Poetry

April is Poetry Month

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April is Poetry Month and so in honor of it I thought I would share some poems throughout the entire month. I think today would be a nice day to share some Spring poems as we are supposedly in spring and I do not know one person who wants Winter to stay.

Daffodowndilly

by A.A. Milne

She wore her yellow sun-bonnet,
She wore her greenest gown;
She turned to the south wind
And curtsied up and down.
She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
“Winter is dead.”

Showery Time

by Evaleen Stein

The April rain-drops tinkle
In cuckoo-cups of gold,
And warm south winds unwrinkle
The buds the peach-boughs hold

In countless fluted creases
The little elm-leaves show,
While white as carded fleeces
The dogwood blossoms blow.

A rosy robe is wrapping
The early red-bud trees;
But still the haws are napping,
Nor heed the honey-bees.

And still in lazy sleeping
The apple-buds are bound,
But tulip-tips are peeping
From out the garden ground.

And yonder, gayly swinging
Upon the turning vane,
A robin redbreast singing
Makes merry at the rain!


The First Red-Bird

by Evaleen Stein

I heard a song at daybreak,
So honey-sweet and clear,
The essence of all joyous thing
Seemed mingling in its cheer.

The frosty world about me
I searched with eager gaze,
But all was slumber-bound and wrapped
In violet-tinted haze.

Then suddenly a sunbeam
Shot slanting o’er the hill,
And once again from out the sky
I heard that honied trill.

And there upon a poplar,
Poised at its topmost height,
I saw a little singer clad
In scarlet plumage bright.

The poplar branches quivered,
By dawn winds lightly blown,
And like a breeze-swept poppy-flower
The red-bird rocked and shone.

The blue sky, and his feathers
Flashed o’er by golden light,
Oh, all my heart with rapture thrilled,
It was so sweet a sight!


Día de Muertos

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Today is November 2nd and in Christian cultures it is the day when the souls of the deceased are remembered. In Mexico it is Día de Muertos ~ The Day of the Dead. It is a time to celebrate the lives of ancestors and loved ones with their favorite foods and drinks, special altars to them and sugar skulls. Families visit the graves and have picnics.

The few days around late October into early November are thought in many cultures to be a time when the spirits of the dead can enter the physical world with ease. They can be with us.

Interesting.

Not haunting…..just visiting.

 

 

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

Thy soul shall find itself alone

‘Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone –

Not one, of all the crowd, to pry

Into thine hour of secrecy.

 

Be silent in that solitude

Which is not loneliness, for then

The spirits of the dead who stood

In life before thee are again

In death around thee, and their will

Shall overshadow thee: be still.

 

By Edgar Allan Poe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem and A Celebration

 in Interesting / Poetry by

Have you been keeping up on the Chilean mining situation? After what must have felt like an eternity in the dark, so far underground, the miners are being rescued. Slowly and carefully, one by one.
To read of their ordeal is sobering.
But did you know that while they have been trapped they have been kept really busy? They all had jobs to do. Things like testing the air, clearing rubble, keeping in communication with the surface, preparing food. Writing poetry. Yes, one of the miners was writing poetry. I find this amazing that even in the deepest and most dangerous of places the appreciation of the spoken / written word is kept. How wonderful.

Here is a poem by one of Chile’s most famous poets Pablo Neruda. Maybe Chile is a country of poets. Somehow I can’t see many other places giving someone the job of poet.

Cat’s Dream by Pablo Neruda

How neatly a cat sleeps,
Sleeps with its paws and its posture,
Sleeps with its wicked claws,
And with its unfeeling blood,
Sleeps with ALL the rings a series
Of burnt circles which have formed
The odd geology of its sand-colored tail. 

I should like to sleep like a cat,
With all the fur of time,
With a tongue rough as flint,
With the dry scent of fire and
After speaking to no one,
Stretch myself over the world,
Over roofs and landscapes,
With a passionate desire
To hunt the rats in my dreams.

I have seen how the cat asleep
Would undulate, how the night flowed
Through it like dark water and at times,
It was going to fall or possibly
Plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts.

Sometimes it grew so much in sleep
Like a tiger’s great-grandfather,
And would leap in the darkness over
Rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.

Sleep, sleep cat of the night with
Episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache.
Take care of all our dreams
Control the obscurity
Of our slumbering prowess
With your relentless HEART
And the great ruff of your tail.

 

Titanic – My Poem

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As you may know from my last post about the Titanic (see last Titanic post) I am in the love with the RMS Titanic. She was the biggest ship of her time and was thought to be unsinkable. That is what everyone knows. But there are some things that can only be known from what people say. This poem that I wrote comes from a quote from a man who survived the Titanic disaster. I created this poem from what he said about the disaster. It is done from the point of view of this man. Hope you enjoy it.

Just in the last 5 minutes of the Titanic being above the water
Did everyone realize that the end was extremely near

The lights of the ship started to dim
And suddenly they completely went out
It was dark to start with but now it was like being in ink
The only way to tell that people were around you were by hearing their voices

The voices of the ones shouting out to loved ones
And the voices of the ones crying because they knew that the end was near

Deck after deck after deck after deck
All the decks slowly went under the dark, ominous, looking water

I then turned my head to the bridge decks of the ship
I first noticed the people on the decks
Then I saw Captain Smith standing in the bridge.
My eyes just clung to him
I could not look away.

The water had now entered the bridge
And was slowly making its way up Captain Smith’s legs
It was at his thighs
Then his waist
And then I saw him no more
“He died a hero.”

The ship was now almost fully under the water
Just the 4 funnels and the 2 masts were visible
Then the impossible happened
The stern rose completely out of the water
30, 40, 60 feet and higher into the air
It was now at a 45 degree angle.
And slowly and quietly the ship slipped out of my sight.

These pictures are all from the movie ‘Titanic’ by James Cameron.