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Friday, April 20, 2012

17 Poets for National Poetry Month



17 Poets for the 17th Annual National Poetry Month

Poetry Santa Cruz chose and the fun folks at Phren-z.org chose 17 poets to feature for the 17th annual National Poetry Month.
I would like to humbly add Thom Yorke as an honorary 18th.

13 comments:

  1. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    by Maya Angelou

    The free bird leaps
    on the back of the wind
    and floats downstream
    till the current ends
    and dips his wings
    in the orange suns rays
    and dares to claim the sky.

    But a bird that stalks
    down his narrow cage
    can seldom see through
    his bars of rage
    his wings are clipped and
    his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing.

    The caged bird sings
    with fearful trill
    of the things unknown
    but longed for still
    and is tune is heard
    on the distant hill
    for the caged bird
    sings of freedom

    The free bird thinks of another breeze
    and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
    and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
    and he names the sky his own.

    But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
    his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
    his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
    so he opens his throat to sing

    The caged bird sings
    with a fearful trill
    of things unknown
    but longed for still
    and his tune is heard
    on the distant hill
    for the caged bird
    sings of freedom.

    submitted by: DBeas

    ReplyDelete
  2. Sonnet 18
    William Shakespeare

    Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
    And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
    Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
    And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
    By thy eternal summer shall not fade,
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
    Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
    Submitted by: KGreen

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    Replies
    1. Formatting on the last two lines did not take. As they are in different meter they were supposed to be indented.

      Delete
  3. "To the Virgins, To Make Much of TIme"
    by: Robert Herrick

    Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
    Old time is still a-flying:
    And this same flower that smiles to-day
    To-morrow Will be dying.

    The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
    The higher he's a-getting,
    THe sooner will his race be run,
    And nearer he's to setting

    That age is best which is the first,
    When youth and blood are warmer;
    But being spent, the worse, and worst
    Times still succeed the former.

    Then be not coy, but use your time,
    And while ye may go marry:
    For having lost but once your prime
    You may for ever tarry.

    Submitted by: D Van Cleve

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  4. A Loom Of Year
    by: Alfred Noyes

    In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
    In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flowers and tree.
    Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
    I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

    The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mould
    To colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:
    In the heart of a grey haired woman who wakes in a world of pain

    The hound, the fawn, and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo.
    We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through.
    One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fears
    As it goes thro' the Loom of the Weavest that weaves the Web of Years.

    The green uncrumbling fern and the rustling dew drenched rose
    Pass with our heart of Silience where the wings of music close,
    Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars
    Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars

    Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?
    Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro' the warp of the night!
    Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears
    As it comes thro's the Loom of the Weaves that Web of Years.

    O, woven in one wide Loom thro' the throbbing weft of the whole,
    One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,
    Tho' the leaf were alone in its falling, the bird in its hour to die,
    The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry.

    One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon.
    One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon
    One with the dream that triumphs beyound the light of the spheres,
    We come from the Loom of the Weave, the weaves the Web of Years.

    ReplyDelete
  5. The Rose that Grew from Concrete
    By: Tupac Shakur

    Did you hear about the rose that grew
    from a crack in the concrete?
    Proving nature's law is wrong it
    learned to walk with out having feet.
    Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams,
    it learned to breathe fresh air.
    Long live the rose that grew from concrete
    when no one else ever cared.

    Submitted by: F.Castro

    ReplyDelete
  6. CARTA DE DESPEDIDA
    Gabriel Garcia Marquez

    Si por un momento Dios se olvidará de que soy una marioneta de trapo y me regalara un trozo de vida, posiblemente no diría todo lo que pienso, pero en definitiva pensaría todo lo que digo. Daría valor a las cosas, no por lo que valen, sino por lo que significan. Dormiría poco, soñaría más. Entiendo que por cada minuto que cerramos los ojos perdemos sesenta segundos de luz. Andaría cuando los demás se detienen, despertaría cuando los demás duermen, escucharía cuando los demás hablan y ¡cómo disfrutaría de un buen helado de chocolate!

    Si Dios me obsequiara un trozo de vida, vestiría sencillo, me tiraría de bruces al sol, dejando descubierto, no solamente mi cuerpo sino mi alma. Dios mío, si yo tuviera un corazón, escribiría mi odio sobre el hielo y esperaría a que saliera el sol. Pintaría con un sueño de Van Gogh sobre las estrellas un poema de Benedetti, una canción de Serrat sería la serenata. Regaría con mis lágrimas las rosas, para sentir el dolor de sus espinas y el encarnado beso de sus pétalos...

    Dios mío si yo tuviera un trozo de vida... no dejaría pasar un solo día sin decirle a la gente que quiero que la quiero. Convencería a cada hombre o mujer de que son mis favoritos y viviría enamorado del amor. A los hombres les probaría cuan equivocados están al pensar que dejan de enamorarse cuando envejecen, sin saber que envejecen cuando dejan de enamorarse. A un niño le daría alas, pero le dejaría que él solo aprendiese a volar. A los viejos les enseñaría que la muerte no llega con la vejez sino con el olvido.

    Tantas cosas he aprendido de ustedes, los hombres... he aprendido que todo el mundo quiere vivir en la cima de la montaña, sin saber que la verdadera felicidad está en la forma de subir la escarpada. He aprendido que cuando un recién nacido aprieta con su pequeño puño, por vez primera, el dedo de su padre, lo tiene atrapado por siempre. He aprendido que un hombre sólo tiene derecho a mirar a otro hacia abajo cuando ha de ayudarle a levantarse. Son tantas las cosas que he podido aprender de ustedes, pero realmente de mucho no habrán de servir, porque cuando me guarden dentro de esa maleta, infelizmente me estaré muriendo.

    Siempre di lo que sientes y haz lo que piensas. Si supiera que hoy es la última vez que te voy a ver dormir, te abrazaría fuertemente y rezaría al Señor para poder ser el guardián de tu alma. Si supiera que esta fuera la última vez que te vea salir por la puerta, te daría un abrazo, un beso y te llamaría de nuevo para darte más. Si supiera que ésta fuera la última vez que voy a oír tu voz, grabaría cada una de tus palabras para poder oírlas una y otra vez indefinidamente. Si supiera que estos son los últimos momentos que te veo, diría te quiero y no asumiría tontamente que ya lo sabes.

    Siempre hay un mañana y la vida nos da otra oportunidad para hacer las cosas bien, pero por si me equivoco y hoy es todo lo que nos queda, me gustaría decirte cuanto te quiero, que nunca te olvidaré. El mañana no le está asegurado a nadie, joven o viejo. Hoy puede ser la última vez que veas a los que amas. Por eso no esperes más, hazlo hoy, ya que si el mañana nunca llega, seguramente lamentarás el día que no tomaste tiempo para una sonrisa, un abrazo, un beso y que estuviste muy ocupado para concederles un último deseo. Mantén a los que amas cerca de ti, diles al oído lo mucho que los necesites, quiérelos y trátalos bien, toma tiempo para decirles lo siento, perdóname, por favor, gracias y todas las palabras de amor que conoces.

    Nadie te recordará por tus pensamientos secretos. Pide al Señor la fuerza y sabiduría para expresarlos. Demuestra a tus amigos cuánto te importan.

    Submitted by: M Daza

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  7. "Daffodils" by William Wordsworth

    I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,

    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
    Continuous as the stars that shine

    And twinkle on the Milky Way,
    They stretch'd in never-ending line

    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
    The waves beside them danced; but they

    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,

    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:
    For oft, when on my couch I lie

    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye

    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

    Submitted by: E. Payne

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  8. Mexican Loneliness
    Jack Kerouac (EEUU, 1922-1969)

    And I am an unhappy stranger
    grooking in the streets of Mexico-
    My friends have died on me, my
    lovers disappeared, my whores banned,
    my bed rocked and heaved by
    earthquake - and no holy weed
    to get high by candlelight
    and dream - only fumes of buses,
    dust storms, and maids peeking at me
    thru a hole in the door
    secretly drilled to watch
    masturbators fuck pillows -
    I am the Gargoyle
    of Our Lady
    dreaming in space
    gray mist dreams -
    My face is pointed towards Napoleon
    -- I have no form --
    My address book is full of RIP
    sI have no value in the void,
    at home without honour, -
    My only friend is an old fag
    without a typewriter
    Who, if he's my friend,
    I'll be buggered.
    I have some mayonnaise left,
    a whole unwanted bottle of oil,
    peasants washing my sky light,
    a nut clearing his throat
    In the bathroom next to mine
    a hundred times a day
    sharing my common ceiling -
    If I get drunk I get thirsty
    - if I walk my foot breaks down
    - if I smile my mask's a farce
    - if I cry I'm just a child -
    - if I remember I'm a liar
    - if I write the writing's done -
    - if I die the dying's over -
    - if I live the dying's just begun -
    - if I wait the waiting's longer
    - if I go the going's gone
    - if I sleep the bliss is heavy
    - the bliss is heavy on my lids
    - if I go to cheap movies
    the bedbugs get me -
    Expensive movies
    I can't afford
    - if I do nothing
    Nothing does

    submitted by A. Rendon

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  9. Poem Title: On Nature
    Poem Author: William Carney

    The wonder of nature is a beautiful sight
    A fish swimming by
    A bird in flight

    I have never seen a thing made by man
    The tallest building
    The highest dam

    To equal the sight of a mountain tall
    A great rock wall
    A high water fall

    The wonder of nature is a beautiful sight
    A dark thunder storms
    A moonlit night

    Mother Nature has worked this art
    And to the mortal man
    It stirs the heart
    Submitted By: F. Carney

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  10. A Smile To Remember

    Charles Bukowski

    we had goldfish and they circled around and around
    in the bowl on the table near the heavy drapes
    covering the picture window and
    my mother, always smiling, wanting us all
    to be happy, told me, 'be happy Henry!'
    and she was right: it's better to be happy if you
    can
    but my father continued to beat her and me several times a week while
    raging inside his 6-foot-two frame because he couldn't
    understand what was attacking him from within.

    my mother, poor fish,
    wanting to be happy, beaten two or three times a
    week, telling me to be happy: 'Henry, smile!
    why don't you ever smile?'

    and then she would smile, to show me how, and it was the
    saddest smile I ever saw

    one day the goldfish died, all five of them,
    they floated on the water, on their sides, their
    eyes still open,
    and when my father got home he threw them to the cat
    there on the kitchen floor and we watched as my mother
    smiled

    submitted by: S. Eddings

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  11. Responsible Backpacking
    by Ken Weisner

    Studying
    topographical maps
    by flashlight,
    imagining

    trail conditions,
    snow levels,
    questionable
    fords,

    so even when
    the light fails,
    and I roll the map
    into a tent pocket,

    lines,
    contours,
    whorls,
    still crowd

    the mind,
    vivid, free-floating;
    I can actually still study it
    for a few minutes;

    all the while
    the spring
    wind knocks
    its

    breath
    down the high
    canyons.
    And then,

    as the topo starts to fade,
    it hits me! and I picture
    you, your
    formations and curiosities,

    and set out
    inch by inch,
    with renewed
    scholarship and enterprise,

    across farthest
    corners, boundaries,
    into the untold

    wild.

    Submitted by A. Soto

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  12. An Evening
    by Gwendolyn Brooks

    A sunset's mounded cloud
    A diamond evening-star
    Sad blue hills afar
    Love in his shroud.

    Scarcely a tear to shed
    Hardly a word to say
    The end of a summer day
    Sweet Love dead.

    Submitted by J. Leon

    ReplyDelete