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Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.-Edgar Allan Poe

Poetry is when emotion has found its thought and thought has found words--Robert Frost

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance--Carl Sandburg

I have nothing to say, I am saying it, and that is poetry--John Cage

You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some of it with you--Joseph Joubert

Poetry is what in a poem makes you laugh, cry, prickle, be silent, makes your toe nails twinkle, makes you want to do this or that or nothing, makes you know that you are alone in the unknown world, that your bliss and suffering is forever shared and forever all your own. ~Dylan Thomas

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No Poem-a-Week? No Problem! Here Is Three in a Week and a Half!


Frosty Swirling Grass

I was reminded by a comment that someone made on a post in Facebook that other day that I would like to remind my readers that the poems you are reading here are fresh off the brain. Occasionally, I change a word or two as I am writing a poem when the word or phrase really is off-putting for some reason or the other, but, for the most part, you are reading my poems raw and unfiltered. When I get enough of them to create a book (All bookmaking is just this side of FREE now! I mean creating literature, not gambling.) then I will start revising. Here is the poem to go with the picture above of the frosty swirling grass. ENJOY! Let me know what you think.

The Passing of a Year

 

The final maple copters whirl

And drift without a sound.

Hushes made by oak leaves twirl

Across the frosty ground.

 

Snowbirds scatter, bob, and weave

In deft but soundless motions.

Flocks of geese billow and heave

In waves on heaven’s oceans.

 

Fine strands of atmospheric mist,

‘Round unseen axles spinning,

Mirror the grass the frost has kissed

In Winter’s annual thinning.

 

In whorls of wind, flora, and sky,

The voiceless year rolls out.

The kindling day will soon swing by

And enter with a shout,

 

And with glad songs and words of hope,

We’ll greet the infant year.

The prior one will pout and mope

But pass without a tear.


You know, I didn't care much for the poem above when I wrote it, but it is growing on me. It's kind of sappy and sentimental, but I thought it was overly so for a while. Maybe, it's not. Let's see what the Crow brothers were up to last week.


The Three Crow Brothers and Another

 

There’s the three crow brothers.

They’ve added one crow more.

Unless he helps with findin’ food,

I can’t say what he’s for.

 

He joins the murder on some posts

Left lyin’ on the ground.

The brothers flit and caw and spit.

He sits without a sound.

 

He turns his head to watch me

As I walk slowly by.

The brothers flit and caw and spit.

He keeps me in his eye.

 

I do not like this stranger.

His gaze makes my skin crawl.

The brothers flit and caw and spit.

He thinks he knows it all.


Finally, here is a little ditty that popped into my head as Luna and I walked this morning. The sun was shining through the clouds and lighting them on fire, but that did little to warm us in the 20 mph north wind. Whichever side was facing the wind was freezing. The other side was warm. It's a good thing that the trails that I walk mostly go in circles. Oh! And I know that I am imitating Frost, but I hope that no one else has done exactly what I am doing. It sounded familiar in my head before I even typed it.


Water and Ice

(Simply Imitating Frost)

 

Some say the world will end with water.

I’ve heard that it may turn to air.

I’m not so sure about the matter,

But I am sure that I don’t care.

Just ask me why.

Why? I won’t be there.


Last week, I reminded readers (Wow! The blog readership increased 42% last week! Thanks for reading!) that I do take requests. However, I forgot to remind folks about how to contact me. Please email me at mbt1966@yahoo.com. That email is an old account that I have used for business and personal correspondence for 20 years or more, and I am in the habit of checking it daily. Also, I don't do Christmas poems. I used to do them for my Grandma Gerlach, and it was OUR thing. For now, I don't have that particular "spirit" in me.


Also, please remember that books of poetry or of Dewey Lynn stories makes excellent gifts. Just sayin'!












     

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I find that I cannot exist without Poetry--without eternal poetry--half the day will not do--the whole of it--I began with a little, but habit has made me a Leviathan.-John Keats

We do not quite say that the new is more valuable because it fits in; but its fitting in is a test of its value.-T. S. Eliot

A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases.-George Gordon, Lord Byron

The great beauty of poetry is that it makes everything in every place interesting.-John Keats

Our faulty elder poets sacrificed the passion and passionate flow of poetry to the subtleties of intellect and to the stars of wit; the moderns to the glare and glitter of a perpetual, yet broken and heterogeneous imagery, or rather to an amphibious something, made up, half of image, and half of abstract meaning. The one sacrificed the heart to the head; the other both heart and head to point and drapery.-S. T. Coleridge

The purpose of rhythm, it has always seemed to me, is to prolong the moment of contemplation, the moment when we are both asleep and awake, which is the one moment of creation.-W. B. Yeats

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