Single and alone
Some call him
a rolling stone
doesn’t know why
the wind blows
but loves the sound
as he watches the stars
and the evening moon
wonders about his death
wonders if it will be on
a lonely Monday
and wants to be
carried on a long cart
The following is another poem inspired by my fellow bloggers. Thanks for your beautiful posts. The attributions follow. Check out their beautiful work.
All is prayer
When thoughts are still
A rainbow of hope
Fills the sky
All is prayer
And I am here
To tell you
We are one
All is prayer
Who am I but a body in time,
I ask the universe for love
I am a woman, an artist, a mother, a worker,
But I want to be like water
And sometimes still
All is prayer
Let it be what will
The official site of Margaret Atwood: poet, novelist, children’s author, and (surprise!) cartoonist. Browse Margaret’s cartoons, read interviews, and learn about her work supporting green interests.
I hear the sounds of Spring
sounds that make me want to sing
the songs of yesteryear
to conjure memories so dear
I hear chimes resounding
as the gentle breeze visits
the music is outstanding
energizing the spirit
I hear the flowers bloom
silently and confident
they know somehow
their beauty will rid us of all gloom
Spring is here again
faithful like an old friend
bringing us happiness
with every bud that grows.
I am so glad you are here!
After I wrote The Role of a Poet, I found this post that relates to the premise.
How do you want to be remembered? asked the poet
There were three poets, one doctor and two teachers present to respond to the poet’s question.
Finally after a long silence and obvious pondering the doctor says, “I want to be remembered as someone who took my oath seriously.
One poet said, ” I want to be remembered as a poet who wanted to promote peace.”
The other poet said, “I will be remembered as the king of the couplet.”
The remaining poet said, ” I hope people will remember me as the simple poet.”
Then the two teachers looked at each other politely and gestured one another to speak first.
After a few seconds one teacher speaks. “I want to be remembered for my patience,” she said.
The other teacher remains pensive for a few more seconds. She says, “I hope that the students I was not able…
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I often ask myself what is the role or job of the poet? Each time the response depends on what is happening in the world and in my personal life. I ask other poets the same question. Sometimes I wish I could ask my favorite poets, especially those who became well-known after they passed. I could imagine their reaction when they learn in their after life that people finally get and appreciate the poems they wrote.
As I pondered the question I went back to my collection of poetry books and looked for some insights. Inspired by poet’s biographies and other readings, I wrote a poem that hopefully answers the question. I mean if you have ever asked yourself what is the role of the poet.
The Role of the Poet
I believe the world needs a poet more today
It needed one yesterday as well
because a poet is one to tells
truths we may not want to hear
a poet brings to light what is most dear
and helps us to face fear
A poet brings you back into your own life
and teaches you how to breathe in and out
in stillness and in meditation
while you listen carefully to your breath and heart beat
and to the divine explanation of why we are all here.
A poet is a little god
who soothes your soul
and lets you peek into life’s crystal ball
to see yourself for the very first time
A poet sings the songs that make the world go round
and says what matters in free verse or rhyme
a poet knows how to expertly use every utterance and sound
in alliteration or onomatopoeia or assonance
and when it comes to choosing
the right meter
who else can we possibly trust
It does not matter what form a poem takes
A poet must not mistake
an epic, a limerick or an ode
As long as a poet can bring back the spring
in the middle of winter.
A poet can make you sing
and help you see the purpose of a fly
and you can either believe every word
or decide to defy
its relevance or ambiguity
but we must admit the poet’s acuity
for words and how to use them in a soliloquy.
Being a poet is not an easy job
a poet can make you smile
or make your heart throb
A poet can also make you think
about so many things that need thinking
and when you don’t understand
the message it can really stink
but as for me
I still hope to be
a poet someday.
April is the month to celebrate poetry. The month has been designated National Poetry Month. I like to think that with April showers and the beginning of spring comes inspiration and thus more of us may be inclined to pay attention to our muses. I write poems every day. But there is something about spring that inspires me to read aloud my favorite poems and to write more of my own.
The DodgePoetry Foundation is devoted to fomenting the appreciation of poetry read aloud. They sponsor teacher’s seminars called Clearing the Spring, Tending the Fountain, http://www.dodgepoetry.org/schools/spring-fountain/registration-information/ every year.
Another great site is Poets.org. where you can create your own poetry notebook to collect your favorite poems. Many libraries and book stores sponsor poetry readings this month. Check your town’s local activity calendar.
Happy National Poetry Month. I want to thank the followers and supporters of Poemattic. I…
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“Does a firm persuasion that a thing is so, make it so? He replied, ‘All poets believe that it does. And in ages of imagination, this firm persuasion removed mountains; But many are not capable of a firm persuasion of anything.” – From the Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake
Happy National Poetry Month!
“Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.” –
– Leonard Cohen
A few suggestions for things you can do to honor the poets of the world.
Grandmother was a young girl
when an ancestor visited her.
A gentle man from her third heritage
with a wooden flute in hand
played a pleasing tune
a soothing sound
to which she gently swayed.
She asked him where he’d come from,
and how he found his way,
He said a butterfly mapped the route
and he followed the nightingale’s song
but most of all it was the love
that still lived in our home.
His voice faded slowly away
and he suddenly disappeared
as mysteriously as he came.
The sun shone through
and she awoke
and nothing was ever the same.
Grandmother always said she’d hear
the flute in the distance every now and then.
Some days she’d secretly hoped he visit her again.
The day she passed I heard the flute
and a songbird sing softly in my ear.
I knew then everything would be fine.
Because love is what it is
and it lives right here with me.
A New bud appeared
after the mighty snow fall