tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post6499668626670119904..comments2024-03-29T03:40:00.298-04:00Comments on Progressive Eruptions: Sunday Night PoetryShaw Kenawehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08637273000409613497noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-51185773171541898922014-09-01T09:28:07.676-04:002014-09-01T09:28:07.676-04:00__________ BANQUET __________
Generously spread ...<b>__________ BANQUET __________<br /><br /><br /><i>Generously spread with gracious living<br />The table beckons. Lace and candlelight <br />Mingle with fine chine. I am diving<br />Into the tureen, which is a sight<br /><br />All white and warm while guarding snowy chowder.<br />Savory is a casserole of brains.<br />Sparkling wine has made our talk much louder ––<br />Louder than the voices of our pans.<br /><br />Drink has numbed our virtues and our faults<br />While food has warmedo our anxious, craving hearts.<br />Later, we will step into a waltz ––<br />Whose cycle whirls till every fear departs <br /><br />Leaving us quite buoyant –– out of breath ––<br />Saddened that this night must end in death.</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke - New York 1963FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-34572965480545141772014-09-01T09:09:13.113-04:002014-09-01T09:09:13.113-04:00Thank you, Miss Shaw, for your kind thoughts and f...Thank you, Miss Shaw, for your kind thoughts and for your fascinating poem filled with a sense of mystery tinged with sadness.<br /><br />A good thirty years ago I ran across two slim volumes by Dorothy Parker -- one called Sunset Gun, the other Death and Taxes. I had always enjoyed Parker, but realized after reading through those volumes how very little most knew about her.<br /><br />She had great depth and a very tender heart beneath the protective crust of barbed wit and scathing observations for which she was justifiably famous.<br /><br />She also wrote stories -- beautifully sad without a trace of the mannered, brittle personality so many thought we knew -- and did not.<br /><br />FT<br /><br />PS: I removed "Banquet," because Blogger in it infinite wisdom had managed to scramble its format. With your kind permission I shall try to post it again. - fTFreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-84518190520012486402014-09-01T07:44:24.564-04:002014-09-01T07:44:24.564-04:00F.T., thank you for the poems. I had not read the...F.T., thank you for the poems. I had not read the ones by Dorothy Parker.<br /><br />Your two poems are beautiful tributes and quite touching.<br /><br />The one by Miss Dickinson is one of my favorites.<br /><br />All of them speak to what this post is about.<br /><br />Thank you again. Shaw Kenawehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08637273000409613497noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-18081521403613962362014-09-01T01:06:20.060-04:002014-09-01T01:06:20.060-04:00This comment has been removed by the author.FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-90241143159939060702014-09-01T00:56:08.137-04:002014-09-01T00:56:08.137-04:00____________ In Memoriam ____________
With you I...<b>____________ In Memoriam ____________ <br /><br /><i>With you I always saw the potted palms<br />Marble floors and Chinese jardinieres<br />Polished ancient oak and well-worn arms<br />Of venerable tufted leather chairs.<br /><br />Curious how your face evoked the glow<br />Of firelight and candles in old brass!<br />When I knew you, the wine had ceased to flow,<br />And so I have no love for Irish glass.<br /><br />But crewel and damask –– spices from the East ––<br />Herbal tea and pottery Quimper<br />Feed my sorrow, as my my eyes do feast<br />On relics left from life within your care.<br /><br />O, dearest, gentle one you were the Past ––<br />A waking dream –– a joy that could not last.</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke - Tryon, NC, 1984<br />FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-39507374252438679592014-09-01T00:46:56.435-04:002014-09-01T00:46:56.435-04:00__ Of a Woman, Dead Young __
If she had been beau...<b>__ Of a Woman, Dead Young __<br /><br /><i>If she had been beautiful, even, <br />Or wiser than women about her, <br />Or had moved with a certain defiance; <br />If she had had sons at her sides, <br />And she with her hands on their shoulders, <br />Sons, to make troubled the Gods- <br />But where was there wonder in her? <br />What had she, better or eviler, <br />Whose days were a pattering of peas <br />From the pod to the bowl in her lap? <br /><br />That the pine tree is blasted by lightning, <br />And the bowlder split raw from the mountain, <br />And the river dried short in its rushing- <br />That I can know, and be humble. <br />But that They who have trodden the stars <br />Should turn from Their echoing highway <br />To trample a daisy, unnoticed <br />In a meadow of small, open flowers -- <br />Where is Their triumph in that? <br />Where is Their pride, and Their vengeance?</i></b> <br /><br /><br />~ Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)<br />FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-39307658990028235052014-09-01T00:44:32.495-04:002014-09-01T00:44:32.495-04:00I died for Beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the...<i>I died for Beauty, but was scarce <br />Adjusted in theTomb, <br />When one who died for Truth was lain <br />In an adjoining room. <br /><br /> He questioned softly why I failed?<br /> "For Beauty," I replied. "<br />And I for Truth –– the two are one; <br />We brethren are," he said. <br /><br />And so, as kinsmen met a-night,<br /> We talked between the rooms, <br />Until the moss had reached our lips, <br />And covered up our names.</i><br /> <br /> ~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1883838569462983439.post-88116733817191619102014-09-01T00:39:39.610-04:002014-09-01T00:39:39.610-04:00________ A DREAM LIES DEAD ________
A dream lies ...<b>________ A DREAM LIES DEAD ________<br /><br /><i>A dream lies dead here. May you softly go <br />Before this place, and turn away your eyes, <br />Nor seek to know the look of that which dies <br />Importuning Life for life. Walk not in woe, <br /><br />But, for a little, let your step be slow. <br />And, of your mercy, be not sweetly wise <br />With words of hope and Spring and tenderer skies. <br />A dream lies dead; and this all mourners know: <br /><br />Whenever one drifted petal leaves the tree –– <br />Though white of bloom as it had been before <br />And proudly waitful of fecundity ––<br />One little loveliness can be no more; <br /><br />And so must Beauty bow her imperfect head <br />Because a dream has joined the wistful dead! </i></b><br /><br />~ Dorothy Parker (1893 - 1967)<br />FreeThinkehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16682678301019952436noreply@blogger.com