Thanks Jerry, for the compliment, but I liked #252 better. I'm beginning to think I have an obsession for onions. It did make me miss being pregnant.
Thanks Jerry, for the compliment, but I liked #252 better. I'm beginning to think I have an obsession for onions. It did make me miss being pregnant.
Thank you.Originally Posted by apples of gold
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
What?! You are NOT pregnant? That is as if one of the laws of nature have been revoked!
I wouldn't say I liked this better or less well than the onions poem, but as with all our poems, we make each of them with love and then release them to the world, and the world chooses how to receive them.
Oh, A. this took me by surprise. I was thinking a person and that it was too much for that with knobby scars on hearts...but the end ripped me. I am a freaking tree hugging pinko commie.
Beautiful.
And here is what that old man (I say that with utmost affection) Jerry was saying. He expects these surprises from your poetry. Like the flower uprooting itself and walking to the nearest raging river for a wild ride, having had enough of #^%!!@ droughts and flash floods. Like me he may be set in his ways.
Amp, I think ths is most lovely. I can loose myself is swaying branches and even find beauty in the bare winter branches. I think I'll print this and put it in the cover of my copy of The Giving Tree.
Yeh, and prolly one of those who's in favour of universal health care & AGAINST global warming, smog emissions control &c. &c.
Yo! Mr Spring-chicken! Remember what Oscar Wilde said about youth...Beautiful.
And here is what that old man (I say that with utmost affection) Jerry was saying.
Dude! Even my ways are set in their ways!Like me he may be set in his ways.
Hmmm...let me guess which one: As soon as people are old enough to know better, they don't know anything at all.
No...wait...wait...don't tell me: I am not young enough to know everything.
I just made $300 for that plug.
But I think maybe...To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
I like this one, especially!
For more of the importance of being Oscar Wilde go IBOW.com
Thank you very much mother. The Giving Tree. What an honor. That book is amongst my top ten favorites.
A little story.
I read The Giving Tree to my class every year. I used to tell them, 'Now boys and girls, I might cry a little when I read this, but it's okay. I'm okay. It just makes me happy and sad at the same time'. The problem then was that the children spent most of the time looking at my eyes to see when I was going to cry instead of listening to the wonderful story. Now as I read it to them, I just let my emotion show and most of them 'get it'.
And fire....thank you VERY MUCH for your explanation. That really helped.
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
are we still on the same word?
Ooo, not necessarily. Do you have something in mind?Go for it! If not, anyone else?
I'm so glad you've joined us here mother. I hope others will too.
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
Okay. I'll pick then. Hmmm...let's see. Well, school started here today. Let's write about the word ...
TEACH!!or any derivative thereof.
Last edited by ampoule; 08-16-2007 at 06:05 AM.
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
Like bees on giant flowers, yellow buses
flit and weave over the quilted farmlands
and the hubs of clustered suburbs, gathering
and leaving children - pollen diverse and wild.
Summer now gone, the poison ivy reddens;
the day breathes in stops and starts, leaves
and captive cicadas, the pensive rattle and sigh,
in excruciating harmony before their brief flights.
The portentous moon rises like a holy crust
on the tongue of evening, and lays the long beam
across the water and the loon, and breaks
over the red dogwoods. Here, night will lie.
Soon, we gut and slice the pumpkin for a light,
and with cruel fingers rip the husk of peas
and beans for the rustless green, the new
(notice how like dew their moisture lingers).
While we sleep, a Beachwood falls silently;
children dream of flying, invisible in blue;
the pole beans bloom for the bees alone;
and the loon's song echoes until morning.
I love all of this but I just can't get past those little yellow school busses as bees on flowers and the quilted farmland. That is so precious.
I can't believe how well you have captured this season. (But of course, I CAN believe it because you've done it so many times before but I still can't believe it.)
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
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