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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
Aug 1, 20232 min read

Two More Revisions: This May Go Faster Than You Think


I had no idea what the flower in the picture above was without looking it up on that wonderful website: https://identify.plantnet.org/. Apparently, it is known as Butterfly Pea. I took this picture alongside a hiking trail near Blanchard Spring. In the last few hikes, flower encounters have been rare. There aren't many flowers left to bloom in the woods it would seem.


As the title of this blog suggests, the shorter poems are not taking me very long to revise even if I make quite a few changes. If you are seeing this post before the post I published yesterday. Please make sure to scroll down on your screen and click on the previous link or links, depending on how far back you need to go to see them all. Here are the latest two revised poems. ENJOY!


Queens of my mind, Lights of my soul,

For each of you, my heart has room.

I need all three to make me whole

As showy blossoms need perfume

To get their pollen spread about.


But I perceive one mutters, "No".

She will not share my teeming mind.

She hordes the visions I need know

And leaves the other sprites behind

To sort my unfilled essence out.


She knows that I cannot love one.

She sees that I am flesh and bone.

She’s quit me now, and I have none.

Abandoned, I will go alone,

For I am made of flesh and bone.

Yes, I am only flesh and bone.


Irony


A sandstone grows,

Mottled with moss,

As rain washes soil

Away from its root.


Lightning struck limbs,

Stripped of bark,

Wave nascent leaves

On whipping tips.


A dead oak snag

Trying to fall,

Is braced by ivy,

Choking vines that killed it.


Stones roll in water,

Wear into pebbles,

Are ground into sand,

And settle as silt near the sea.


Don't forget that I would like my faithful readers to help name the next book, and I am still interested in some artwork to go in this collection. It would be a shame if I had to provide some scribbling because I can't draw water in a bucket.

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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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