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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

Two New Snapshots in Verse and Two Snapshots with My Smartphone

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When this becomes regular to all of us, I will no longer need to write it, but my comments about the snippets of verse and the pictures are after them on the bottom of the page. Enjoy!


Chasing a Ghost


A flaming red wasp rushes

From a black semi-circle

In a silver-gray post

Bumps a blossom and pushes

Aside its royal purple

To chase an invisible ghost.



Seeping Fountain and Blue Phlox


The seeping fountain slips

Through a growth of moss and drips

Onto bead-diffusing rocks,

Sprinkling patches of blue phlox

With its cold and lucid drops.


All righty then, here we go. The picture at the top was taken at the shooting range at the Fulton County fairgrounds like the other sunset photos in the last post. Usually, the unnamed knob (at least to me) and the tops of trees on the edge of the field are in the pictures, but this sky could not bear the contrast against the stark blackness of their shadows, so I raised the picture above them. The lines here are soft, delicate, and feather-like.


I have had no inspiration to write lately, so, as I noted in the previous blog, I am stealing bits and pieces from poems I think I shall never revise. I am changing the bits around some, and since they are not long enough for songs themselves, I am forming them into what I hope are worthwhile tidbits of thought. Maybe eventually, these morsels will work their ways back into longer poems. Who knows?


The second photo is obviously not a picture of a sunset. Kellie and I walk at approximately the same time every day. As you can tell, there was no hope of taking a sunset picture on this day. Notice that the lights are on at the buildings up on the hill--and are reflected in the water. However, no buildings are visible through the fog, not even a hint of their outline


In the second short verse, I wanted the phlox to be laughing, and I wanted it to be wild and purple. Purple is Kellie's favorite color, and, on our many hikes, we encounter more purple phlox than blue. I assume it is all wild. Sadly, the wild, laughing, purple phlox did not work in the verse even though I tried.


Please entertain me with your comments below!

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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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