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  1. TopTop #3811
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Donald Hall

    I came to you late, quite by accident,
    in the car, that Saturday afternoon
    after a seemingly endless detour—
    decades stretching into decades—

    brought me back, in the end,
    to myself and to the poetry
    that I had so loved
    as a young man.

    - Bill Denham
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  2. Gratitude expressed by:

  3. TopTop #3812
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Things About The Sun


    Any time the sun
    touches our part of the earth
    we say the sun shines.

    Sometimes dogs bark at the sun,
    but I don’t mind it.

    There are flowers the sun never sees.

    Many times I have said to it,
    “Wait!” And it waited.

    With the sun, it will be all right
    after I’m gone.

    Where it can, the sun endlessly
    examines things, nothing too large
    or small for long, long attention.
    When I walk I would view
    like that -- all: rich, poor, young,
    old, near, far. And I’d save a report
    for whenever the sun does.

    Mornings when it looks
    at me, for an instant there are
    all those other times.

    - William Stafford
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  4. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  5. TopTop #3813
    Ronaldo's Avatar
    Ronaldo
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Name:  Sunshine-Things.jpg
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  6. TopTop #3814
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Caged Bird


    A free bird leaps
    on the back of the wind
    and floats downstream
    till the current ends
    and dips his wing
    in the orange sun rays
    and dares to claim the sky.

    But a bird that stalks
    down his narrow cage
    can seldom see through
    his bars of rage
    his wings are clipped and
    his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing.

    The caged bird sings
    with a fearful trill
    of things unknown
    but longed for still
    and his tune is heard
    on the distant hill
    for the caged bird
    sings of freedom.

    The free bird thinks of another breeze
    and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
    and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
    and he names the sky his own.

    But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing.

    The caged bird sings
    with a fearful trill
    of things unknown
    but longed for still
    and his tune is heard
    on the distant hill
    for the caged bird
    sings of freedom.

    - Maya Angelou
    Last edited by Barry; 06-29-2018 at 02:57 PM.
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  7. Gratitude expressed by 6 members:

  8. TopTop #3815
    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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  9. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  10. TopTop #3816
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    July

    Deep pools of shade beneath dense maples,
    the dapples as delicious as lemon drops_
    textures of childhood, and its many flavors!
    The gratefulness of cool, the bottles of
    sarsaparilla and iodine-red cream soda
    schooled like fish, on their sides,
    in the watery ice of the zinc-lined cooler
    in the shade of the cherry trees
    planted by the town baseball diamond,
    where only the grown-ups cared what the score was
    and the mailman took his ups with a grunt
    that made the crowd in its shirtsleeves laugh.
    The sun kindled freckles like a match
    touching straw, and beneath a tree
    a quality reigned like the sound of a gong,
    solemn and sticky and calm. Then the grass
    bared the hurry of ants, and each blade
    bent to some weight, some faint godly tread
    we could not see. The dapples
    were not holes in the shade but like pies,
    bulging up, and air tasted of water,
    and water of metal, and metal of what
    would never come_real change, removal
    from this island of stagnant summer,
    the end of sarsaparilla and its hint
    of licorice taste, of sassafras twig,
    of things we chewed with the cunning of Indians,
    to whom all trees had souls, the maples no more
    like birches than clouds are like waterfalls.
    The dying grass smelled especially sweet
    where sneakers had packed it flat,
    or out of the way, in the playground corner,
    where the sun had forgot to stop shining.
    this was the apogee, July, a month
    like the piece of a dome where it flattens
    and reflects in a smear high above us,
    the ant-children busy and lazy below.

    - John Updike
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  11. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

    Dre, M/M
  12. TopTop #3817
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    By Way of Explanation

    There is -
    I suppose -
    a bit of
    Madagascar
    in me
    I never mention.

    And somehow
    Amazons
    have escaped
    your rapt
    attention.

    The nose
    is strictly
    Egypt
    for your
    information.

    The heart
    a cruel
    white circle -
    pure Bengali.

    Here are the knees
    you claim are yours—
    devout Moroccans.

    The breasts
    to your surprise,
    Gauguin's Papeete.

    Pale moon of belly -
    Andalusian!

    The hands -
    twin comedies
    from Pago Pago.

    The eyes -
    bituminous
    Tierra del Fuego.

    Odd womb.
    Embalmed.
    Quintana Roo.

    - Sandra Cisneros
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  14. TopTop #3818
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Independence Day Revised

    Manchester by the Sea
    History papered with the Stars
    and Stripes

    some the size of a one story home
    The story known by heart
    here in this cradle of liberty

    Red, White and
    Blue with memories of what we took
    for granted

    Commercialism and a day off
    blunt the message.
    How do you like your burger?

    Everywhere the sound of small
    marching bands and waving flags
    Rat a tat tat The snare will not be denied

    And when are the fireworks
    those bright perseids seemingly from
    another constellation?

    Then as if a reminder of the sacrifices
    made... the latest casualty

    news of a young man who fell
    victim to a cherry bomb

    Freedom has it’s price
    you know.

    - Charles Reisch
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  15. Gratitude expressed by:

    M/M
  16. TopTop #3819
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Suffer The Little Children

    Suffer the little children to come to America
    Carry the soil of the earth with you little child
    Hold it in your small hand and say
    Give me asylum give me a home.
    The child in me tormented in their torment
    Forced to witness the horror
    Behind bars inside cages.
    The unmerciful greed
    The unholy massacre of love
    Cannibalizing this good earth
    These good children
    These terrorized people
    Running for their lives
    Into the slathering jaws
    At the border of my country.
    My America tis of thee
    They come because they heard the
    Bell of freedom ringing because
    They saw a light burning away the
    Darkness- through tears through
    The anguish of our immigrant ancestors.
    They are coming in their suffering
    The once noble bells still ring
    The once open hearts still are here
    My America o beautiful
    Do not turn your back

    Hold out your hands

    - Gail Onion
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  17. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  18. TopTop #3820
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    An Ode To Yeats



    I suppose that’s one reason for death

    To take the I out of its sentence,

    To relinquish the body and the breath

    To extinguish a rhymer’s repentance,

    An association to a poem of Lawrence

    A keen fixation with the rhyme scheme

    My hoping to be reborn Irish dream

    To thrill in the lilting stream of Her voice.

    The utter certainty that an old man’s hot blood

    Will insure the dawn’s passion is anything but cold;

    Such assurance at death’s expense be it told

    The young men clamoured for that poet of old.




    - Brian McSweeney
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  19. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  20. TopTop #3821
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    All That Remains

    Every atom of matter is shot through with love
    but only the lover can see
    “a universe aflame”

    It gradually becomes a matter
    of every waking moment.
    the mind can be busy
    with ceaseless thoughts
    the feet engaged
    in a thousand tasks.

    But every hour, every day
    the loving breath
    is breathing it
    the beating heart
    is speaking it.

    It is the slipping away of self
    until all that remains is walking
    in old shoes and loving
    the little breath that gives life
    to this happy shell of a self.

    - Norah Schreiber
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  21. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  22. TopTop #3822
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    City Psalm

    The killings continue, each second
    pain and misfortune extend themselves
    in the genetic chain, injustice is done knowingly,
    and the air bears the dust of decayed hopes,
    yet breathing those fumes, walking the thronged
    pavements among crippled llives, jackhammers
    raging, a parking lot painfully agleam in the May sun,
    I have seen not behind but within,
    within the dull grief, blown grit,
    hideous concrete façades, another grief,
    a gleam as of dew, an abode of mercy,
    have heard not behind but within noise
    a humming that drifted into a quiet smile.
    Nothing was changed, all was revealed otherwise;
    not that horror was not, not that the killings did not continue;
    not that I thought there was to be no more despair,
    but that as if transparent all disclosed
    an otherness that was blesséd, that was bliss,
    I saw Paradise in the dust of the street.

    - Denise Levertov
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  23. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  24. TopTop #3823
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    A Great Rose Tree

    This is the day and the year
    of the rose. The whole garden

    is opening with laughter. Iris
    whispering to cypress. The rose

    is the joy of meeting someone.
    The rose is a world imagination

    cannot imagine. A messenger from
    the orchard where the soul lives.

    A small seed that points to a great
    rose tree! Hold its hand and walk

    like a child. A rose is what grows
    from the work the prophets do.

    Full moon, new moon. Accept the
    invitation spring extends, four

    birds flying toward a master. A rose
    is all these, and the silence that

    closes and sits in the shade, a bud.

    - Jelalludin Rumi
    (Ghazal (Ode) 1348
    Version by Coleman Barks, with Nevit Ergin)
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  25. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  26. TopTop #3824
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Flare


    When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
    the orderliness of the world. Notice
    something you have never noticed before,

    like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
    whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

    Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
    shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

    Let grief be your sister, she will whether or not.
    Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
    like the diligent leaves.

    A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
    and the responsibilities of your life.

    Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
    Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

    In the glare of your mind, be modest.
    And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

    Live with the beetle, and the wind.

    - Mary Oliver
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  27. Gratitude expressed by 6 members:

  28. TopTop #3825
    Ronaldo's Avatar
    Ronaldo
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Top right image taken from Peruvian Nasca hummingbird line.


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  29. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  30. TopTop #3826
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Pi


    The admirable number pi:
    three point one four one.
    All the following digits are also initial,
    five nine two because it never ends.
    It can’t be comprehended six five three five at a glance,
    eight nine by calculation,
    seven nine or imagination,
    not even three two three eight by wit, that is, by comparison
    four six to anything else
    two six four three in the world.
    The longest snake on earth calls it quits at about forty feet.
    Likewise, snakes of myth and legend, though they may hold out a bit longer.
    The pageant of digits comprising the number pi
    doesn’t stop at the page’s edge.
    It goes on across the table, through the air,
    over a wall, a leaf, a bird’s nest, clouds, straight into the sky,
    through all the bottomless, bloated heavens.
    Oh how brief — a mouse tail, a pigtail — is the tail of a comet!
    How feeble the star’s ray, bent by bumping up against space!
    While here we have two three fifteen three hundred nineteen
    my phone number your shirt size the year
    nineteen hundred and seventy-three the sixth floor
    the number of inhabitants sixty-five cents
    hip measurement two fingers a charade, a code,
    in which we find hail to thee, blithe spirit, bird thou never wert
    alongside ladies and gentlemen, no cause for alarm,
    as well as heaven and earth shall pass away,
    but not the number pi, oh no, nothing doing,
    it keeps right on with its rather remarkable five,
    its uncommonly fine eight,
    its far from final seven,
    nudging, always nudging a sluggish eternity
    to continue.


    - Wisława Szymborska
    Last edited by Barry; 07-11-2018 at 02:03 PM.
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  31. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  32. TopTop #3827
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    On Hold

    What finally got to me
    were the children
    separated from their parents because, “children
    can’t follow their parents to jail.”
    To jail for what?
    For not wanting to be murdered,
    raped, tortured?
    I respond to the appeal
    to send clothes for the children
    to the justice (misnomer) department.
    Maybe thousands of items of clothing
    will arrive from the outpouring of
    human hearts.

    Having the luxury of too much hot water,
    my favorite sweater just shrunk
    when I washed it.
    Now it will fit a young one, a crying one,
    to keep her warm in camp
    if her crying doesn’t raise her temperature enough,
    if her heart is cold and empty
    without her mother,
    if hundreds of other crying children
    can’t protect her from the cold.

    I want to send it anonymously
    since my letter inside is unkind and I don’t
    trust what lists are being created.
    I learn you cannot put first class stamps
    on a priority mail package
    and UPS wants my name and
    I can’t just leave a box at the post office
    that’s over 13 ounces.

    So it’s on hold.
    I go back to signing petitions.
    I go back to my safe life.
    Yes, I will send the sweater
    when I return from vacation.
    When it’s convenient.
    And I think of the crying children and I hope
    someone does something soon.
    Maybe I’ll post a note on Facebook
    and some else will send clothes instead.

    - Sherrie Lovler
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  33. Gratitude expressed by:

    Dre
  34. TopTop #3828
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    O, Pilgrim!

    O pilgrim, where have you been?
    Where are you now?

    While you have been searching the world
    the Beloved has been here all along
    waiting for you.

    Let the caravan carry you home
    to your deepest heart’s desire.
    The treasure you sought was buried in your own garden.

    Come home, o wanderer, and behold the face in the mirror.
    Look behind the eyes and see the One
    who has been searching for you.

    You are seen;
    you are known
    and you are beloved.

    If your seeking has brought you here at last,
    you know that there is nowhere else to go
    and nothing more to say.

    - Jellaludin Rumi
    (version by Larry Robinson)
    ___________________________
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  35. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  36. TopTop #3829
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    A LITTLE STORY ABOUT AN ANCIENT CHINESE EMPEROR

    Thousands of years ago in ancient China a boy emperor ruled for awhile.
    The Imperial Court had placed the child on the throne so that he could be
    a mouthpiece for the Imperial Court's desires.

    Coddled from birth, surrounded by servants and sycophants,
    told by The Imperial Court that he was The Son of Heaven,
    given to believe he had no obligation to anyone but his Imperial Court,
    pampered and protected from any notion of what the real world was like,
    from any idea of what The People had to put up with every day,

    The Emperor stomped and swaggered through the world
    telling The People what to do, taking whatever he wanted,
    robbing from the poor and giving to the rich, and sending
    his armies out to terrorize whomever he took a notion to despise.

    The Emperor ruled for a long time and thousands of The People
    died, killed by his armies and because of his abuse and neglect.
    But, eventually, after great suffering, The People rose up and
    crushed the man who called himself The Son of Heaven.
    And they crushed his Imperial Court as well.

    Then some time passed in which The People lived in relative calm
    until another Emperor, like the one in this story, came along.

    - David Budbill
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  37. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  38. TopTop #3830
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    A Man's A Man for A' That

    Is there for honest poverty
    That hings his head, an a' that?
    The coward slave, we pass him by -
    We dare be poor for a' that!
    For a' that, an a' that,
    Our toils obscure, an a' that,
    The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
    The man's the gowd for a' that.

    What though on hamely fare we dine,
    Wear hoddin grey, an a' that?
    Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine -
    A man's a man for a' that.
    For a' that, an a' that.
    Their tinsel show, an a' that,
    The honest man, tho e'er sae poor,
    Is king o men for a' that.

    Ye see yon birkie ca'd 'a lord,'
    What struts, an stares, an a' that?
    Tho hundreds worship at his word,
    He's but a cuif for a' that.
    For a' that, an a' that,
    His ribband, star, an a' that,
    The man o independent mind,
    He looks an laughs at a' that.

    A prince can mak a belted knight,
    A marquis, duke, an a' that!
    But an honest man's aboon his might -
    Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
    For a' that, an a' that,
    Their dignities, an a' that,
    The pith o sense an pride o worth.
    Are higher rank than a' that.

    Then let us pray that come it may
    [As come it will for a' that],
    That Sense and Worth o'er a' the earth,
    Shall bear the gree an a' that.
    For a' that, an a' that,
    It's comin yet for a' that,
    That man to man, the world, o'er
    Shall brithers be for a' that.

    - Robert Burns
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  39. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  40. TopTop #3831
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Ashes Among the Remains

    My father responded
    Just throw them away
    I did not nor did I cast them into
    ocean or bay where we’d fished
    flounder and fluke nor strew them
    over the golf courses where he’d hit
    multistage rockets rising from half an inch
    then to a foot above fairways
    to summarily explode
    hundreds of yards into the future
    other worldly fireworks released
    by his elegantly compact fury.
    Instead I left them in their box
    a golden shiny tin ossuary
    next to my mother’s on the top shelf
    of my bedroom closet
    where I did not have to make decisions
    and I incidentally could visit them daily
    until our house burned down
    in the California wildfires
    October Ninth 2017
    I don’t intend here to dwell upon
    the nightmare that fire is
    I will not detail the feelings we had
    as we evacuated in one of our cars
    along with the family terrier and nothing else
    though later we did contemplate
    Dad’s and Mom’s remains further
    consumed by 1500 degree flames
    extending their years-earlier incineration
    in an oven at the crematorium near Petaluma.
    Were it not that my parents lived well into
    their nineties I so sick depressed and barely 74
    might feel prepared to let go of the tangible rim
    to the bottomless jar of all that remains
    to the what or the where or the not.

    - Ed Coletti
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  41. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  42. TopTop #3832
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Left-Handed Pitcher Working on a Scaffold

    I am a failed state,

    about to crack my backbone
    while still young
    enough to fire smoke
    95 MPH.

    Herodotus abridged
    and a bag of salted nuts
    fall like lethal acorns
    shaken free from my back pocket

    Remember my torn mitt once autographed by Whitey Ford,
    three no hitters in Catholic school.
    Was I the greatest?

    Sun contradicts breeze.
    Soapy squeegee scrapes my skin.
    Wind picks up.
    Belt cracks; a universe unfastening
    symmetry as I unfold.

    Somersaulting,
    time slithers,
    clichés ring,
    historical antecedents drop like parachutes
    behind enemy lines.

    Before crashing, I spot autumn
    gardens on rooftops,
    helicopters like dragon flies overhead,
    a peregrine falcon
    circling.

    If only I were a bird,
    not ineffective like Icarus
    flapping my melting wings
    at cloud formations.

    Absence is my future.
    Dad smoldered
    when I read the Odyssey
    in the locker room
    after blowing a game in the ninth.

    Given a better ERA
    I’d never have taken a job
    in the sky.

    Dad, if you hadn’t craved a superstar,
    cash bonus to boot; if you hadn’t drilled me
    daily with burning hot grounders
    off varnished baseball bats,
    I’d have studied physics or mythology
    instead of screwballs and sliders.

    If my arms were shorter than ostrich gams,
    the flame on my fastball would never
    have held steady as a gelding’s canter —
    granting me years to emerge whole
    before turning
    old.

    - Barry Denny
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  43. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  44. TopTop #3833
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    rite


    working with willow rods that’s the method, bring great bundles of them,
    put on the ground scatter them pronounce them, saying:

    “here’s one”
    “here’s another one”
    “here’s one, there . . . over there . . .”

    willow rods, very consoling we’ll clear the ground you don’t have to be a Scythian . . .
    and then the ones behaving more like women use a different method they take a piece of the inner bark of a lime tree
    cut it into many pieces
    which they keep twisting and untwisting around their fingers as they make effigies of themselves, willow rods of women saying:

    “there’s a turn” “there’s a turning” “there’s a rowdy one” “there’s a moist one”

    “there’s one we lost to negligent wind” “another one burned up”
    “one folded down a sparrow’s cheek” “how many turnings in a twisty one?”

    a million, more than you can ever hold makes the pronouncers happy surveyors of tractor and sage
    and when all goes out

    remember eclipse telling you this could all go out women too? women go out?

    but for love & mystery willows rods, willows rods you know this, women
    to fool the hearts of men

    staying up all night, notice the moon and its macabre signal and hemp vapor tents on the horizon
    walk upside down in the footprints of the living

    - Anne Waldman
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  45. Gratitude expressed by:

  46. TopTop #3834
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Voice of the Turtle

    And the voice of the turtle
    shall be heard in the land

    Oh, I know it means the turtle dove
    I know that now, but I didn’t then
    when I was eight years old

    My imagination ran wild

    I had only seen one turtle close up
    one of those dime store turtles
    no bigger than a quarter
    that you bought for twenty cents in June
    that lived almost a month
    in a pan on the back porch
    with three pebbles and a flat rock
    for company and comfort

    If you were lucky
    it would live ‘till fall
    then your heart would break
    when your Dad carried it away
    to an uncertain end

    My turtle never sang
    and it was not that I didn’t listen
    Maybe he only sang at sunrise
    I tried that only once and not a peep

    A dead fly didn’t send his
    turtle heart to singing either
    no sound escaped his hawky jaw
    as he chomped an iridescent wing

    Fresh water, a lettuce leaf
    even a bug I didn’t know
    left him uninspired and mute

    I listened so hard for that turtle’s voice
    maybe my ears were too small or too big
    maybe he was too young to sing or
    just maybe he had nothing to sing about
    in his chipped enamel pan

    I heard others singing though
    grey wrens in the cherry tree
    Dad as he pruned the tomatoes
    even the dog groaning content
    in the shade under the porch

    And the voice of the turtle
    shall be heard in the land

    Maybe we were both too young
    he to sing it and me to hear
    what still must be a glorious sound
    to the ear

    Another time, another place

    Perhaps some other turtle
    in some other land
    is singing a great low note to God

    Some other turtle I guess
    in some other land

    - Doug von Koss
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  47. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  48. TopTop #3835
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Paragee of a Summer Full Moon

    Confused and enchanted the mockingbird
    Sings all night and again, all day, while
    The moon too bright, too big to contain herself
    Smears her light like luminous jelly,
    Across the welcoming, wide awake sky.

    - Rebecca del Rio
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  49. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  50. TopTop #3836
    Willow
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    thanks for posting but moonlight smeared like luminous jelly makes me throw up a little in my mouth...

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Paragee of a Summer Full Moon

    Confused and enchanted the mockingbird
    Sings all night and again, all day, while
    The moon too bright, too big to contain herself
    Smears her light like luminous jelly,
    Across the welcoming, wide awake sky.

    - Rebecca del Rio
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  51. Gratitude expressed by:

  52. TopTop #3837
    wisewomn's Avatar
    wisewomn
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    I think that should be "perigee," Larry. Not to be too nit-picky or anything. Also, are the punctuation lapses in the poems you quote intentional or just typos? I've often wondered. In any event keep 'em coming, please! :-)

    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Paragee of a Summer Full Moon

    Confused and enchanted the mockingbird
    Sings all night and again, all day, while
    The moon too bright, too big to contain herself
    Smears her light like luminous jelly,
    Across the welcoming, wide awake sky.

    - Rebecca del Rio
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  53. TopTop #3838
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Set This Book On Fire!

    Rising
    in the glow of the embers,
    and even in the ashes, I want to tell you:
    I’ve spent years
    studying stark cries in the cancerous marrow
    of inner-city streets. I’ve gone to
    Uppidee districts to witness poets
    who kiss their asses while adjusting grins,
    luring audience approval with politically correct quips.
    I want to tell you:
    don’t lie! If you’re going to read a poem
    about a kid getting his head blown off,
    don’t raw jaw your cotton-tipped tongue
    to gain the sugary aplomb and donut favor
    of English Department heads, who like you
    and never scavenged food from dumpsters, who like you
    and never stood in welfare lines, who like you
    while gleaning misery topics from The New York Times.
    I want to tell you:
    if you’re going to preach what you don’t follow,
    testify to what you haven’t lived,
    hoola-hoop your way like a pride-plucked hen
    doormatting your heart for moneyed admirers
    whose concerned faces ohh and ahh faked empathy,
    know that poetry deserves better than that
    hee-hawing, educated, hillbilly-mule
    whinnying for the crowd response.
    I want to tell you:
    while you do your sheepish, poor-me routine,
    your victim-in-distress sighing,
    poor people are being murdered,
    prisoners are being zapped with fifty-thousand volts
    of electricity to make them behave.
    O hollow-hearted, New Age activist that you are,
    tell us in your poetry how cooly you’ve risked
    your life helping refugees cross the border.
    I want to tell you:
    what you’re looking for is a new title to acclaim,
    what you want is to be hailed a savior
    when you spice your poetry with theatrics,
    crumpling on the floor and groaning with rage.
    O how the world has done you wrong!
    The last thing we need is more toothless tigers
    stalking thousand-dollar checks from sympathetic patrons
    of first-class airlines and four-star hotels.
    I want to tell you:
    I’m weary of these castrated Uppidees,
    poets and patrons who’ve hardly engaged in life.
    I’m tired of the prejudice they never own,
    tired of them spouting off familiar remedies
    to a world of ills they’ve never known.
    I beg you both, get out of the way,
    please step aside, just a couple of steps,
    it takes too much effort to go around you.
    I want to tell you:
    the flashpoint of paper is 451 degrees.

    - Jimmy Santiago Baca
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  54. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  55. TopTop #3839
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Who Knows One

    Who knows One. I know One.
    One is God for God is One—
    The only One in Heaven and on earth.

    Who knows two. I know two.
    Two are the first two: Adam and Eve.
    One is God for God is One—
    It takes one to know one.

    Who knows three. I know three.
    Bad things always come in threes.
    Two trees grew in the Garden of Eden.
    One is God for God is One—
    One rotten apple spoils the barrel.

    Who knows four. I know four.
    What were you doing on all fours?
    Three’s the hearts in a ménage à trois.
    Two’s the jump ropes in double Dutch.
    One is God for God is One—
    One good turn deserves another.

    Who knows five. I know five.
    Five is the five in “Slaughterhouse-Five.”
    Four is Egypt’s plague of flies.
    Three the Stooges on TV.
    Two the two-faced lie he told.
    One is God for God is One—
    One hand washes the other.

    Who knows six. I know six.
    Six are the wives of Henry VIII.
    Who? What? Where? When? Why?
    Four the phases of the moon.
    Three the bones inside the ear.
    Two eyes—the better to see you with, my dear.
    One is God for God is One—
    There’s only one to a customer.

    Who knows seven. I know seven.
    Seven the year of the seven-year itch.
    Six the paper anniversary.
    Asked if he did it, he pleaded the Fifth.
    Four are my absent wisdom teeth.
    Three is the three in the third degree.
    Two can play that game.
    One is God for God is One—
    Public Enemy No. 1.

    Who knows eight. I know eight.
    The Beatles’ “Eight Days a Week.”
    Wrath is the seventh of the deadly sins.
    Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
    He lost it all in five-card stud.
    Four bits in a nibble equals half a byte.
    Three is the beginning, middle, and end.
    Two are the graves in the family plot.
    One is God for God is One—
    The only one in a hole in one.

    Who knows nine. I know nine.
    Nine are the lives of an average cat.
    Eight is the day of circumcision.
    Seven the locks on Samson’s head.
    Six the sense I wish I had.
    Five the five in nickeled-and-dimed.
    Four cold feet in the double bed.
    Three’s a crowd.
    Two’s company.
    One is God for God is One—
    The only one in a one-night stand.

    Who knows ten. I know ten.
    I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.
    She dressed to the nines.
    Fellini’s “8½.”
    Seven the times the bride circles the groom.
    Six the number perfect in itself.
    She daubed her wrists with Chanel No. 5.
    Love is just a four-letter word.
    Three is as phony as a three-dollar bill.
    Two is the two in doubletalk.
    One is God for God is One—
    There’s one born every minute.

    Who knows eleven. I know eleven.
    Eleven are the stars in Joseph’s dream.
    Ten is the Roman numeral X.
    Possession is nine-tenths of the law.
    Infinity’s a sideways figure eight.
    Seven long years Jacob had to wait.
    Six is the Lover’s Tarot card.
    Five is indivisible.
    Four, cruel April.
    Three witches in “the Scottish play.”
    Two is the two of “I and Thou.”
    One is God for God is One—
    One in the hand is worth two in the bush.

    Who knows twelve. I know twelve.
    Twelve are the face cards in a deck.
    Eleven are the thieves in “Ocean’s Eleven.”
    Take a deep breath and count to ten.
    It takes nine tailors to make a man.
    Eight are the people on Noah’s ark.
    Seven are the hues in a rainbow’s arc.
    Six is . . . I can’t remember what.
    Five the rivers of the Underworld.
    Four the rivers of Paradise.
    Three on a match.
    It takes two to tango.
    One is God for God is One—
    In one ear and out the other.

    Who knows thirteen. I know thirteen.
    Thirteen is the skyscraper’s missing floor.
    Twelve are the men who walked on the moon.
    At the eleventh hour, his life was spared.
    Do not covet your neighbor’s ass.
    Nine are the circles of Dante’s Hell.
    Eight is the game of crazy eights.
    The phone was busy 24/7.
    They deep-sixed their love affair.
    The five-o’clock shadow on your face.
    Four is putting two and two together.
    Three is the eternal triangle.
    Two plays second fiddle.
    Two minus one equals one.
    One is one all alone.
    You were my one and only one—
    The only one whose number’s up.

    - Jane Shore
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  56. Gratitude expressed by:

  57. TopTop #3840
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    You cannot by willing it alter the vast world outside of you.
    You cannot strike the handcuffs from one chained hand.
    You cannot cut the lash from one whip.
    You cannot even remake your own soul so that there shall be no inclination
    to evil in it.
    The great world rolls on, and you can do nothing to change it.
    But this one thing you can do: in that one, small, minute, almost infinitesimal
    place in the universe where you stand—there, where as God, your will prevails,
    strive to make what you hunger for real.

    - Howard Thurman
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  58. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

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