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  1. TopTop #4381
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Blessings for the Tomb, the Womb, the Cocoon
    (the Liminal Spaces, all)


    May you surrender to the sacred gravity of your grief and loss

    May you give honor and homage to that which has fallen away

    May you integrate the wisdoms of your passage

    May you feel the tender burden of your own life in your arms

    May you treat yourself with exquisite kindness and patience

    May you find peace in your cocoon . . . acceptance and surrender

    May you be transformed by your own darkness and rise renewed


    - Kay Crista
    Last edited by Barry; 12-14-2019 at 02:53 PM.
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  2. Gratitude expressed by 7 members:

  3. TopTop #4382

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Beautiful, Kay! Like a personal checklist!
    Every line remains alive!
    A real service to a reader!


    Quote Posted in reply to the post by Larry Robinson: View Post
    Blessings for the Tomb, the Womb, the Cocoon
    (the Liminal Spaces, all)


    May you surrender to the sacred gravity of your grief and loss

    May you give honor and homage to that which has fallen away

    May you integrate the wisdoms of your passage

    May you feel the tender burden of your own life in your arms

    May you treat yourself with exquisite kindness and patience

    May you find peace in your cocoon . . . acceptance and surrender

    May you be transformed by your own darkness and rise renewed


    - Kay Crista
    Last edited by Barry; 12-14-2019 at 07:55 PM.
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  4. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  5. TopTop #4383
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    How to Break a Curse


    Lemon balm is for forgiveness.
    Pull up from the root, steep
    in boiling water. Add locusts’ wings,
    salt, the dried bones of hummingbirds.
    Drink when you feel ready.
    Drink even if you do not.


    Pepper seeds are for courage.
    Sprinkle them on your tongue.
    Sprinkle in the doorway and along
    the windowsill. Mix pepper and water
    to a thick paste. Spackle the cracks
    in the concrete, anoint the part
    in your hair. You need as much
    courage as you can get.


    Water is for healing.
    Leave a jar open beneath the full moon.
    Let it rest. Water your plants.
    Wash your face. Drink.


    The sharpened blade is for memory.
    Metal lives long, never grows weary
    of our comings and goings. Wrap this blade
    in newspaper. Keep beneath your bed.
    Be patient, daughter.
    Be patient.


    - Danielle Boodoo-Fortuné
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  7. TopTop #4384
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    What Flies


    Time flies when we’re having fun
    and when we’re not it crawls.


    Flies – get stuck in the honey
    and honey distracts
    just about everyone
    but my honey
    distracts me the most
    hm, hm, hmm, the delight
    of that sweetness
    and the explosion in my brain.


    Later I’ll deal with the pain
    but while time ticks
    I get so involved in my addictions
    there are no predictions
    of when I’ll stop
    or when I’ll succumb
    to the realities that I
    have broken the rules
    and Now it’s time for the dues.


    So I must pay while the days
    tick away – and sunsets come
    and moonlights smile
    watching us revel in this life
    we want to keep forever
    but forever is always here
    for there is no tomorrow
    remember? All we have is Now.


    Boy does Now fly – and how
    when waves form
    and cats meow
    and lions roar
    and the streams gurgle
    and humans cry and pray
    and laugh and wonder what’s next.


    And the only thing that’s next
    is Now – flying in our face.


    - Jayro Dyer
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  8. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  9. TopTop #4385
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    One Child



    Born lucky born lost
    born touched born tossed
    born brown born bite
    - one child’s meek
    another child’s might


    Born wail born wall
    born fly born fall
    born fierce born fright
    - one child’s strong
    another child’s slight


    Born loved born late
    born howl born hate
    born want born white
    - one child’s privilege
    another child’s plight


    Born gone born gifted
    born lack born lifted
    born noose born night
    -one child’s freedom
    another child’s fight


    Born calm born cage
    born rigged born rage
    born boy born blight
    - one child’s wrong
    another child’s right


    Born girl born good
    born shackle born should
    born black born bright
    - one child’s loss
    another child’s light


    Born fraught born freed
    born glory born greed
    born neglect born need
    - One child’s plead
    we better take heed


    I say
    One child’s plead
    - everyone’s need


    I say
    One child’s plead
    we better take heed.




    - Kristy Hellum
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  11. TopTop #4386
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    American Tune


    Many's the time I've been mistaken and many times
    confused.

    Yes, and often felt forsaken and certainly misused.

    But I'm all right, I'm all right, I'm just weary to my
    bones.

    Still, you don’t expect to be bright and bon vivant so
    far away from home, so far away from home.

    And I don't know a soul who's not been battered I
    don't have a friend who feels at ease.

    I don't know a dream that's not been shattered or
    driven to its knees.

    But it's all right, it's all right, for we've lived so
    well so long.

    Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on, I
    wonder what went wrong, I can't help but wonder what
    went wrong.

    And I dreamed I was dying.

    I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly and looking
    back down at me smiled reassuringly, and I dreamed I
    was flying.

    And high above my eyes could clearly see the Statue of
    Liberty sailing away to sea, and I dreamed I was
    flying.

    And we come on the ship they call the Mayflower, we
    come on the ship that sailed the moon.

    We come in the age's most uncertain hour and sing an
    American tune

    oh, but it’s all right, it's all right, it's all
    right, you can't be forever blessed.

    Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day and
    I'm trying to get some rest, that's all I'm trying is
    to get some rest.

    - Paul Simon
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  12. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  13. TopTop #4387
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Twas the Night before Yuletide

    Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen
    Not a creature was stirring, not a fox, not a hen.
    A mantle of snow shone brightly that night
    As it lay on the ground, reflecting moonlight.


    The faeries were nestled all snug in their trees,
    Unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze.
    The elves and the gnomes were down in their burrows,
    Sleeping like babes in their soft earthen furrows.


    When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake,
    Causing chairs to fall over and dishes to break.
    The Little Folk scrambled to get on their feet
    Then raced to the river where they usually meet.


    “What happened?” they wondered, they questioned, they probed,
    As they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed, some robed.
    “What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused her to shiver?”
    They all spoke at once as they stood by the river.


    Then what to their wondering eyes should appear
    But a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere.
    It blinked and it twinkled, it winked like an eye,
    Then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.


    Before they could murmur, before they could bustle,
    There emerged from the crowd, with a swish and a rustle,
    A stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
    Resplendent in green with a flowing white mane.


    As she passed by them the old crone’s perfume,
    Smelling of meadows and flowers abloom,
    Made each of the fey folk think of the spring
    When the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to sing.


    “My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed
    in a voice that at once was both wild and tamed,
    “I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget,
    that Yule is the time of re-birth, and yet…”


    “I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
    The air isn’t filled with rich fragrant smells
    Of baking and roasting, and simmering stews,
    Of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews.”


    “There aren’t any children at play in the snow,
    Or houses lit up by candles’ glow.
    Have you forgotten, my children, the fun
    Of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?”


    She looked at the fey folk, her eyes going round,
    As they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground.
    Then she smiled the smile that brings light to the day,
    “Come, my children,” she said, “Let’s play.”


    They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly,
    Threw off the drab and drew on the jolly.
    They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang.
    They brought out the bells and clapped when they rang.


    They strung lights on the trees, and bows, oh so merry,
    In colors of cranberry, bayberry, cherry.
    They built giant snowmen and adorned them with hats,
    Then surrounded them with snow birds, and snow cats and bats.


    Then just before dawn, at the end of their fest,
    Before they went homeward to seek out their rest,
    The fey folk they gathered ‘round their favorite oak tree
    And welcomed the sun ‘neath the tree’s finery.


    They were just reaching home when it suddenly came,
    The gold light returned like an arrow-shot flame.
    It lit on the tree top where they could see from afar
    The golden-like sphere turned into a star.


    The old crone just smiled at the beautiful sight,
    “Happy Yuletide, my children,” she whispered. “Good night.”


    - C.C Wiliford
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  14. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  15. TopTop #4388
    Roland Jacopetti's Avatar
    Roland Jacopetti
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Thanks again, Larry. It's definitely one of the greats.
    Roland

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


    Many's the time I've been mistaken and many times
    confused.

    Yes, and often felt forsaken and certainly misused.

    But I'm all right, I'm all right, I'm just weary to my
    bones.

    Still, you don’t expect to be bright and bon vivant so
    far away from home, so far away from home.

    And I don't know a soul who's not been battered I
    don't have a friend who feels at ease.

    I don't know a dream that's not been shattered or
    driven to its knees.

    But it's all right, it's all right, for we've lived so
    well so long.

    Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on, I
    wonder what went wrong, I can't help but wonder what
    went wrong.

    And I dreamed I was dying.

    I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly and looking
    back down at me smiled reassuringly, and I dreamed I
    was flying.

    And high above my eyes could clearly see the Statue of
    Liberty sailing away to sea, and I dreamed I was
    flying.

    And we come on the ship they call the Mayflower, we
    come on the ship that sailed the moon.

    We come in the age's most uncertain hour and sing an
    American tune

    oh, but it’s all right, it's all right, it's all
    right, you can't be forever blessed.

    Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day and
    I'm trying to get some rest, that's all I'm trying is
    to get some rest.

    - Paul Simon
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  16. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  17. TopTop #4389
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Christmas in Tucson


    The Exchange

    Her long black and white
    hair running down her
    shoulders, like a creek
    with all its mysteries.
    Brown eyes, kind
    like a bear waking
    to a new morning.
    She wore a crisp white
    shirt with blue jeans
    and pretty light tan
    cowboy boots.
    You could not miss
    her silver and turquoise
    belt buckle with an
    engraved claw, which
    was an invitation to see
    the fine craftsmanship
    of the Tohono O'odham
    and Navajo Indians,
    inside a small trading post
    store called The Coyote
    on a dusty desolate road
    not far outside of town
    in the month of December.
    Behind a glass counter
    displayed were red clay pots
    on small colorful weavings
    along with friendship
    baskets and hand crafted
    artifacts. I was surprised
    to find sweetgrass in the
    region and traded with the
    elder woman green frog
    skin for it. In exchange she
    handed me the braid with
    some coins. She noticed
    my Ojibwa beaded earrings.
    There was really nothing
    more to say. She gave
    me thoughts for a life time.
    I lit the sweetgrass on
    Christmas day.

    - Ziibinkokwe, Turtle Clan (Patricia LeBon Herb)
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  18. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  19. TopTop #4390
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    A Christmas Carol


    Away in a manger
    or a crack house
    or under a bridge
    or in a bombed-out village
    or a refugee camp
    or in the mesquite shade close to the border wall
    some Mary is giving birth.


    Even as you read this
    a child is being born.


    What if one of these were the promised one,
    the beacon of hope,
    the seed of a new light
    in a dark time?


    What if they all were?
    What gifts would you bring
    if you were wise?


    - Larry Robinson
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  21. TopTop #4391
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Christmas Bells

    I heard the bells on Christmas Day
    Their old, familiar carols play,
    And wild and sweet
    The words repeat
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And thought how, as the day had come,
    The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Till ringing, singing on its way,
    The world revolved from night to day,
    A voice, a chime,
    A chant sublime
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    Then from each black, accursed mouth
    The cannon thundered in the South,
    And with the sound
    The carols drowned
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    It was as if an earthquake rent
    The hearth-stones of a continent,
    And made forlorn
    The households born
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

    And in despair I bowed my head;
    "There is no peace on earth," I said;
    For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

    Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
    "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
    With peace on earth, good-will to men."

    - Henry Wordsworth Longfellow
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  22. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  23. TopTop #4392
    Ronaldo's Avatar
    Ronaldo
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    In a lighter vein:

    Name:  Chainsaw-TB.jpg
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Size:  88.6 KB
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  25. TopTop #4393
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Winter’s Cloak


    This year I do not want
    the dark to leave me.
    I need its wrap
    of silent stillness,
    its cloak
    of long lasting embrace.
    Too much light
    has pulled me away
    from the chamber
    of gestation.


    Let the dawns
    come late,
    let the sunsets
    arrive early,
    let the evenings
    extend themselves
    while I lean into
    the abyss of my being.


    Let me lie in the cave
    of my soul,
    for too much light
    blinds me,
    steals the source
    of revelation.


    Let me seek solace
    in the empty places
    of winter’s passage,
    those vast dark nights
    that never fail to shelter me.


    - Joyce Rupp and Macrina Wiederkehr
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  26. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  27. TopTop #4394
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Need That Can Only Be Met


    You’ve probably heard, as have I,
    That humans are essentially religious.
    That deep in our souls, if not in our minds,
    We find communion with things divine.


    You’ve probably felt, as have I,
    An essential longing, an open heart,
    A want and need which, they say,
    Can only be met by perfect divine love.


    And you’ve probably been told, as have I,
    This somehow proves that God exists.
    That we are his or her created children.
    And that the universe itself loves us.


    I’ve no problem that our souls are religious,
    Most especially when I play my guitar.
    I am perfectly convinced this yearning exists,
    And it needs, in fact, a perfect divine love.


    But, my friends, this is the human condition.
    Our predicament. We have this perfect need
    That can only be met by such a love.
    When, in fact, no such love exists at all.


    And this is why, and I mean this,
    There is no opting out. It comes down to us!
    It’s up to us to live love and caring,
    To refuse hate, to stand against cruelty.


    It’s all human nature, after all.
    The Holocaust was not an aberration.
    But neither is love and beauty.
    Where do you stand, my friend?


    We must create the We.
    We must stay open to our pain.
    We must create our bold community.
    Not perfect. Not divine. Together.


    Because it’s true, so very much the case.
    You can have faith in this.
    It can and will only come from us.
    We have a need that can only be met.


    - Jon Jackson
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    M/M
  29. TopTop #4395
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Pompoms of St. Moritz


    One of our dogs ate the piles I swept,
    another loved popcorn so much
    I left the lid off so fluffy kernels
    flew to her rummage on the floor.


    I don’t ski.
    My trick knee steers me off rocky slopes
    to sprung floors, yoga mats and tatami.
    I love sparkle and quiet,
    qualities of snow,
    the blurry edges of dream.


    Today I hooked a rubber band to
    a necklace so the chrysocolla beads,
    colors of the river she swam daily,
    hang over my heart and I feel my friend.
    I’m a better woman with her close.


    Penelope—her name means thread—and I
    cross the snow glittering in the dark,
    laughing so hard the pompoms on our hats
    explode and the strands scatter to ice and stars.


    I go a long way to feel the dead.
    I do without, or see it fresh. Harder
    alone. When someone tromps through the blizzard
    with a stretcher, I stop begging childhood Jesus,
    clasp my arms around their neck—her neck—
    and pin my heart to theirs.


    - Gwynn O'Gara
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  30. TopTop #4396
    kinlinda's Avatar
    kinlinda
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Yes. God is a 'we'...not a he, she, it, or what. And I have the proof. Look for me at the Farmers Mrkt on Sundays down by the gazebo. Writers on the Loose. I got it writ down.
    Michael
    [email protected]
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  31. TopTop #4397
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    i believe

    in myself
    light rain
    sudden storms
    the moon
    polenta and sausage
    good sex
    red sunsets
    a perfect martini
    the stars
    true love
    Monet's garden
    cracked crab
    long baths
    soft jazz
    a walk on the beach
    and root beer floats

    i believe
    in quiet mornings
    the ocean
    slow dancing
    the back of a man's neck
    Fred Astaire tapping across the screen
    the magic of the Sacramento delta
    stone angels in Italian cemeteries
    growing your own tomatoes
    Paul Newman's eyes
    That writing poetry is telling the truth
    doing crafts is in my blood
    ironing is therapy
    kissing is an art
    and dusting is a waste of time

    - Geri Digiorno
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  32. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  33. TopTop #4398

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    I LOVE the specificity of your poem! Yes! It's in the concrete things we love, that we are saved!

    AND: I wrote a whole poem about Paul Newman's eyes (etc), after he died, and it was in the NY TIMES (ok, the Letters section, but it got a lot of notice there) and was one of Larry's poem-a-day picks! Ta-daaa! Here it is!


    PAUL NEWMAN



    If Paul Newman is dead,
    then where now are the rest of us
    whose mid-world lives were quickened by
    that vital glance and pulse?


    How can the sun
    go on rising,
    when every morning it came
    out of those blue eyes?


    Eternal youth has succumbed:
    All men are mortal, after all,
    and the streams that refresh the living realms
    must now go searching for a new darling.

    Last edited by Barry; 12-29-2019 at 01:30 PM.
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  34. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  35. TopTop #4399
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Monet Refuses the Operation


    Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
    around the streetlights in Paris
    and what I see is an aberration
    caused by old age, an affliction.
    I tell you it has taken me all my life
    to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
    to soften and blur and finally banish
    the edges you regret I don't see,
    to learn that the line I called the horizon
    does not exist and sky and water,
    so long apart, are the same state of being.
    Fifty-four years before I could see
    Rouen cathedral is built
    of parallel shafts of sun,
    and now you want to restore
    my youthful errors: fixed
    notions of top and bottom,
    the illusion of three-dimensional space,
    wisteria separate
    from the bridge it covers.
    What can I say to convince you
    the Houses of Parliament dissolve
    night after night to become
    the fluid dream of the Thames?
    I will not return to a universe
    of objects that don't know each other,
    as if islands were not the lost children
    of one great continent. The world
    is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
    becomes water, lilies on water,
    above and below water,
    becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
    and white and cerulean lamps,
    small fists passing sunlight
    so quickly to one another
    that it would take long, streaming hair
    inside my brush to catch it.
    To paint the speed of light!
    Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
    burn to mix with air
    and changes our bones, skin, clothes
    to gases. Doctor,
    if only you could see
    how heaven pulls earth into its arms
    and how infinitely the heart expands
    to claim this world, blue vapor without end.


    - Lisel Mueller
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  36. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  37. TopTop #4400
    Shandi's Avatar
    Shandi
     

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Beautifully expressed~ and a wonderful picture of him.


    Quote Posted in reply to the post by REALnothings: View Post
    I LOVE the specificity of your poem! Yes! It's in the concrete things we love, that we are saved!

    AND: I wrote a whole poem about Paul Newman's eyes (etc), after he died, and it was in the NY TIMES (ok, the Letters section, but it got a lot of notice there) and was one of Larry's poem-a-day picks! Ta-daaa! Here it is!


    PAUL NEWMAN



    If Paul Newman is dead,
    then where now are the rest of us
    whose mid-world lives were quickened by
    that vital glance and pulse?


    How can the sun
    go on rising,
    when every morning it came
    out of those blue eyes?


    Eternal youth has succumbed:
    All men are mortal, after all,
    and the streams that refresh the living realms
    must now go searching for a new darling.

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  38. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  39. TopTop #4401
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The Poets Are Dying


    It seems impossible
    they seemed immortal.

    Where are they going
    if not to their next poems?

    Poems that, like lives, make do
    and make that doing do more—

    holding a jolt like a newborn,
    a volta turning toward a god-load

    of grief dumped from some heaven
    where words rain down

    and the poet is soaked. Cold
    to the bone, we’ve become. Thick-

    headed, death-bedded, heartsick.
    Poets. Flowers picked, candles wicked,

    forgiving everyone they tricked.

    - Brenda Shaughnessy
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  40. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  41. TopTop #4402
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Could this be the year?


    Could this be the year the troops come home
    from every battle every land everywhere -
    home to love healing peace?

    Could this be the year we build more homes than bombs
    make more cookies than bullets
    write more poems than balance sheets?

    Could this be the year that no child goes hungry
    no woman abused no man homeless
    no body unloved?

    Could this be the year that the salmon swim
    the songbirds sing the coyotes dance
    in greater numbers than we have ever known?

    Could this be the year we stop serving the machine
    the machine begins serving us
    we begin serving life?

    Could this be the year the ancient promise comes true
    you know the one I mean of peace on earth
    good will to all?

    - Larry Robinson
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  42. TopTop #4403
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    The ABC of Security


    Said Mr. A to Mr. B,
    "I doubt the loyalty of C."


    Said Mr. B to Mr. A,
    "I'm shocked and stunned by what you say;
    We'd better check on him today,
    And since you've brought up Mr. C,
    I feel that I must mention D.
    I rather doubt his loyalty."


    Said Mr. F to Mr. G,
    "G, have you ever noticed B?
    What do you make of his loyalty?"


    Said Mr. G to Mr. F,
    "Lower your voice - people aren't deaf!
    I wouldn't want you quoting me,
    But sure, I've always noticed B."


    Said Mr. C to Mr. A,
    "I saw a funny thing today;
    At least, it seemed quite odd to me.
    I saw F whispering with G
    And I just caught the name of B."


    "No, really?" answered A to C.
    "Well, anyway - I don't know B.
    I guess it's just as well for me."


    And so the subtle poison spread
    Until there rose a Mr. Zed.
    The lightning played around his head.
    "My fellow-countrymen," he said,
    "The past, as you'll observe, is dead,
    The alphabet's discredited;
    You can't trust teachers now to teach,
    You can't trust ministers to preach,
    And it has been my special labor
    To prove that none can trust his neighbor
    In fact, it's amply clear to see
    There's no one you can trust but me.
    And by a happy turn of fate
    I've come to purify the state.
    My methods will be swift and strong
    Against the crime of thinking wrong.
    I know the cure for heresy
    And you can leave it all to me.
    Leave everything to me!" he said.


    "Hurrah!" they cried. "Hurrah for Zed!”

    E.B. White
    (9 May, 1953)
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  43. Gratitude expressed by 4 members:

  44. TopTop #4404
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Bless Their Hearts


    At Steak ‘n Shake I learned that if you add
    “Bless their hearts” after their names, you can say
    whatever you want about them and it’s OK.
    My son, bless his heart, is an idiot,
    she said. He rents storage space for his kids’
    toys—they’re only one and three years old!
    I said, my father, bless his heart, has turned
    into a sentimental old fool. He gets
    weepy when he hears my daughter’s greeting
    on our voice mail. Before our Steakburgers came
    someone else blessed her office mate’s heart,
    then, as an afterthought, the jealous hearts
    of the entire anthropology department.
    We bestowed blessings on many a heart
    that day. I even blessed my ex-wife’s heart.
    Our waiter, bless his heart, would not be getting
    much tip, for which, no doubt, he’d bless our hearts.
    In a week it would be Thanksgiving,
    and we would each sit with our respective
    families, counting our blessings and blessing
    the hearts of family members as only family
    does best. Oh, bless us all, yes, bless us, please
    bless us and bless our crummy little hearts.


    - Richard Newman
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  45. Gratitude expressed by 2 members:

  46. TopTop #4405
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Spider Parable

    Suspended from my ceiling on a single thread,
    the spider became aware I planned to capture her.
    Not knowing I would carefully carry her
    to the garden, she scurried up her strand of silk,
    winding it into a ball as she retreated, like the
    Kogi of Columbia who pull in their rope bridge
    when they return from journeys in our world.

    O yes, the Kogi know they must keep their world
    apart, safe from all who plunder Being, who divide
    the very heart of Life into shacks and the gilded
    habitations of the unaware, where slaver whip
    echoes are silenced, where the fearful rumble of
    collapsed mines, the din of mills, the cries of
    the sick, the hungry, the wounded cannot intrude.

    But the voices of Being are rising. In the wind and
    the rain they rise, from the young and the old, in
    classrooms, mobbed streets and meeting halls, in
    chapels where candles glow in a Mother icon’s eyes,
    where stained-glass light is Sun’s blessing. O yes,
    voices are rising around the world -- from walls to
    bridges, the Song of the One and the All resounds,
    the ancient thread for binding us into Life’s circle.


    - Cynthia Poten
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  47. Gratitude expressed by 5 members:

  48. TopTop #4406
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet


    Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.

    Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

    Open the door, then close it behind you.

    Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

    Give it back with gratitude.

    If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.

    Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

    Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

    Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

    Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.
    Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.

    Don’t worry.
    The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

    The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

    Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.

    Do not hold regrets.

    When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

    You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

    Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

    Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

    Ask for forgiveness.

    Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

    Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

    You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.

    Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

    Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.

    Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.

    Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.

    Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

    Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark.

    - Joy Harjo
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  49. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  50. TopTop #4407
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    i am running into a new year


    i am running into a new year
    and the old years blow back
    like a wind
    that i catch in my hair
    like strong fingers like
    all my old promises and
    it will be hard to let go
    of what i said to myself
    about myself
    when i was sixteen and
    twenty-six and thirty-six
    even thirty-six but
    i am running into a new year
    and i beg what i love and
    i leave to forgive me


    - Lucille Clifton
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  51. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  52. TopTop #4408
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    A Poem I Wrote In A High Fever


    You who are lengthening your lives
    with the best doctors and the best medicines
    remember those who are shortening their lives
    with the wars
    that you in your long lives are not
    preventing

    You who are again screwing
    the younger generations
    and winking at each other
    the winking of your eyelids
    is like the chill of the swinging shutters
    in an empty house.


    -Yehuda Amichai

    (Translated, from the Hebrew, by Leon Wieseltier)
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  53. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  54. TopTop #4409
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Another Happy New Year


    The party's done, the plastic cups used up -
    the ones we never know whether to wash or throw away -
    thus
    ambivalence follows us
    into the new year
    starting with the cups.


    The food
    my mother's crab mousse
    so fifties in flavor
    even the punch
    a throwback to simpler days
    when three kinds of sweet liquids
    mixed together
    did not make us quake
    with fear of the consequences.


    big resolutions
    mostly the same
    again and again


    yet each year
    I grow calmer
    finding a still point
    amidst the tumult
    holding on
    to the quicksilver
    river of my dreams.
    .
    There is that cleansed feeling -
    the counters bare of the detritus of the year
    extraneous magazines never read now ready
    to be trash
    which we euphemistically call
    recycle - as if we weren’t wasting
    so much paper.


    As for resolutions - make ones that are doable.
    The pen falls and the mind falters.
    More than resolutions
    how about reflecting –
    have I become more me? that is all I ask.


    And I respond to welcome the new year
    with this poem.


    - Basha/Barbara Hirschfeld


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  55. Gratitude expressed by 3 members:

  56. TopTop #4410
    Larry Robinson's Avatar
    WaccoBB Poet Laureate

    Re: Poem for the day from Larry Robinson

    Anthropocene


    Nesting, the turtle seems to be crying even though she is simply secreting
    her salt. Her dozens bud limbs inside amniotic pillows

    as she leaves every egg in a cup of sand the size of her body,
    shaped like a tilting teardrop — and both cryings

    are mentioned by scientists. My niece Eve is startle-eyed when you feed her
    avocado and when you feed her sweet potato. She lives mouth first:

    she would eat the sidewalk and piano, the symmetrical petals of the Bradford pear,
    as if she could learn which parts of the world are made and how,

    and yesterday she put her mouth on the image of her own face
    in the mirror. Larkin says what will survive of us is love,

    but the scientists say that the end of the decay-chain is lead and uranium and after that,
    plastics. Just now the zooplankton are swallowing micro pearls of plastic

    and the sea is aflame with waste caught in the moon’s light.
    Here is the darkening hour and here, the shore, as she droplets her eggs,

    bright as ping pong balls, into the sand. She can’t find the spot.
    The beach is saltined with lights, neoned with spectacular

    globes of light, a dozen moons instead of the one moon. Still, she lets them go
    and one month later, tiny turtles hatch. They seem groggy,

    carrying their houses of bone and cartilage to the ocean,
    scrambling toward the horizon alongside the earth’s magnetic field.

    Less than one percent of the hatchlings make it past
    the seagulls and crabs, so Noah spent a summer dashing them to the water.

    But my poem is not about the moment when a bird dove and bore
    into the underflesh and into Noah’s memory.

    My poem is about how we are gathered around Eve
    in the kitchen as she eats a fruit she has never tried before

    and each newness in the world
    stops the world’s ending in its tracks.

    - Nomi Stone
    Last edited by Barry; 01-09-2020 at 02:15 PM.
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