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What wonderful art it is (but is it really art - or genius?) to end with such seemingly pedestrian words:
thrown, as it appears, casually over your shoulder, but which then have the force of something primary, something that neither needs nor deserves elaborating on!Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
:flare:
“Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them.”
–Emerson
Full Disclosure
Is it wrong to be in love
with the Frost that lies
in the ground of Vermont
all year round?
It doesn't really bother me
that frost has a way
of sneaking in ‘round here
without warning,
or – despite modern delays -
this time the leaf-transition
seems earlier than before.
I'm thoroughly impressed
with Thoreau’s pious awe,
and how every night
manages to morph into morning.
I'm not afraid to confess
an obsession with asters,
all fearless, purple, and wild,
as tiny threads of milkweed
chase monarchs in full flight.
But I'll admit
neither guilt nor shame
to any “No Trespassing” sign
I've ignored.
The thing of it is, in this poem as in every one of yours I recall, that the virtuosity goes hand in hand with the sheer (sometimes mischievous) pleasure you get in the writing of these - but isn't writing, poetry in particular, supposed to be grim, starchy, the product of or exercised with pain?
.... absolutely, much like the gut wrenching Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock!Quote:
but isn't writing, poetry in particular, supposed to be grim, starchy, the product of or exercised with pain?
_______________________
I'm not sure if I've ever said it before AuntShecky but, I love the way your poems tickle all the senses! :nod:
Thank you, Prince and Sophia. I have to think about your comments. The speaker of a poem and its author aren't always the same person, and that as a writer (or would-be writer) I would like my role to follow what T.S. Eliot said in "Tradition and Individual Talent," if it isn't presumptous of me to mention his illustrious name in the same sentence as myself. That's all I'm going to say for now.
I couldn't agree more AuntShecky! I was just pulling PM's leg. And it isn't presumptuous of you at all mention your name with his. I think TSE would be very okay with it!
Faithful Failures
Who invited them? They crashed my life!
Each time I turn around,
they're right there – mugging,
shoulders scrunched, palms upward,
heads tilted with a simpering look
as if to say, “Eh, what're ya gonna do?”
I can't even take a perfectly innocent
stroll down the line
without their tracing my every step.
It’s as if every little stray pup
in the world who ever followed a 4th grader home
suddenly morphed
into a ravenous pack of Hell-hounds.
No, we can't keep them.
Well, I was already worn out,
and they were never welcome.
Now it’s way, way, way past
three days – no fish in all the waters
of the earth ever stunk as much
as these, who pitch
their moldy tents at the foot
of my bed, and hog the night. They cop
the eggs of freshly-laid plans
and crack ‘em, one by one.
Above the rim
of a shaky cup
I see them,
diving into the day
with their know-it-all smirk.
Another great one, Faithful Failures, Auntie! I love these humorous laments.
I especially love the pups and tents.
Faithfully Successful!
By the way, did you mean "heads tilted" instead of "heads titled" in S1?
Some lines that stand out even above the rest of this:
and:Quote:
Originally Posted by AuntShecky
Quote:
Above the rim
of a shaky cup
I see them,
diving into the day
with their know-it-all smirk.
Yep! And it's fixed. Typos have been hounding me lately.There was even a glaring one in my autumn poetry contest entry. Thanks for pointing it out so I had a chance to fix it.Quote:
Originally Posted by firefangled
this gets better and better. what did the 'past three days' mean? the image of the hell hounds chasing a person is funny.
Reference to a famous saying (spouse and I) believe to have originated with Benjamin Franklin:Quote:
Originally Posted by cogs
"After three days, fish and visitors start to stink."
There were so many stellar entries in the Autumn Poetry Contest, I didn't vote on the one submitted by yours truly, but here 'tis --a variation on the sonnet, 12 instead of 14 lines and instead of iambic pentameter, iambic hexameter (clumsily rendered, perhaps):
“Does a leaf get lonely when it watches its neighbors fall?” –John Muir (Quoted in Our National Parks: America’s Best Idea)
Anthropomorphism in Autumn
Can winter’s omens shake slim aspens with cold fears?
Would mountain peaks yearn to suckle an infant in the sky?
Do geese compare this trip to those of other years?
Are airborne tufts of milkweed aware of where they'll fly?
Would fading flowers cause the meadow’s heart to ache?
Does a maple ever dream of a future April bed?
Might the October moon want to get a rake
to whisk occluding clouds away from its clearer head?
Do nettles itch to snag crisp days on bristled burrs?
Could wildlife somehow imagine a poorer patch,
to contemplate nature’s bliss and brutal spurs,
while wretchedly singular, from the universe detached?
Oh that is such a good poem Aunty. I almost voted for it too. There were lots of good ones to choose from. I must admit the title threw me, but the poem was extremely engaging. That last stanza was excellent. :)
Quote:
Do nettles itch to snag crisp days on bristled burrs?
Could wildlife somehow imagine a poorer patch,
to contemplate nature’s bliss and brutal spurs,
while wretchedly singular, from the universe detached?
*loved it! maybe personalize the wildlife with an individual, is a minor suggestion. wow... i love the aspens shaking and the moon raking(rhyme). goto *