I took this photo yesterday morning of a lone goose slowly paddling up river past the Harvest sculpture. And it reminded me of one of my favorite poems.
The Wild Geese
Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over the fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.
Wendell Berry (Collected Poems 1957-1982)
What’s a favorite poem of yours?
Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things.
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away
Billy Collins is hard to beat
.-= (Jerry Bilek is a blogger. See a recent post titled Ride Photos) =-.
It’s a grim poem, but one that’s always moved me. And the author’s fate just makes it that much more poignant…
Dulce et Decorum Est by Wilfred Owen
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
I eat my peas with honey, I’ve done it all my life. It makes the peas taste funny, but it keeps them on my knife!
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
A poem about the Cannon River
Every Ounce Counts
It’s not too syrupy,
We cannot bounce on it.
It changes a lot when
the geese all pounce on it.
It’s kinda like a skirt
when you look from the sky,
Oh, like the land has
a lacey flounce around it.
Though It’s really just a stream,
And there’s often lots of steam,
It’s purely water to keep clean
And we’d all like to announce ’bout it.
by Bright Spencer
The poem should be read like a
river first flowing slowly and then
more rapidly as spring rains
fill the river full.
My favorite is ‘Cremation of Sam McGee’ by Robert W. Service. It starts out
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
.-= (Ray Cox is a blogger. See a recent post titled Foundation Wall) =-.
I write original poetry from time to time. Don’t know if this is a passion I should be pursuing as it burns a lot of brian cells. I welcome your feedback…the good, bad and ugly. Here are two:
Blue Baby
You arrived
that grey spring day.
A lingering moment
between
nothingness and eternity.
A sorrowful joy
for-ever etched
on our souls
Mommy and me
One last, subtle movement and then
I baptize you
In the name of
the father, the son
and the holy spirit.
A precious gift
What it means to be.
With each breath,
closer to the day
When we will hold you again
My Beautiful Blue Baby.
—————————
Losing Time
The days roll on.
By and bye
At first, slowly melodically
We listen to the sweet song
What is yet to be
The turning quickens
Starting to grind
The sound of self- awareness
Fore shadowing
What is yet left
Then pounding
Tripping over one another
Overheating
The shocking knowledge
What is yet to come
Grinding and grinding
No rhythm remains
Discordant notes cry
The startling wisdom
Finally arriving
and wishing for sweet rhythm, melody and ignorant bliss.
Poem for Rich
Transforming souls; in a blink or painfully slow;
happens in the shadows; words unto light.
You took these steps with such dignity and grace
From you, the kind and gentle teacher,
we’ve learned yet more eternal truths.
A holy diaspora leaving a void
echoing with your life’s spirit.
With saddened hearts, we listen.
Hoping we’ve learned well the lessons
of your sojourn and gifts given.
Now, from brilliant sands,
you surf waves of silver purple and gold.
Across the eternal divide to god’s peaceful shore;
There, sweet Helen, your daughter, with Milton
and St. Vincent Millay side by side.
And finally that touch of infinite love, perfect wisdom.
So richly earned; so richly deserved.
All is silent…so many Fridays
We make the slow descent down Mount Golgotha.
Yes, we will be cleansed in the River Jordan and
find peace knowing we will meet again soon
in that timeless, boundless space.
Wait for us. We love and will miss you, Rich.