April, 2014

I started Early – Took my Dog

POSTED IN classic poetry April 30, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I started Early – took my Dog-

I started Early – Took my Dog –
And visited the Sea –
The Mermaids in the Basement
Came out to look at me –

And Frigates – in the Upper Floor
Extended Hempen Hands –
Presuming Me to be a Mouse –
Aground – upon the Sands –

But no Man moved Me – till the Tide
Went past my simple Shoe –
And past my Apron – and my Belt
And past my Bodice – too –

And made as He would eat me up –
As wholly as a Dew
Upon a Dandelion’s Sleeve –
And then – I started – too –

And He – He followed – close behind –
I felt His Silver Heel
Upon my Ankle – Then my Shoes
Would overflow with Pearl –

Until We met the Solid Town –
No One He seemed to know –
And bowing – with a Mighty look –
At me – The Sea withdrew –

 

 

Emily Dickinson

Go and catch a falling star

POSTED IN classic poetry April 30, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Go and catch a falling star

Go and catch a falling star,
    Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
    Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
            And find
            What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be’st born to strange sights,
    Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
    Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
            And swear,
            No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find’st one, let me know,
    Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
    Though at next door we might meet;
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
            Yet she
            Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

 

 

 

 John Donne

Springtime

POSTED IN contemporary poetry April 30, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Springtime

A hoary old man, winter lingers, untill
he grows tired and relents, he gives way
to Lady Spring. She yawns and stretches
to longer light, the sweet air of spring
kisses winter and waves him goodbye.

She wears a new dress and recites poetry.
From southern oceans her zephyr blows
breathes new life into naked trees: bursts
dormant sticky buds and opens translucent
green leaves, adorns cherry apple and pear.

A spring bride, in her train, fragile blossom
forms many tiny fruitlets. The Forsythia
spreads rays of sunshine. The frogs, free
from hybernation, wrestle in the pond
an orgy, on which their survival depends .

When V skeins of geese fly honking towards
Romney marsh my heart greets Lady Spring
The ladybirds settle like tiny red blisters
on the fertility of a flourishing nettle patch.
The proud cock pheasant swaggers down

the lane, a drab hen bouquet in his wake.
The ra-ta-tat-tat… of woodpecker’s verve,
echoes percussion over gently undulating
green hills, where lambs gambol, the ewes
chew grass, while two llamas stand guard.

A farmer plants seeds trusts in summer sun,
autumns harvest.Spring dances in our hearts.

 

 

 

Gael Bage

Innocence

POSTED IN reading poetry, Stories April 21, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Innocence

When falling off the cliff they cry,
hurting the iris of their eye,
flying before they learn to fly,
whose words will kiss their tears to dry?
I am the Catcher in the Rye.

The Fallen knows the Catcher’s dream
to keep alive th’ innocent gleam.
The Catcher feels the Fallen’s sense:
“Don’t kill the heart of  Innocence!
Let it live hidden in the sky!”
I am the Catcher in the Rye.

I gave the hunting hat to me
while pushed into the falling free.
Life took me off the cliff, but I,
I was the Catcher in the Rye,
I gave myself the hat of hunt,
and through the Rye I walk and chant.

Maria Magdalena Biela

Comin’ thro’ the Rye

POSTED IN classic poetry April 21, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Comin’ thro’ the Rye                                               

O, Jenny’s a’ weet, poor body,                
Jenny’s seldom dry;                                 
She draigl’t a’ her petticoattie                   
Comin thro’ the rye.                                

Comin thro the rye, poor body,             
Comin thro the rye,                               
She draigl’t a’her petticoatie,                  
Comin thro the rye!                              

Gin a body meet a body                         
Comin thro the rye,                          
Gin a body kiss a body,                         
Need a body cry?                             

Comin thro the rye, poor body,             
Comin thro the rye,                               
She draigl’t a’her petticoatie,                   
Comin thro the rye!                                

Gin a body meet a body                         
Comin thro the glen,               
Gin a body kiss a body,                        
Need the warld ken?                             

Comin thro the rye, poor body,              
Comin thro the rye,                               
She draigl’t a’her petticoatie,                  
Comin thro the rye!     

 

 

Robert Burns

 

                          

Franciscae meae laudes

POSTED IN classic poetry April 12, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Franciscae meae laudes

Novis te cantabo chordis,
O novelletum quod ludis
In solitudine cordis.

Esto sertis implicata,
Ô femina delicata
Per quam solvuntur peccata!

Sicut beneficum Lethe,
Hauriam oscula de te,
Quae imbuta es magnete.

Quum vitiorum tempegtas
Turbabat omnes semitas,
Apparuisti, Deitas,

Velut stella salutaris
In naufragiis amaris…..
Suspendam cor tuis aris!

Piscina plena virtutis,
Fons æternæ juventutis
Labris vocem redde mutis!

Quod erat spurcum, cremasti;
Quod rudius, exaequasti;
Quod debile, confirmasti.

In fame mea taberna
In nocte mea lucerna,
Recte me semper guberna.

Adde nunc vires viribus,
Dulce balneum suavibus
Unguentatum odoribus!

Meos circa lumbos mica,
O castitatis lorica,
Aqua tincta seraphica;

Patera gemmis corusca,
Panis salsus, mollis esca,
Divinum vinum, Francisca!

 

 

 

Charles Baudelaire

Emanuel Swedenborg

POSTED IN classic poetry April 12, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emanuel Swedenborg

Taller than the others, this man
Walked among them, at a distance,
Now and then calling the angels
By their secret names. He would see
That which earthly eyes do not see:
The fierce geometry, the crystal
Labyrinth of God and the sordid
Milling of infernal delights.
He knew that Glory and Hell too
Are in your soul, with all their myths;
He knew, like the Greek, that the days
Of time are Eternity’s mirrors.
In unadorned Latin he went on listing
The unconditional Last Things.

 

 

 

Jorge Luis Borges

I got so I could take his name

POSTED IN classic poetry April 1, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I got so I could take his name

I got so I could take his name –
Without – Tremendous gain –
That Stop-sensation – on my Soul –
And Thunder – in the Room –

I got so I could walk across
That Angle in the floor,
Where he turned so, and I turned – how –
And all our Sinew tore –

I got so I could stir the Box –
In which his letters grew
Without that forcing, in my breath –
As Staples – driven through –

Could dimly recollect a Grace –
I think, they call it “God” –
Renowned to ease Extremity –
When Formula, had failed –

And shape my Hands –
Petition’s way,
Tho’ ignorant of a word
That Ordination – utters –

My Business – with the Cloud,
If any Power behind it, be,
Not subject to Despair –
It care, in some remoter way,
For so minute affair
As Misery –
Itself, too vast, for interrupting – more –

 

 

 

Emily Dickinson

In the valley of names

POSTED IN contemporary poetry April 1, 2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the valley of names

My names haunt me.
All the history,
all the connected lives,
gypsies and witches,
kings and sailors,
criminals, peasants and warriors
All the friendships,
foes and lovers.
Every syllable
an ancient inspiration,
a prison,
a poison,
a reviving breath
in the valley of names.

 

 

 

Garnet Shaw Robbie