Summer beauty
Hath such
Grace, as I have
Seen in One
Autumnal face."
John Donne LATEST!
by Frank Lloyd Kramer
Homework is my greatest joy
I love it more than food
I have to have some everyday
To keep my cheery mood.
I love arithmetic the best
And English I adore!
Examinations are a thrill
And recess is a bore!
I’ve written to my Congressman
To cancel summer break
Ninety days without a class
Is more than I can take!
My longest day is Saturday
And Sunday I’m depressed
No classroom time on either day
I won’t be getting dressed.
Will you join my homework club?
We’ll have a lot of fun
I welcome all new members…
’Cause I’m the only one.
by Sarah Teasdale
Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.
(Thanks to Zacariah for the poem.)
Immeasurably
By your eyes
I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply
The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain
And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain
by Jim Morrison of The Doors
also quoted in the film "Dream for an Insomniac"
Friday, 9/20/02
http://www.darkrose-bds.com/doors/poetry.htm
by Fina García Marruz Monday, 9/23
Ah, autumn garden, becoming leafless
as someone who quietly sheds
his memories, oh, solemn and passionate peace,
blurred amidst green coolness!
I've viewed you, sweetly mortal
as in darkening gusts of wind, not seeing you,
I count on your being there near me, another persona,
and I don't gaze at you so as not to lose you.
You're fortunate to be
the dreamer and the dream, chaste law
of a marriage between the beholder and the beheld!
But what are you trying to say, what do you desire?
When you are as still
as a devinely disillusioned king?
Poesias Escogidas, Editorial Letras Cubanas
http://www.thecaribbeanwriter.com/volume8/v8p91b.html
THE SIZE OF THE COW WAS AMAZING
WE REMEMBER THE DAY
OF THE COW EATING HAY
'CAUSE SOON AFTER CHICAGO WAS BLAZING
ted ebert iv
Thursday, 9/26
By Landon (Tuesday, 10/01)
THERE is in life no blessing like affection;
It soothes, it hallows, elevates, subdues,
And bringeth down to earth its native heaven;
It sits beside the cradle patient hours,
Whose sole contentment is to watch and love;
It bendeth o’er the death-bed, and conceals
Its own despair with words of faith and hope.
Life has nought else that may supply its place;
Void is ambition, cold is vanity,
And wealth an empty glitter, without love.
by Victoria Theodorou
Translated by Eleni Fourtouni
http://genesis.ee.auth.gr/dimakis/poetrygreece/2/10.html
She finds herself a soft mattress, among leaves, and sits,
A song slips out of the flute of her throat -
low: she must not wake her light-sleeping comrades,
just keep their dreams company.
Her hands will not stay still; she takes up thread
and needle to darn their socks with the grenade
she always carries at her waist, awake and asleep.
The grenade in the sock, metallic and quite oblivious
to its cataclysm, feels just like a wooden darning egg:
the country's free, now, and the war's over
and Katia's no partisan in the snow-covered woods-
she's sitting by the window behind the white lilacs
sewing socks for her lover, home intact.
Victoria Theodorou lives in Athens and studied literature at the University of Athens. Born of a Cretan mother and Yugoslavian father, she participated in the Resistance movement of World War II. For this she was incarcerated in concentration camps for a period of 5 years.
by Carl Sandburg http://carl-sandburg.com/
I ASKED the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell
me what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of
thousands of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though
I was trying to fool with them
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along
the Desplaines river
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with
their women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.
Why me Lord, what have I ever done to deserve even one of the pleasures I've known.
Tell me Lord, what did I ever do that was worth lovin' you,
or the kindness you've shown.
Lord help me Jesus, I've wasted it so,
help me Jesus I know what I am.
Now that I know that I've needed you so,
help me Jesus, my soul's in your hand.
Tell me Lord, if you think there's a way, I can try to repay,
all I've taken from you.
Maybe Lord, I can show someone else what I've been through myself,
on my way back to you.
Jesus, my soul's in your hand.
Kris Kristofferson - singer-songwriter, actor, hard-livin' man
Tuesday, 9/17
- from Dead Poets Society
courtesy of imdb
by Rupert Brooke
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England
given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
Th., 9/12
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose that makes my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose..."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
- from The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Friday, 9/6
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
Lord, may I not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
Because it is in giving that we receive,
and in pardoning that we are pardoned.
Mon., 9/9