As we soon close the National Month of Poetry, I hope that we can continue to use poetry as a way to make someone happy, heal emotional pain, invoke a love for others, breed tolerance, and give voice to our hearts.
Thanks to all those bloggers who have re-blogged some of my poems and posts and have commented on my posts. Thanks for your continued support. We all have a wonderful opportunity to inspire and provide insight. I follow some pretty great blogs on WordPress. They make my day when I am down and motivate me in many ways. So thank you.
This poem reminds me of my seventh grade English teacher. She would make us memorize poems which according to her would enrich our souls. Robert Frost became one of my favorite poets from that point on.
Robert Frost was important to American poetry during the first half of the twentieth century because he maintained traditional meter, structure, and themes during a time when modernism was the dominant poetic mode. He was a popular poet, but he never sacrificed his art for that popularity.
“Every year a unique event takes place in Stratford-upon- Avon to mark the birth of the world’s greatest playwright. The Birthday Celebrations are a tradition going back nearly 200 years and are held on the weekend.” His name is William Shakespeare.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.
Then can I drown an eye unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end.
Poets.org sponsors Poem in You Pocket Day (which was celebrated today) and which offers a wide variety of poems to use for the celebration of the day. Someone surprised me today with a beautiful poem she had written about the latest acts violence and terror that caused chaos in the city of Boston. She did want me to post it but the truth is that the poem was written with her heart. To those of you who read a poem to someone today I applaud you. Here is a poem I wrote:
Maya Angelou, author of the best selling I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings and Gather in My Name, also published many poetry collections.
Dr. Angelou received several honorary degrees throughout her life. She wrote television screenplays and appeared in several movies. Her unforgettable voice is always inspiring and makes one sit up in attention.
Another very favorite poet is Mary Oliver. I have many of her poetry books and feel peace and calmness when I read her poems. Mary Oliver, winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and the National Book Award, is one of the most celebrated and best-selling poets in America. Some of her books include What Do we Know, The Leaf and the Cloud, Winter Hours and Blue Iris among others.
This is an excerpt of one of my favorites:
Some Questions You Might Ask
“Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of an owl?
Who has it, and who doesn’t? ”
I love questions. I think I have mentioned before I was always asking questions which made my mother crazy sometimes. Ms. Oliver’s poems in general make you ponder and ask many questions, especially about nature and life in general.
Words are so important. They can rise you up or bring you down to the lowest point ever. They have always captivated me. I cannot let one word go by unnoticed just because I do not know its meaning.
I especially like the ones with soft, sweet sounds. The words that melt your heart. This is why i am proposing a challenge starting today until January 31st. Make a list of the sweetest sounding words you have ever heard. Use the hashtag #email@example.com.
Let us remember the power of words. Let us use words wisely and make them resonate for the good of humanity.
Every spring I try to plant a beautiful garden like the ones I have seen in magazines. No sooner I plant Begonias, Calandula, Petunias and Pansies, our resident cottontail rabbit and occasional visiting deer snap up the fresh or new blooms.
The rabbit loves the clover that grows wild and free in our backyard. Clover is a weed but I cannot bring myself to stripping it because it has very dainty white flowers and because I too love the green leaves.
Therefore, my garden is composed of large ceramic pots. I have resigned to the fact that I may never have a garden except for the improvised one on our deck.
So what does Stanley Kunitz have to do with my want to be garden? Nothing really. Except that Mark Doty once described how Mr. Kunitz would walk through his garden “paying strict attention to every inch of it.”
I too thought about Mr. Kunitz’s visits to his garden. My grandmother never left her house for years except to step out into her small garden. Hers was a real garden. She talked to the flowers and plants; she claimed they would grow more and bloom more robustly.
Thus, I wrote a poem about her love of nature and especially her garden.
Grandma only felt safe in her garden
the lavender plant soothed her soul
and helped her cope with her phobia.
On a few occasions, I heard her sing
to the tiger lilies. They leaned and seemed to listen.
She stood very still as if she were watching out
for prey like the cottontail did on the grassy lawn
there were no prey to speak of
no one would ever harm her
but she listened carefully to nature’s sounds and warnings
Failure to achieve something in life can be devastating sometimes. I was thinking about failure. There are some things that we cannot help of course. Sometimes failure is inevitable. We have little control over nature; often it seems like it needs to fail us or disappoint us. We may not understand how someone can deceive and fail us when we most need support and compassion. As human beings we fail each other all the time. We fail our children many times. We fail to love each other unconditionally. We fail to forgive. We fail to open our hearts. We fail to think before we speak and hurt someone deeply. We fail to keep the peace.
The following is a poem I wrote about failure. I wrote it soon after my sister passed away from heart failure.
In celebration of National Poetry Month I am inviting all poetry lovers to participate in several activities I have planned. This week I will provide a few prompts for writing poems. Please submit your poems in the comments section.
Some prompts may look familiar because they are the first lines of some well known poems.
1. You may want to change a word in the prompt and then write a few stanzas.
2. Write your poem in any form you wish. You may want to try writing a Tanka, a sonnet, a cinquain or a haiku.