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sjfgreenman
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Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#16572 3 years, 6 months ago
Here's my favorite poem, by Anne Bradstreet. What's yours?
If you're not familiar with Anne, she's worth looking into..

"If winter come and greenness then do fade,
A Spring returns, and they more youthful made"

Contemplations

by Anne Bradstreet
(1612-1672)

Sometime now past in the Autumnal Tide,
When Phoebus wanted but one hour to bed,
The trees all richly clad, yet void of pride,
Were gilded o're by his rich golden head.
Their leaves and fruits seem'd painted but was true
Of green, of red, of yellow, mixed hew,
Rapt were my senses at this delectable view.

I wist not what to wish, yet sure thought I,
If so much excellence abide below,
How excellent is he that dwells on high?
Whose power and beauty by his works we know.
Sure he is goodness, wisdom, glory, light,
That hath this under world so richly dight.
More Heaven than Earth was here, no winter and no night.

Then on a stately Oak I cast mine Eye,
Whose ruffling top the Clouds seem'd to aspire.
How long since thou wast in thine Infancy?
Thy strength and stature, more thy years admire,
Hath hundred winters past since thou wast born?
Or thousand since thou brakest thy shell of horn?
If so, all these as nought, Eternity doth scorn.

Then higher on the glistering Sun I gaz'd,
Whose beams was shaded by the leafy Tree.
The more I look'd, the more I grew amaz'd
And softly said, what glory's like to thee?
Soul of this world, this Universe's Eye,
No wonder some made thee a Deity.

Had I not better known (alas) the same had I.
Thou as a Bridegroom from thy Chamber rushes
And as a strong man joys to run a race.
The morn doth usher thee with smiles and blushes.
The Earth reflects her glances in thy face.
Birds, insects, Animals with Vegative,
Thy heat from death and dullness doth revive
And in the darksome womb of fruitful nature dive.

Thy swift Annual and diurnal Course,
Thy daily straight and yearly oblique path,
Thy pleasing fervour, and thy scorching force,
All mortals here the feeling knowledge hath.
Thy presence makes it day, thy absence night,
Quaternal seasons caused by thy might.
Hail Creature, full of sweetness, beauty, and delight!

Art thou so full of glory that no Eye
Hath strength thy shining Rays once to behold?
And is thy splendid Throne erect so high
As, to approach it, can no earthly mould?
How full of glory then must thy Creator be!
Who gave this bright light luster unto thee.
Admir'd, ador'd for ever be that Majesty!

Silent alone where none or saw or heard,
In pathless paths I lead my wand'ring feet.
My humble Eyes to lofty Skies I rear'd
To sing some Song my mazed Muse thought meet.
My great Creator I would magnify
That nature had thus decked liberally,
But Ah and Ah again, my imbecility!

I heard the merry grasshopper then sing,
The black clad Cricket bear a second part.
They kept one tune and played on the same string,
Seeming to glory in their little Art.
Shall creatures abject thus their voices raise
And in their kind resound their maker's praise
Whilst I, as mute, can warble forth no higher lays?

When present times look back to Ages past
And men in being fancy those are dead,
It makes things gone perpetually to last
And calls back months and years that long since fled.
It makes a man more aged in conceit
Than was Methuselah or's grand-sire great,
While of their persons and their acts his mind doth treat.

Sometimes in Eden fair he seems to be,
See glorious Adam there made Lord of all,
Fancies the Apple dangle on the Tree
That turn'd his Sovereign to a naked thrall,
Who like a miscreant's driven from that place
To get his bread with pain and sweat of face.
A penalty impos'd on his backsliding Race.

Here sits our Grand-dame in retired place
And in her lap her bloody Cain new born.
The weeping Imp oft looks her in the face,
Bewails his unknown hap and fate forlorn.
His Mother sighs to think of Paradise
And how she lost her bliss to be more wise,
Believing him that was and is Father of lies.

Here Cain and Abel come to sacrifice,
Fruits of the Earth and Fatlings each do bring.
On Abel's gift the fire descends from Skies,
But no such sign on false Cain's offering.
With sullen hateful looks he goes his ways,
Hath thousand thoughts to end his brother's days,
Upon whose blood his future good he hopes to raise.
There Abel keeps his sheep, no ill he thinks,
His brother comes, then acts his fratricide.

The Virgin Earth of blood her first draught drinks,
But since that time she often hath been cloy'd.
The wretch with ghastly face and dreadful mind
Thinks each he sees will serve him in his kind,
Though none on Earth but kindred near then could he find.

Who fancies not his looks now at the Bar,
His face like death, his heart with horror fraught.
Nor Male-factor ever felt like war,
When deep despair with wish of life hath fought,
Branded with guilt, and crusht with treble woes,
A Vagabond to Land of Nod he goes,
A City builds that walls might him secure from foes.
Who thinks not oft upon the Father's ages?

Their long descent, how nephews' sons they saw,
The starry observations of those Sages,
And how their precepts to their sons were law,
How Adam sigh'd to see his Progeny
Cloth'd all in his black, sinful Livery,

Who neither guilt not yet the punishment could fly.
Our life compare we with their length of days.
Who to the tenth of theirs doth now arrive?
And though thus short, we shorten many ways,
Living so little while we are alive.

In eating, drinking, sleeping, vain delight
So unawares comes on perpetual night
And puts all pleasures vain unto eternal flight.
When I behold the heavens as in their prime
And then the earth (though old) still clad in green,
The stones and trees, insensible of time,
Nor age nor wrinkle on their front are seen.

If winter come and greenness then do fade,
A Spring returns, and they more youthful made,
But Man grows old, lies down, remains where once he's laid.
By birth more noble than those creatures all,
Yet seems by nature and by custom curs'd,
No sooner born but grief and care makes fall
That state obliterate he had at first:

Nor youth, nor strength, nor wisdom spring again,
Nor habitations long their names retain
But in oblivion to the final day remain.
Shall I then praise the heavens, the trees, the earth,
Because their beauty and their strength last longer?
Shall I wish there, or never to had birth,
Because they're bigger and their bodies stronger?
Nay, they shall darken, perish, fade and die,
And when unmade, so ever shall they lie.

But man was made for endless immortality. Under the cooling shadow of a stately Elm
Close sate I by a goodly River's side,
Where gliding streams the Rocks did overwhelm.
A lonely place, with pleasures dignifi'd.
I once that lov'd the shady woods so well,
Now thought the rivers did the trees excel,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell.

While on the stealing stream I fixt mine eye,
Which to the long'd-for Ocean held its course,
I markt nor crooks, nor rubs that there did lie
Could hinder ought but still augment its force.
O happy Flood, quoth I, that holds thy race
Till thou arrive at thy beloved place,
Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.
Nor is't enough that thou alone may'st slide,
But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet,
So hand in hand along with thee they glide
To Thetis' house, where all imbrace and greet.

Thou Emblem true of what I count the best,
O could I lead my Rivolets to rest,
So may we press to that vast mansion, ever blest.
Ye Fish which in this liquid Region 'bide
That for each season have your habitation,
Now salt, now fresh where you think best to glide
To unknown coasts to give a visitation,

In Lakes and ponds, you leave your numerous fry.
So Nature taught, and yet you know not why,
You watry folk that know not your felicity.
Look how the wantons frisk to task the air,
Then to the colder bottom straight they dive;
Eftsoon to Neptune's glassy Hall repair
To see what trade they, great ones, there do drive,
Who forrage o're the spacious sea-green field
And take the trembling prey before it yield,
Whose armour is their scales, their spreading fins their shield.

While musing thus with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet-tongu'd Philomel percht o're my head
And chanted forth a most melodious strain
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight
I judg's my hearing better than my sight
And wisht me wings with her a while to take my flight.

O merry Bird (said I) that fears no snares,
That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn,
Feels no sad thoughts nor cruciating cares
To gain more good or shun what might thee harm--
Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere,
Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear--
Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear.

The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent,
Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew,
So each one tunes his pretty instrument
And warbling out the old, begin anew,
And thus they pass their youth in summer season,
Then follow thee into a better Region,
Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion.

Man at the best a creature frail and vain,
In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak,
Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain,
Each storm his state, his mind, his body break--
From some of these he never finds cessation
But day or night, within, without, vexation,
Troubles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near'st
Relation. And yet this sinful creature, frail and vain,
This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow,
This weather-beaten vessel wrackt with pain,
Joys not in hope of an eternal morrow.

Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation,
In weight, in frequency and long duration
Can make him deeply groan for that divine
Translation. The Mariner that on smooth waves doth glide
Sings merrily and steers his Barque with ease
As if he had command of wind and tide
And now becomes great Master of the seas,
But suddenly a storm spoils all the sport
And makes him long for a more quiet port,
Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort.

So he that faileth in this world of pleasure,
Feeding on sweets that never bit of th' sour,
That's full of friends, of honour, and of treasure,
Fond fool, he takes this earth ev'n for heav'ns bower,
But sad affliction comes and makes him see
Here's neither honour, wealth, or safety.
Only above is found all with security.

O Time the fatal wrack of mortal things
That draws oblivion's curtains over kings,
Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not;
Their names with a Record are forgot,
Their parts, their ports, their pomp's all laid in th' dust.
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings scape time's rust,
But he whose name is grav'd in the white stone
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.
"if you don't like the news go out and make some of your own"
Last Edit: 3 years, 6 months ago by sjfgreenman.
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mjwhitegd
Junior Boarder
Posts:36

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#16574 3 years, 6 months ago
America

Allen Ginsberg

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
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mandala
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Posts:164
jerry junkie

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#16579 3 years, 6 months ago
can't say this is my favorite, but it was something that came through me one night standing in front of garcia at the warfield and i enjoy sharing it with other 'heads:


IN THE REALM OF THE WIZARD GARCIA
A Parable for Deadhead Children of All Ages

by A. Mandala
c. 1990 All rights reserved.


Once upon a space of time,
On a bright ball spinning free,
There lived a race of humankind,
Not unlike you and me.
But these folk were having a terrible time
Finding a free way to be,
And the notes that they sang in the cosmic chord
Curdled the heavenly harmony.


They'd built bombs to kill everybody several times over,
But they couldn't make sure every body could eat;
They'd poisoned the air, their own food, land and water,
They'd rarely cooperate, but they'd always compete.
Their world had become a planet divided
By hard hearts, closed minds and hate,
And since they'd never learned to blend together in love,
Self-destruction shadowed their fate.


But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
And his bands of merry fools,
They were striving to find some gentler ways
By stretching all those rules
That were stopping joy and kindness
From glowing from within,
And blocking hearts from beating
With the pulsing life rhythm.


You see, the sickness that afflicted that world
Was not that hard to fix,
It came from keeping things locked up
And protecting them with sticks,
Or knives, or guns, (or words) or bombs,
Or other means to scare,
'Til all the time 'twas meant for play
Got trapped inside of fear.


And it became easier to keep others away
Than to learn to let them near,
And it became easier to fret about a future of days
Than enjoy the one that was here.
Their minds had locked out everything,
But having and getting more.
They were so afraid to lose what they had,
They were scared to go out their own door.


But in the realm of the Wizard Garcia,
At the edge of this Land of Afraid,
They were dedicated to going further than this,
To dance in, not watch, life's parade.
For they'd found a musical magic
Where the boundaries could stretch everywhere,
And they all could let go together,
And not fear that others were near.


They followed that magic right out of their cages,
And escaped from the dungeon of feeling alone,
Their spirits would shimmer (and heal) and mingle;
Fear could no longer freeze them like stone.
Their minds would all meld and spark with connection,
Their bodies would ripple together like waves,
Their souls merged in oneness; they stopped dreading dying;
They could see, from those peaks, they might dance beyond graves.


In their bliss they knew life is transcendent,
It's immenser than just you or we,
And whenever we try to box it or lock it,
We just jail ourselves with no key.
They celebrated the joys of coming together,
In a free-zone where each one could be
Wherever their fantasies happened to take them
And still blend with the whole harmony.


Now sadly, most who most needed their magic
Only saw them as weirdoes and freaks,
And made fun of their smiles and their twinkling eyeballs,
And then returned to that world that was bleak.
But the realm of the Wizard Garcia
Is always near for those who will dare
To soar o'er the limits and bondage of boundaries,
To find the freedom that rings beyond fear.
life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans - j. lennon
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Abba
Gold Boarder
Posts:1025
I missed Jerry!

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#16589 3 years, 6 months ago
RETURN TO TERRAPIN

Up these steps beside me climb
To Terrapin and points sublime
Robbed of reason, faith and name
Broken hearted, blind and lame

Slain by doubt, mistaken trust
Abandoned in the rain to rust
Shriveled by the heat of day
Torn to shreds by birds of prey

Shapeless in the fire's glow
Tell me if you think you know
Who it was we were below
Where we've been and where we go

Lilies have the bees to tend them
Grasses have the breeze to bend them
Broken hearts have tears to mend them
Show us stairs, we will ascend them

Stair by stair by stair we climb
Voices hushed to sighs by time
Speak our souls in pantomime
Clear cold bells of winter chime

Pale through this ghostly haze
the dawn of a newborn moon
illuminates an ancient maze
of tumbled stones rough hewn

Trust your faith and enter
by paths the heart divines
The sun lies at the center
through gates of creeping vines

how faint the rays
of former days
in avenues of time-
but it does shine,
emblem of sight,
pride of the eyes
that shatters shadow
and all of the dark defies

Let the Sun rise!

Hunter
Turn on, Tune in, Drop out
Think for yourself, Escape the gene pools
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Chester
Moderator
Posts:34082
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#16606 3 years, 6 months ago
Hunter and Dylan are two of my favorite poets. But I do like some classical stuff too.

She walks in beauty. By Lord Byron

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 mellowed 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!
I can't come down, it's plain to see.
I can't come down, I've been set free.
Who you are, and what you do,
don't make no difference to me.
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sjfgreenman
Expert Boarder
Posts:733

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#17041 3 years, 6 months ago
Thanks for the posts, great stuff...here's one they handed to me at the Warfield one day as I walked into a show
RippleC.jpg
"if you don't like the news go out and make some of your own"
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PMoondancer
Platinum Boarder
Posts:1844

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#17097 3 years, 6 months ago
Love that Ripple Flyer!!!

(Especially the little note on the bottom corner)
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PMoondancer
Platinum Boarder
Posts:1844

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#17155 3 years, 6 months ago
I'd like to share poet Bennie Lee Sinclair with ya'll. (1938-2000)

She is one of my favorite lesser known poets.

www.knowitall.org/periscope/display/show...entry.cfm?entryID=73
Last Edit: 3 years, 6 months ago by PMoondancer .
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Chester
Moderator
Posts:34082
More or less in line

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#17186 3 years, 6 months ago
Neat stuff. I like her story, as well as the poetry. Thanks.
I can't come down, it's plain to see.
I can't come down, I've been set free.
Who you are, and what you do,
don't make no difference to me.
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sjfgreenman
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Posts:733

Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#17293 3 years, 6 months ago
Thanks, Moondancer! I really dig her Landmark poem. It looks like she is speaking my language and I'll have to look into more of her work.
"if you don't like the news go out and make some of your own"
Last Edit: 3 years, 6 months ago by sjfgreenman.
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