say, if you want to last,
    hold on to nothing. If you want
    to know love, let in everything.
    If you want to feel the presence
    of everything, stop counting the
    things that break along the way.

    - Mark Nepo
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  49. TopTop #2397
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Oración de la lucha del campesino

    Enséñame el sufrimiento de los más desafortunados;
    así conoceré el dolor de mi pueblo.
    Líbrame a orar por los demás
    porque estás presente en cada persona.
    Ayúdame a tomar responsabilidad de mi propia vida;
    sólo así, seré libre al fin.
    Concédeme valentía para servir al prójimo
    porque en la entrega hay vida verdadera.
    Concédeme honradez y paciencia
    para que yo pueda trabajar junto con otros trabajadores.
    Alúmbranos con el canto y la celebración
    para que se eleve el espíritu entre nosotros.
    Que el espíritu florezca y crezca
    para que no nos cansemos de la lucha.
    Acordémonos de los que han caído por la justicia
    porque a nosotros han entregado la vida.
    Ayúdanos a amar aun a los que nos odian;
    así podremos cambiar el mundo.
    Amen.

    por César E. Chávez, Fundador del UFW (1927-1993)

    Robert Lentz



    Prayer of the Farm Workers' Struggle

    Show me the suffering of the most miserable;
    thus I will know my people's plight.
    Free me to pray for others,
    for you are present in every person.
    Help me take responsibility for my own life
    so that I can be free at last.
    Grant me courage to serve my neighbor
    for in surrender is there truly life.
    Grant me honesty and patience
    so that I can work with other workers.
    Enlighten us with song and celebration
    so that the spirit will be alive among us.
    Let the spirit flourish and grow
    so that we will never tire of the struggle.
    Let us remember those who have died for justice
    for they have given us life.
    Help us love even those who hate us;
    thus we can change the world.
    Amen.

    by César E. Chávez, UFW Founder (1927-1993)



    All the suffering in the world comes from seeking pleasure for oneself. All the happiness in the world comes from seeking happiness for others.
    - Shantideva
    Last edited by thedaughter; 04-01-2015 at 12:59 PM.
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  51. TopTop #2398
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Seder Dinner
    For Sherrye on her 80th birthday

    The emerald in the jeweler’s case is magnificent,
    for it is rare;
    the shimmering green dragonfly in the sun is more so,
    for it is not.
    Life constantly presents itself in a vast, breathtaking array
    of ingredients; to make of it what we will.
    A child wishes for an unending menu of desserts,
    but the wise cook knows the balance of sweet and bitter,
    rich and lean.
    She works with what is given, eating each meal
    as the feast that it is.
    Unconcerned with whether the kitchen is clean
    or if the pantry is full for tomorrow,
    she savors each bite of the complex and rich stew that has
    cooked over time, knowing that it nourishes her with a
    deepening wisdom; a satisfying repast.
    Live in fullness for all of your days.

    - Alan Cohen
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  53. TopTop #2399
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Snowflakes


    Ecclesiastes says “for everything there is a season.”
    You say “It’s tax season;
    it’s baseball season; it’s allergy season;
    I’ve got to season the steak on the barbie;
    besides, I don’t have time to change the world.”

    Goethe tells us of the genius, power and magic in boldness.
    You say “What can I do, anyway?
    The foxes are guarding the henhouse;
    the juggernaught is out of control;
    we’re all just snowflakes in a windstorm.”

    The mountain asks “Which snowflake, falling,
    will be the one to send down the avalanche
    to change this entire landscape?”

    - Larry Robinson

    Last edited by Barry; 04-06-2015 at 02:03 PM.
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  55. TopTop #2400

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Expand


    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Snowflakes...

    - Larry Robinson
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