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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

joybragi84

On the Blog Again: Some Familiar Places and Two New Poems


A Rock Path on the White River Bluff Trail

Kellie and I went on a hiking excursion last Saturday. I believe, though I may be wrong, it was our first real hiking excursion of the Fall and Winter season. We hiked the White River Bluff trail on Green Mountain Road near Allison. The first half of the trail is scenic. You can look over the White River from the bluff above Highway 5, and there are some interesting rock formations. The second half of the trail is walking through the woods just like any woods here in northern Arkansas, no bluffs, no creeks, lots and lots of rocks and trees. Who knows if we will hike the trail again? It could have some interesting flowers. Otherwise, my advice on this trail is to walk to the rock path in the picture above and then walk back to the parking lot. There is nothing to see past this point.


Yes, I have been away from the blog for quite some time. Primarily, I have been away for two reasons: (1) I got too sick of the ignorant, misinformed, and divisive political and social opinions being spouted on Facebook, which is my blog "connection," to look at Facebook anymore, so I tuned out. (2) My school semester was a semester from Hell. 105 students in seven writing intensive classes with only a very few students prepared for good collegiate writing. Folks, you don't have to read it here, others more wise than I am will tell you the same, but our primary and secondary education system is failing the majority of students, at least here in Arkansas. I'll not go into why because of Reason One above. I don't care about listening to people's political and social opinions right now, so why I should I expect anyone to want to listen to mine?


Hopefully, you folks are ready to read some more poems! That is what we are here about anyway! These poems are both from October 29, which was a Tuesday. I don't know what was going on that particular day, but I know that I went for a walk at the Fulton County fairgrounds/Salem City park area, most likely with Kellie and most definitely with Luna. You will remember the three Crow brothers. I must have seen them. We have a whole series of poems about them.


The Three Crow Brothers at the Gun Range

 

There’s them three Crow brothers

Beneath the gun range chair

A taking empty shotgun shells

And tossin’ em in the air.

 

“Look, I am a human,”

I think I hear one say,

“I throw these empty plastic hulls

At skinny birds of clay.”

 

“I am a human too,”

I heard another caw

While he stepped on a fast-food cup

And wrassled with the straw.

 

One says, “I’ll not be human,”

A half-chewed burger at his feet,

“I don’t know but I do think

They shit on what they eat.”

 

Crow brothers can’t be human,

No matter what they do.

I’m sure that they can’t copy me

But they might mirror you.


Now, I will share a poem for which I have no explanation. Can you remember why you did certain things a month and a half ago? Nope! Me neither.


Moonlight Harmony

 

The night world’s full of “mights” and “seems”

And tangled webs of motes and beams.

Where chaos flows, the moon folk need

To slow its rude and frenzied speed

Before they let confusion pass

Into the moon’s aerial mass.

 

The moon sits on its hazy shelf

And pulls all madness to itself

And gathers bedlam in its charms

To squeeze within its thin, white arms,

And when the blood ceases to boil,

It soothes the burn with almond oil.

 

Then, it strokes with loving care

The weary wings and tussled hair

Of moon folk who won’t make a peep

Because they are so fast asleep

Inside the moon’s eternal loving,

Their mind’s benumbed, but eyeballs moving.

 

Is it the moon or their minds’ wiles

That twists their sleeping lips to smiles?

And is it true or does it seem,

They only live inside a dream

That slips away like memory

As soft as moonlight harmony?


Don't forget that Uncle Boog and the Dogfight is for sale at Lulu.com and Amazon books. I haven't checked other online booksellers in a couple of months. Here is a picture of that cover. I still don't know why it looks so purple in the photo. The cover is actually blue, very blue.



Also, don't forget that the book of poems that we forged together Essential Words is available only at Lulu.com because of its large size. Let's see if I have the cover picture still.



Finally, if you want to read a great book of poetry that is a bit more literary than some of my more recent stuff. You should check out Atheists and Empty Spaces. It is for sale at any and all online booksellers to my knowledge and at Austin Macauley Publishing.



Now, I think I have a few minutes to go work on Aunt Charlotte's Crib. You can read the original version of Aunt Charlotte's Crib here on the blog under the Dewey Lynn stories, but I'll be self-publishing it as a book in the Dewey Lynn series soon.


Oh! One last thing! I haven't had a request for a poem in maybe a year or so. I still do requests. Let me know what you would like to read a poem about, and I will do my best to write one for you.


See ya!



Comments


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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