Madmen
They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.
Take the night I mentioned to you
I wanted to write about the madmen,
as the newspapers so blithely call them,
who attack art, not in reviews,
but with breadknives and hammers
in the quiet museums of Prague and Amsterdam.
Actually, they are the real artists,
you said, spinning the ice in your glass.
The screwdriver is their brush.
The real vandals are the restorers,
you went on, slowly turning me upside-down,
the ones in the white doctor's smocks
who close the wound in the landscape,
and thus ruin the true art of the mad.
I watched my poem fly down to the front
of the bar and hover there
until the next customer walked in--
then I watched it fly out the open door into the night
and sail away, I could only imagine,
over the dark tenements of the city.
All I had wished to say
was that art was also short,
as a razor can teach with a slash or two,
that it only seems long compared to life,
but that night, I drove home alone
with nothing swinging in the cage of my heart
except the faint hope that I might
catch a glimpse of the thing
in the fan of my headlights,
maybe perched on a road sign or a street lamp,
poor unwritten bird, its wings folded,
staring down at me with tiny illuminated eyes.
Billy Collins
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Billy Collins
Invention
Tonight the moon is a cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,
and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look
like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.
But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --
it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,
and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.
Billy Collins
Tonight the moon is a cracker,
with a bite out of it
floating in the night,
and in a week or so
according to the calendar
it will probably look
like a silver football,
and nine, maybe ten days ago
it reminded me of a thin bright claw.
But eventually --
by the end of the month,
I reckon --
it will waste away
to nothing,
nothing but stars in the sky,
and I will have a few nights
to myself,
a little time to rest my jittery pen.
Billy Collins
Monday, April 20, 2009
Nina Melito
For You
© By Nina Melito
In the room across the hall
Sitting on his bland oak chair
Sat Ned, the most popular of all
Among the other students there
Writing quietly with an intent stare.
He wrote to the one whom he cherished
With confidence in his pen
But suddenly that confidence perished
He had heard a noise just then
Like a lion pacing in his den.
He placed his feet flat on the floor
And gripped the wrinkled paper fast
And heard the squeak of the door
As the Teacher sternly asked
That up front the paper be passed.
The situation went from good to scary
His face turned a striking red
Like a freshly picked strawberry
The students whispered, 'Go on, Ned'
The teacher insisted that the note be read.
As Teacher scanned the crinkled sheet
Her face was strained and aglow
And read from Ned's horrible feat
'Dear Clarice, I must know,
Will you date me, yes or no?'
In the room across the hall
Sitting on his bland oak chair
Sat Ned, the most popular of all
Among the laughing students there
Making excuses with an embarrassed stare.
© By Nina Melito
In the room across the hall
Sitting on his bland oak chair
Sat Ned, the most popular of all
Among the other students there
Writing quietly with an intent stare.
He wrote to the one whom he cherished
With confidence in his pen
But suddenly that confidence perished
He had heard a noise just then
Like a lion pacing in his den.
He placed his feet flat on the floor
And gripped the wrinkled paper fast
And heard the squeak of the door
As the Teacher sternly asked
That up front the paper be passed.
The situation went from good to scary
His face turned a striking red
Like a freshly picked strawberry
The students whispered, 'Go on, Ned'
The teacher insisted that the note be read.
As Teacher scanned the crinkled sheet
Her face was strained and aglow
And read from Ned's horrible feat
'Dear Clarice, I must know,
Will you date me, yes or no?'
In the room across the hall
Sitting on his bland oak chair
Sat Ned, the most popular of all
Among the laughing students there
Making excuses with an embarrassed stare.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Sherri Deskins
The Web
Creatively
You worked your art
You spun a web
Around my heart
How beautifully
Your deeds have spread
Each intricately
Woven thread
With strands of care
You dried my tears
Your gentleness
Dispelled my fears
Your wisdom
Helped me understand
And patiently
You held my hand
To give me courage
To brave the storm
With kindness
You have kept me warm
Your passion
Lit a glowing fire
That filled my soul
With sweet desire
You're all
That I was dreaming of
For the web you spun
Was made of love
- Written and owned by Sherri Deskins -
Creatively
You worked your art
You spun a web
Around my heart
How beautifully
Your deeds have spread
Each intricately
Woven thread
With strands of care
You dried my tears
Your gentleness
Dispelled my fears
Your wisdom
Helped me understand
And patiently
You held my hand
To give me courage
To brave the storm
With kindness
You have kept me warm
Your passion
Lit a glowing fire
That filled my soul
With sweet desire
You're all
That I was dreaming of
For the web you spun
Was made of love
- Written and owned by Sherri Deskins -
Friday, April 17, 2009
Sharon Olds
April 17: To See My Mother by Sharon Olds
A poem of ending from Sharon Olds.
To See My Mother
It was like witnessing the earth being formed,
to see my mother die, like seeing
the dry lands be separated
from the oceans, and all the mists bear up
on one side, and all the solids
be borne down, on the other, until
the body was all there, all bronze and
petrified redwood opal, and the soul all
gone. If she hadn’t looked so exalted, so
beast-exalted and refreshed and suddenly
hopeful, more than hopeful—beyond
hope, relieved—if she had not been suffering so
much, since I had met her, I do not
know how I would have stood it, without
fighting someone, though no one was there
to fight, death was not there except
as her, my task was to hold her tiny
crown in one cupped hand, and her near
birdbone shoulder. Lakes, clouds,
nests. Winds, stems, tongues.
Embryo, zygote, blastocele, atom,
my mother’s dying was like an end
of life on earth, some end of water
and moisture salt and sweet, and vapor,
till only that still, ocher moon
shone, in the room, mouth open, no song.
Listen to Sharon Olds reading “To See My Mother.”
A poem of ending from Sharon Olds.
To See My Mother
It was like witnessing the earth being formed,
to see my mother die, like seeing
the dry lands be separated
from the oceans, and all the mists bear up
on one side, and all the solids
be borne down, on the other, until
the body was all there, all bronze and
petrified redwood opal, and the soul all
gone. If she hadn’t looked so exalted, so
beast-exalted and refreshed and suddenly
hopeful, more than hopeful—beyond
hope, relieved—if she had not been suffering so
much, since I had met her, I do not
know how I would have stood it, without
fighting someone, though no one was there
to fight, death was not there except
as her, my task was to hold her tiny
crown in one cupped hand, and her near
birdbone shoulder. Lakes, clouds,
nests. Winds, stems, tongues.
Embryo, zygote, blastocele, atom,
my mother’s dying was like an end
of life on earth, some end of water
and moisture salt and sweet, and vapor,
till only that still, ocher moon
shone, in the room, mouth open, no song.
Listen to Sharon Olds reading “To See My Mother.”
Sweet
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090416/ap_on_re_us/mystery_gifts
Mystery donors give over $45M to 9 universities
DES MOINES, Iowa – A mystery is unfolding in the world of college fundraising: During the past few weeks, at least nine universities have received gifts totaling more than $45 million, and the schools had to promise not to try to find out the giver's identity.
One school went so far as to check with the IRS and the Department of Homeland Security just to make sure a $1.5 million gift didn't come from illegal sources.
"In my last 28 years in fundraising ... this is the first time I've dealt with a gift that the institution didn't know who the donor is," said Phillip D. Adams, vice president for university advancement at Norfolk State University, which received $3.5 million.
The gifts ranged from $8 million at Purdue to $1.5 million donated to the University of North Carolina at Asheville. The University of Iowa received $7 million; the University of Southern Mississippi, the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and the University of Maryland University College got $6 million each; the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs was given $5.5 million; and Penn State-Harrisburg received $3 million.
It's not clear whether the gifts came from an individual, an organization or a group of people with similar interests. In every case, the donor or donors dealt with the universities through lawyers or other middlemen. Some of the money came in cashier's checks, while other schools received checks from a law firm or another representative.
All the schools had to agree not to investigate the identity of the giver. Some were required to make such a promise in writing.
"Our chancellor was called to a Denver law office and had to sign a confidentiality agreement that she would not try to find out," said Tom Hutton, spokesman at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. "Once the chancellor signed it, she was emphatic that we don't try to find out."
Each was delivered since March 1 and came with the same stipulation: Most of the money must be used for student scholarships, and the remainder can be spent on various costs such as research, equipment, strategic goals and operating support.
"We have no idea who this generous individual is, but we're extremely grateful," said Lynette Marshall, president and chief executive of the University of Iowa foundation. "This is the first time in my 25-year career that something of this magnitude has happened."
Usually when schools receive anonymous donations, the school knows the identity of the benefactor but agrees to keep it secret. Not knowing who is giving the money can raise thorny problems.
William Massey, vice chancellor for alumni and development at UNC-Asheville, said the school contacted the Department of Homeland Security and the IRS to make sure the money was legal before accepting it.
"There may be an ethical problem if you knowingly accept funds from ill-gotten gains," said Colorado Springs' Hutton. University officials "do due diligence and ask the appropriate questions and receive satisfactory answers."
The $6 million donated to the University of Southern Mississippi was the largest single gift ever bestowed to the school.
"It was a remarkable gift particularly during these economic times," said David Wolf, vice president of advancement.
"I think somebody is out there, or potentially a group of people, that has a great respect for the value of a college education and the power that it brings," Wolf said. "Gosh, if it's the same person or the same collective group of people, it's an amazing story."
Mystery donors give over $45M to 9 universities
DES MOINES, Iowa – A mystery is unfolding in the world of college fundraising: During the past few weeks, at least nine universities have received gifts totaling more than $45 million, and the schools had to promise not to try to find out the giver's identity.
One school went so far as to check with the IRS and the Department of Homeland Security just to make sure a $1.5 million gift didn't come from illegal sources.
"In my last 28 years in fundraising ... this is the first time I've dealt with a gift that the institution didn't know who the donor is," said Phillip D. Adams, vice president for university advancement at Norfolk State University, which received $3.5 million.
The gifts ranged from $8 million at Purdue to $1.5 million donated to the University of North Carolina at Asheville. The University of Iowa received $7 million; the University of Southern Mississippi, the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and the University of Maryland University College got $6 million each; the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs was given $5.5 million; and Penn State-Harrisburg received $3 million.
It's not clear whether the gifts came from an individual, an organization or a group of people with similar interests. In every case, the donor or donors dealt with the universities through lawyers or other middlemen. Some of the money came in cashier's checks, while other schools received checks from a law firm or another representative.
All the schools had to agree not to investigate the identity of the giver. Some were required to make such a promise in writing.
"Our chancellor was called to a Denver law office and had to sign a confidentiality agreement that she would not try to find out," said Tom Hutton, spokesman at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. "Once the chancellor signed it, she was emphatic that we don't try to find out."
Each was delivered since March 1 and came with the same stipulation: Most of the money must be used for student scholarships, and the remainder can be spent on various costs such as research, equipment, strategic goals and operating support.
"We have no idea who this generous individual is, but we're extremely grateful," said Lynette Marshall, president and chief executive of the University of Iowa foundation. "This is the first time in my 25-year career that something of this magnitude has happened."
Usually when schools receive anonymous donations, the school knows the identity of the benefactor but agrees to keep it secret. Not knowing who is giving the money can raise thorny problems.
William Massey, vice chancellor for alumni and development at UNC-Asheville, said the school contacted the Department of Homeland Security and the IRS to make sure the money was legal before accepting it.
"There may be an ethical problem if you knowingly accept funds from ill-gotten gains," said Colorado Springs' Hutton. University officials "do due diligence and ask the appropriate questions and receive satisfactory answers."
The $6 million donated to the University of Southern Mississippi was the largest single gift ever bestowed to the school.
"It was a remarkable gift particularly during these economic times," said David Wolf, vice president of advancement.
"I think somebody is out there, or potentially a group of people, that has a great respect for the value of a college education and the power that it brings," Wolf said. "Gosh, if it's the same person or the same collective group of people, it's an amazing story."
Friday, April 10, 2009
Billy Collins
I Ask You
What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
an ordinary night at the kitchen table,
floral wallpaper pressing in,
white cabinets full of glass,
the telephone silent,
a pen tilted back in my hand?
It gives me time to think
about all that is going on outside--
leaves gathering in corners,
lichen greening the high grey rocks,
while over the dunes the world sails on,
huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.
But beyond this table
there is nothing that I need,
not even a job that would allow me to row to work,
or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4
with cracked green leather seats.
No, it's all here,
the clear ovals of a glass of water,
a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,
not to mention the odd snarling fish
in a frame on the wall,
and the way these three candles--
each a different height--
are singing in perfect harmony.
So forgive me
if I lower my head now and listen
to the short bass candle as he takes a solo
while my heart
thrums under my shirt--
frog at the edge of a pond--
and my thoughts fly off to a province
made of one enormous sky
and about a million empty branches.
Billy Collins
What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
an ordinary night at the kitchen table,
floral wallpaper pressing in,
white cabinets full of glass,
the telephone silent,
a pen tilted back in my hand?
It gives me time to think
about all that is going on outside--
leaves gathering in corners,
lichen greening the high grey rocks,
while over the dunes the world sails on,
huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.
But beyond this table
there is nothing that I need,
not even a job that would allow me to row to work,
or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4
with cracked green leather seats.
No, it's all here,
the clear ovals of a glass of water,
a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,
not to mention the odd snarling fish
in a frame on the wall,
and the way these three candles--
each a different height--
are singing in perfect harmony.
So forgive me
if I lower my head now and listen
to the short bass candle as he takes a solo
while my heart
thrums under my shirt--
frog at the edge of a pond--
and my thoughts fly off to a province
made of one enormous sky
and about a million empty branches.
Billy Collins
Elizabeth Bishop
One Art
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Elizabeth Bishop
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
National Poetry Month
L.E.L. (Letitia Elizabeth Landon) . {3}
(1802 - 1838) English Poet
The Poor
FEW, save the poor, feel for the poor:
The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful food
And needful rest debarred.
Their paths are paths of plenteousness,
They sleep on silk and down;
And never think how heavily
The weary head lies down.
They know not of the scanty meal,
With small pale faces round;
No fire upon the cold, damp hearth
When snow is on the ground.
They never by the window lean,
And see the gay pass by;
Then take their weary task again,
But with a sadder eye.
L.E.L.
(1802 - 1838) English Poet
The Poor
FEW, save the poor, feel for the poor:
The rich know not how hard
It is to be of needful food
And needful rest debarred.
Their paths are paths of plenteousness,
They sleep on silk and down;
And never think how heavily
The weary head lies down.
They know not of the scanty meal,
With small pale faces round;
No fire upon the cold, damp hearth
When snow is on the ground.
They never by the window lean,
And see the gay pass by;
Then take their weary task again,
But with a sadder eye.
L.E.L.
Friday, April 3, 2009
a fear in me, a fear in you, a fear i don't know if i can face
A hidden face
A mysterious place
I'm not sure I like this
A fear that bubbles to the top
An uncertainty I have entertained before
Will it change?
Will it grow?
Oh no.....
I can not take it back
I have to keep my word
oh no.....
I don't want to be rude
But really I don't know.
A mysterious place
I'm not sure I like this
A fear that bubbles to the top
An uncertainty I have entertained before
Will it change?
Will it grow?
Oh no.....
I can not take it back
I have to keep my word
oh no.....
I don't want to be rude
But really I don't know.
national poetry month
It's poetry month. In celebration (because I am seriously excited!) I will be trying very hard to post a new poem on my blog each day, maybe even more than one a day depending on how many I find that I love. And maybe I will even include some of my own. You'll notice the difference, mine will be the ones that suck.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poetrytool.html This site is awesome.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poetrytool.html This site is awesome.
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
This didn't really help the feeling
BREATHE
sigh
sing
BREATHE
sigh
shout
BREATHE
deep
let
it
out
BREATHE
in
and
out
BREATHE
sigh
it's
alright
BREATHE
sigh
let
it
go
BREATHE
sigh
don't
cry
sigh
sing
BREATHE
sigh
shout
BREATHE
deep
let
it
out
BREATHE
in
and
out
BREATHE
sigh
it's
alright
BREATHE
sigh
let
it
go
BREATHE
sigh
don't
cry
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