More to my liking!

[paolo59]

Spring Pools

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,

And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.

The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods-
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.

Robert Frost

Spring is too much admired! I agree Robert! Ha ha
I much prefer Autumn.
But Spring comes, and with it,
buds and blooms.

We'll get through this rollick.
Then once again, we'll settle
into what suits us best.
Autumn! Leaves falling, and loss.

Just how can you write or speak of
anything when Spring breaks?
It takes your breath away.
Such promise. And in your hand, undeniable!

But soon, soon the leaves will change
their color, and dry up, and reveal
hidden secrets. Red, yellow, orange,
brown, and then black!

Just how can one cry when
lilacs bloom, and the crocus pops
its' joyful little head up from the dark,
cold earth?

Time will pass. This "Spring" will
burn into Summer's heat,
and the smile of life will wilt and
fade away.

Then we will relish cooler climes!
Then we will remember.
When all color has faded and
turned to ashen hues and bare limbs.

Paolo 59
(Just thoughts brought on by a poet)

[pratherian]

Paolo59

What part of Texas do you reside, if you don't mind me asking?

Gulf coast here.

[paolo59]

Paolo59

What part of Texas do you reside, if you don't mind me asking?

Gulf coast here.

I'm in the "Big D." I lived in the Rio Grande Valley for almost 20 years. Lord! I miss that place sometimes. 'On the border, by the sea' was what they used to say. I've never much cared for the beach, but Mexico! Chingada madre!!!! Matamoros and Reynosa know my name! Ha ha!!!

[pratherian]

I'm in the "Big D." I lived in the Rio Grande Valley for almost 20 years. Lord! I miss that place sometimes. 'On the border, by the sea' was what they used to say. I've never much cared for the beach, but Mexico! Chingada madre!!!! Matamoros and Reynosa know my name! Ha ha!!!

Very familiar with both areas.
Alas, my ex lives in da big D so spent a lot of time there 15-20 yrs ago.
Nice to meet you.

I am 50 miles south west of Houston

[paolo59]

The Rhodora

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the redbird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodura! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me brought you.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

[Whatanejit]

Rhodedendrons are a spectacular bloom and certainly deserve to be written about

[paolo59]

Rhodedendrons are a spectacular bloom and certainly deserve to be written about

Hey Dee, it's good to see you lurking around the boards again!

[paolo59]

I'm certainly no "greenpeacer," but this one caught my eye today. Just when is "Earth Day?"

Plant a Tree

He who plants a tree
Plants hope,
Rootlets up through fibres blindly grope;
Leaves unfold into horizons free.
So man's life must climb
From the clods of time
Unto heavens sublime.
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of thy boughs shall be?

He who plants a tree
Plants joy;
Plants a comfort that will never cloy;
Every day a fresh reality,
Beautiful and strong,
To whose shelter throng
Creatures blithe with song.
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee!

He who plants a tree,-
He plants peace.
Under its green curtains jargons cease.
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly;
Shadows soft with sleep
Down tired eyelids creep,
Balm of slumber deep.
Never hast thou dreamed, thou bless'ed tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be.

He who plants a tree,-
He plants youth;
Vigor won for centuries in sooth;
Life of time, that hints eternity!
Boughs their strength uprear;
New shoots, every year,
On old growths appear;
Thou shalt teach the ages, sturdy tree,
Youth of soul is immortality.

He who plants a tree,-
He plants love,
Tents of coolness spreading out above
Wayfarers he may not live to see,
Gifts that grow are best;
Hands that bless are blest;
Plant! life does the rest!
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,
And his work its own reward shall be.

Lucy Larcom

Hell, I just typed the damned thing, and I find myself wanting to hit Brazil with a blow-torch and clear cut some 35,000 acres of virgin Amazonian Rain Forest! So much for "Earth Day!" Sometimes poetry is just pure, unadulterated bull*$*%!

[paolo59]

Vejeces

Las cosas viejas, tristes, destenidas,
sin voz y sin color, saben secretos
de las epocas muertas, de las vidas
que ya nadie conserva en la memoria,
y a veces a los hombres, cuando inquietos
las miran y las palpan, con extranas
voces de agonizante, dicen, paso,
casi al oido, alguna rara historia
que tiene oscuridad de telaranas,
son de laud y suavidad de raso.....


El pasado perfuma los ensuenos
con esencias fantasticas y anejas,
y nos lleva a lugares halaguenos
en epocas distantes y mejores;
Por eso a los poetas sonadores
les son dulces, gratisimas y caras,
las cronicas, historias y consejas,
las formas, los estilos, los colores,
las sugestiones misticas y raras
y los perfumes de las cosas viejas!

Jose Asuncion Silva

Vejeces, y memorias!
The dark and comforting soul of poetry in Spanish! Ja ja
Shadows always bring things to mind that the light overlooks.

[paolo59]

Today it was overcast,
A sky filled with dark blue,
grey, black clouds,
all threatening rain.

It didn't, but the threat
was enough to fill the soul!
The 'green' of Spring was
muted and made less.

This noise of rebirth
is taxing, it fills things up,
just noise, an eye full.
But one knows what is to come.

It almost jumps from the page,
in your face, discomforting!
Such celebration. Little blooms,
hopeful blossoms, all to whither.

Without the whithering,
there is no seed. Without the
loss, there is no life.
Without stubble and the grey!

Grey days. Clouds overhead,
menacing. Cool. A respite from
the heat that is surely to come.
A break from this mayhem of Spring!

I have longed to speak
with the dead, to hear their
sage wisdom, their perspective.
To know.

I'll wait. Spring is here
with all of the color,
the clutter, the confusion
of newness.

It will be months,
waiting. But Autumn will
come, and with it, winds
of whisperings from beyond.

When days grow short,
when colors fade,
when this facade has played
its' course and ended.

Then I will hear, see,
and know. When the mind can
be clear. When mists rise,
darkness falls softly, and eyes open.

I think I could hear the
voices now, if it weren't for
all that beckons and promises.
With its' green.


Paolo59

[paolo59]

A Year's End

I sit in the shade, after specials
It's getting hot in Texas now,
May is burning away to June,
July and August will be even hotter!

I've threatened, cajoled, reasoned
And for what worth? 9 year olds
will be 9 year olds. Why should anyone
be surprised.

They're as tired and fed up with me
as I am with them! Ha
They're easier to take than I am,
I would imagine.

Sitting in the shade, I watch!
Rolling around in the dirt,
punching and pushing
children being children...I yell!

I stop and think. These little
miscreants are mine. Almost
as if by blood. There's been a lot
of sweat and tears anyway!

I am amazed. I look at my
handiwork! God, they should fire me!
I can't help but love the little buggers.
Just what will they take from me?

It's a year, like any other.
Sometimes I think it's good
Sometimes I think it's bad.
This year...well

And, they're mine still
All mine. Products!
Oh God! This endeavor is
bankrupt!

No, no! They've learned
something!!!! I think I'm a
psycopath. I don't cut
myself, or do more drugs than I should!

LMAO ~ hell, thoughts and feelings
don't have to rhyme. They just have
to flow from the heart.
Buggers! I'll sort of miss them.

I'm greyer now. That would
have happened without them
I suppose, but when I look in the
mirror and see, I'll think of them.

Just what will they become?
Who will they be?
It scares me, then again
I think, just how much damage could I have done?

LMAO Rolling around in the dirt!
After specials; 'Mr. Muse, you're
The greatest teacher ever!' Ha ha
Oh Lord! I wish that I were.

Paolo59

[Whatanejit]

Cross-hatchings of rain against grey walls,
Slant lines of black rain
In front of the up and down, wet stone sides of buildings.
Below,
Greasy, shiny, black, horizontal,
The street.
And over it, umbrellas,
Black polished dots
Struck to white
An instant,
Stream in two flat lines
Slipping past each other with the smoothness of oil.
Like a four-sided wedge
The Custom House Tower
Pokes at the low, flat sky,
Pushing it farther and farther up,
Lifting it away from the house-tops,
Lifting it in one piece as though it were a sheet of tin,
With the lever of its apex.
The cross-hatchings of rain cut the Tower obliquely,
Scratching lines of black wire across it,
Mutilating its perpendicular grey surface
With the sharp precision of tools.
The city is rigid with straight lines and angles,
A chequered table of blacks and greys.
Oblong blocks of flatness
Crawl by with low-geared engines,
And pass to short upright squares
Shrinking with distance.
A steamer in the basin blows its whistle,
And the sound shoots across the rain hatchings,
A narrow, level bar of steel.
Hard cubes of lemon
Superimpose themselves upon the fronts of buildings
As the windows light up.
But the lemon cubes are edged with angles
Upon which they cannot impinge.
Up, straight, down, straight -- square.
Crumpled grey-white papers
Blow along the side-walks,
Contorted, horrible,
Without curves.
A horse steps in a puddle,
And white, glaring water spurts up
In stiff, outflaring lines,
Like the rattling stems of reeds.
The city is heraldic with angles,
A sombre escutcheon of argent and sable
And countercoloured bends of rain
Hung over a four-square civilization.
When a street lamp comes out,
I gaze at it for fully thirty seconds
To rest my brain with the suffusing, round brilliance of its globe.

[paolo59]

We long for softer images, no? Well, softer in the sense that fields and meadows are more pleasing to the eye and the senses than what man has managed to produce. Angles! There are no angles in nature, only rounded edges. But how sharp those edges can be! Ha ha But a comfortable 'sharpness.' Reality is best dealt with when it 'sneaks' up on us. It's way too hard to face head on!

Words, once again. Beautiful, tragic, moving, filling the soul, almost as if they were music from the most talented composer! I guess they are more than that. Perhaps when they are well composed, they are one in the same! "To rest my brain with the suffusing, round brilliance of its' globe." Like a sunrise, or a sunset. Music to the ears, pleasure to the eye; this life, in all that it deals out. One can be tired of it all, the striving, the pressure, all for what? For what? The 'what' is a mystery, but well worth the misery! LOL

Bring it on, in waves!!! I'll face the torment, a whithering, full-forced winded hurricane!!!!! What is that to me?

I want to pen something or another...but it's not Autumn, just yet. But it will be, soon enough. Then I'll jot down some more silliness.

[paolo59]

Under a blisterring sun, I wandered
lost for years of absence and life lived.
But there it was to be seen, read,
remembered. Just a stone in the ground.
Not a lot to record all that was of worth,
valor. What had once been larger than life,
vibrant, alive...but gone now.
I looked, I thought, I remembered.
And then I saw. Alive, in eyes, noses,
mannerisms, turns of a frase, a look,
an angle of chin, a nod of the head,
a simple 'space' for thought, then a response.
Alive! Something of a thing that I thought was
dead and gone. Not so! There is a vestige that lives
on, and always will. One that
will not be seen by the eyes of that one who is no longer here.
But there. Kicking, breathing, living.
Struggling to be! Apenas, empezando.
If I could be the eyes of those gone before,
to see just what has become? Oh how I would
tell a tale! Of hopes, dreams, and promise.

[LisaSkinnoble]

O my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
O I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

~Robert Burns

[Ed_Hitchens]

This Living Hand

This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is—
I hold it towards you.

John Keats

[Whiskeyjack]

Xs & Os

outside mario’s café, the mariachi’s thrumming
heedless of pedestrian scissor-by thighs
a yellow ribbon cordons off shapes
chalked on a granite sidewalk—silhouettes
arms crossed
legs in impossible postures, bent double deaths
snuffed out voices whisper still
in the coffee-cantering breeze
snapshot fallen figures, beyond earthly time
like a super-eight flicker film
an image out of the corner of the eye—
i see passerby behind glinting glasses, eyeless
under a harsh white sky

i lift the ribbon, squat on shards of glass
place my hand on the cooling tarmac
tempted for an instant to stroll on by—
but at mario’s cappucino-mustache frown
i pick a chip of plaster,
crumbled in my shaking fingers, and
beneath the clattering cups and mariachi merriment, i

draw Os for eyes

[paolo59]

Wow, great poems!

[paolo59]

Xs & Os

outside mario’s café, the mariachi’s thrumming
heedless of pedestrian scissor-by thighs
a yellow ribbon cordons off shapes
chalked on a granite sidewalk—silhouettes
arms crossed
legs in impossible postures, bent double deaths
snuffed out voices whisper still
in the coffee-cantering breeze
snapshot fallen figures, beyond earthly time
like a super-eight flicker film
an image out of the corner of the eye—
i see passerby behind glinting glasses, eyeless
under a harsh white sky

i lift the ribbon, squat on shards of glass
place my hand on the cooling tarmac
tempted for an instant to stroll on by—
but at mario’s cappucino-mustache frown
i pick a chip of plaster,
crumbled in my shaking fingers, and
beneath the clattering cups and mariachi merriment, i

draw Os for eyes

One excellent poem brother! "Snapshot fallen figures." "...beneath the clattering cups and mariachi merriment." Just excellent! To capture a reality in words, reveal a scene, and transmit the emotion of it all.

[Whiskeyjack]

One excellent poem brother! "Snapshot fallen figures." "...beneath the clattering cups and mariachi merriment." Just excellent! To capture a reality in words, reveal a scene, and transmit the emotion of it all.

Thank you!!!

[paolo59]

[QUOTE=Whiskeyjack;907354193]Thank you!!![/Q UOTE]

No, good Lord, Thank You! Words 'jotted' down with sensibiltiy, an eye, and one's own ability to express feelings in a given moment. LMAO Incredible stuff, if I do say so myself! I don't for the life of me understand why folks get in a 'tizzy' over 'words' that are typed on the web! Sheer stupidity. Now when someone writes down what they feel, what they've seen, what they've experienced, with that much expression! Ha ha, good stuff!

[paolo59]

Each and All

Little thinks, in the field, yon, red-cloaked clown
Of thee from the hill-top looking down;
The heifer that lows in the upland farm,
Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm;
The sexton, tolling his bell at noon,
Deems not that great Napoleon
Stops his horse, and lists with delight,
Whilst his files sweep round yond Alpine height;
Nor knowest thou what argument
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent.
All are needed by each one, -
Nothing is far or good alone,
I thought the sparrow's note from heaven,
Singing at dawn on the alder bough;
I brought him home, in his nest, at even;
He sings the song, but it cheers not now;
For I did not bring home the river and sky;
He sang to my ear,- they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore;
The bubbles of the latest wave
Fresh pearls to their enamel grave,
And the bellowing of the savage sea
Greeted their safe escape to me.
I wiped away the weeds and foam-
I fetched my sea-born treasures home;
But the poor, beauty on the shore,
With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar.

The lover watched his graceful maid,
As ' mid the virgin train she strayed,
Nor knew her beauty's best atire
Was woven still by the snow-white choir.
At last she came to his hermitage,
Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage:
The gay enchantment was undone-
A gentle wife, but fairy none.

Then I said, " I covet truth;
Beauty is unripe childhood's cheat;
I leave it behind with the games of youth."
As I spoke, beneath my feet
The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath,
Running over the club-moss burrs;
I inhaled the violet's breath;
Around me stood the oaks and firs;
Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground;
Over me soared the eternal sky,
Full of light and of deity;
Again I saw, again I heard,
The rolling river, the morning bird;
Beauty through my senses stole;
I yielded myself to the perfect whole.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

[paolo59]

"The perfect whole!" You could live for one thousand years and never find it. But I think the search would be worth all of the effort! Truly.

[paolo59]

I've let an entire Autumn pass without so much as a peep! I guess the years that saw such loss have faded. Perhaps. I still think there are fallen leaves, in gutters, blown here and there, that scream, dead, lifeless, but alive with remembrances. They are there still. Just waiting. Life gets in the way of things. Ha ha!

[LisaSkinnoble]

Since it's St. Valentine's Day...

To My Dear and Loving Husband

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov’d by wife, then thee.
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee give recompetence.
Thy love is such I can no way repay.
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let’s so persever
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

- Anne Bradstreet, 1678

[GreekyBeth]

SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

-Lord Byron

One of my favorites.

[paolo59]

You'll wait long, long time for anything much
To happen in heaven beyond the float of clouds
And the Northern Lights that run like tingling nerves.
The sun and moon get crossed, but they never touch,
Nor strike out fire from each other, nor crash out loud.
The planets seem to interfere in their curves.
But nothing ever happens, no harm is done.
We may as well go patiently on with our life,
And look elsewhere than to stars and moon and sun
For the shocks and changes we need to keep us sane.
It is true the longest drouth will end in rain,
The longest peace in China will end in strife.
Still it wouldn't reward the watcher to stay awake
In hopes of seeing the calm of heaven break
On his particular time and personal sight.
That calm seems certainly safe to last tonight.

Robert Frost

[paolo59]

Granted, Byron is much, much better. Were they ignorant, not having lived to see 'the day?' Those poets who spoke to heart and soul? I like at times to feel my soul and being on the ground. I like as well to have it uplifted! Don't leave me on the ground. One likes to dream. To be lifted out of things. Are poets 'prophets' who thunder words of truth? I think that they are!

[paolo59]

I like 'high days' on the yearly calendar. They make you take stock, think. Just a little reminder of what's what. I like words, they speak! Sometimes of absoutely nothing, and at others...they cut you to the quick! It's always better when they are beautiful. Oh to have the words to say just what's on your mind.

I've seen hands! Milky white,
those hands that levelled you,
first steps. Lord, they were there,
I just don't really remember.

Hands that said no; a finger raised,
wagging back and forth...
LOL how I hated that word no.
"No" has always been a good word to know!

Those hands have gotten older,
they look weathered,
a little whithered over the years.
Good God! They could still crack a skull!

Just who needs a 'skull cracked' anymore?
Maybe so, maybe not.
They are old now,
I can see the years in them.

Is there anyone who has more blessing?
A hand on a head, a cheek, a hand on a hand?
I have seen life...I think,
I've seen nothing!

Are there Popes, potentates?
Those robed in scarlet, and holy.
There is none holier. Ha ha!
A life given, served up.

In a million years I could never repay.
This Good Friday, I think of a life sacrificed!
I can think of none other.
A mother...just what more can one say?

And with all of that...she would say, look to Him who holds the days in his hand!

[paolo59]

Another year...
They seem longer now for some reason.
I suppose that they're not, really.
Same number of days as always,
Just seems longer for some reason.

What hasn't happened?
Just what has?
I forgot Dad...the day you looked up.
From a hospital bed, you somehow recognized.
You're gone now. Just how could I have forgotten?

That day on the calendar just came and went.
This thing...life. It gets in the way of things.
There is no need to apologize...I know.
Live...just live. Do what you know to do.
You do that, and you've done all that you can!

Another year. Kids. The hopes and dreams of a better future.
Who knows? Folks have been dreaming about that for years.
And just what can one do?
Dream on! And do what is in your hand to do.
Somehow, that is enough...I tell myself.

I'll see you in a week or two.
I'll stand over a headstone...and remember.
Even though I forgot.
Just how many times did I forget what you taught me?
And you just smile. You were always a wise one!