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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

OUR BOOK IS HERE! And a Song That I Am Working On




Yes, that is right! Our book, as pictured above, is now available at the website posted above. You can simply go to Lulu.com and type in the title. I am so excited. My experience with Lulu has been awesome. Yes, it is a self-publish, vanity, Print-on-Demand press, but it was so easy, I had all the control, and the book is beautiful, inside and out. I have fifteen copies on the way. You can get a signed one from me if you want to wait, but it is up to you. You can order it, and I will write something in it later when we meet up. By the way, if you want a copy from me, here is my business email: mbt1966@yahoo.com. I check it every day.


Now, I have not lived up to my Poem-a-Week challenge this week, but I do have a song that I have been working on for a while. I am stuck with it at the moment--and maybe it is long enough without anymore work. I intend it to sound like a Shaman's Harvest song, but I can't get a country music vibe out of my head. Take a peek at it, see what you think, and let me know.


Bright Yellow Signs


The endless highway fades

Over the crest of a distant hill.

It’ll take you anywhere you want,

But the road will always stay still.


The pavement is gray and hazy

Except for some solid white lines

And to keep it from driving you crazy,

You must watch for the bright yellow signs.


(Chorus)

They won’t show you where you must go,

But they’ll point the way you need to turn.

They’ll tell you when bridges will ice,

But not that you want them to burn.

They say that you’re going too fast

To hold your shit between the lines.

The only way this journey lasts long

Is to follow the bright yellow signs.


On the road, there are dips and deep valleys

And the signs show where those will be.

The warn everyone when the highway will end,

But that’s different for you than for me.


Signs say to look ahead for a signal

Or where a lane weaves or it ends.

They’ll tell you that traffic is going both ways,

So make sure who you pick for your friends.


(Chorus)


As always, ENJOY! By the way, I have no hopes intentions of making money selling books of poetry, but I would very much appreciate it if you could spread the word about OUR book of poetry through any means possible. Poems are always better shared.

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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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