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oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Sep 15, 2021 - 10:24am

Antigone

Antigone Avatar

Location: A house, in a Virginian Valley
Gender: Female


Posted: Sep 10, 2021 - 3:55pm

I want to age like sea glass.
Smoothed by tides,
but not broken.
I want my hard edges to soften.
I want to ride the waves
and go with the flow.
I want to catch a wave
and let it carry me
to where I belong.
I want to be picked up
and held gently by
those who delight in my
well earned patina and
appreciate the changes I went
through to achieve that beauty.
I want to enjoy the journey
and always remember that if
you give the ocean something
breakable it will turn it into
something beautiful.
I want to age like sea glass.
 
~ Bernadette Noll
oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Aug 23, 2021 - 6:09pm

O Tell Me The Truth About Love

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pajamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odor remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

WH Auden
ScottN

ScottN Avatar

Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary
Gender: Male


Posted: Aug 15, 2021 - 8:55am

A Slip of Paper
by Louise Gluck

Today I went to the doctor—
the doctor said I was dying,
not in those words, but when I said it
she didn't deny it—

What have you done to your body, her silence says.
We gave it to you and look what you did to it,
how you abused it.
I’m not talking only of cigarettes, she says,
but also of poor diet, of drink.

She's a young woman; the stiff white coat disguises her body.
Her hair's pulled back, the little female wisps
suppressed by a dark band. She's not at ease here,

behind her desk, with her diploma over her head,
reading a list of numbers in columns,
some flagged for her attention.
Her spine's straight also, showing no feeling.

No one taught me how to care for my body.
You grow up watched by your mother or grandmother.
Once you're free of them, your wife takes over, but she's nervous,
she doesn't go too far. So this body I have,
that the doctor blames me for—it's always been supervised by women,
and let me tell you, they left a lot out.

The doctor looks at me—
between us, a stack of books and folders.
Except for us, the clinic's empty.

There's a trap-door here, and through that door,
the country of the dead. And the living push you through,
they want you there first, ahead of them.

The doctor knows this. She has her books,
I have my cigarettes. Finally
she writes something on a slip of paper.
This will help your blood pressure, she says.

And I pocket it, a sign to go.
And once I'm outside, I tear it up, like a ticket to the other world.

She was crazy to come here,
a place where she knows no one.
She's alone; she has no wedding ring.
She goes home alone, to her place outside the village.
And she has her one glass of wine a day,
her dinner that isn't a dinner.

And she takes off that white coat
between that coat and her body,
there's just a thin layer of cotton.
And at some point, that comes off too.

To get born, your body makes a pact with death,
and from that moment, all it tries to do is cheat—

You get into bed alone. Maybe you sleep, maybe you never wake up.
But for a long time you hear every sound.
It's a night like any summer night; the dark never comes.

rhahl

rhahl Avatar



Posted: Aug 12, 2021 - 10:33am

“On being asked to write a poem against the war in Vietnam...”
                                 by Hayden Carruth

1     Well I have and in fact
2     more than one and I'll
3     tell you this too

4     I wrote one against
5     Algeria that nightmare
6     and another against

7     Korea and another
8     against the one
9     I was in

10    and I don't remember
11    how many against
12    the three

13   when I was a boy
14   Abyssinia Spain and
15  Harlan County

16   and not one
17   breath was restored
18   to one

19   shattered throat
20   mans womans or childs
21   not one not

22   one
23   but death went on and on
24   never looking aside

25   except now and then
26   with a furtive half-smile
27  to make sure I was noticing.
ScottN

ScottN Avatar

Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary
Gender: Male


Posted: Aug 7, 2021 - 4:25am

LIFE EXPECTANCY
by Billy Collins
 
On the morning of a birthday that ended in a zero,
I was looking out at the garden
when it occurred to me that the robin
on her worm-hunt in the dewy grass
had a good chance of outliving me,
as did the worm itself for that matter
if he managed to keep his worm-head down.
 
It was not always like this.
For decades, I could assume
that I would be around longer
than the squirrel dashing up a tree
or the nightly raccoons in the garbage,
longer than the barred owl on a branch,
the ibis, the chicken, and the horse,
 
longer than four deer in a clearing
and every creature in the zoo
except the elephant and the tortoise,
whose cages I would hurry past.
It was just then in my calculations
that the cat padded noiselessly into the room,
and it seemed reasonable,
 
given her bright eyes and glossy coat,
to picture her at my funeral,
dressed all in black, as usual,
which would nicely set off her red collar,
some of the mourners might pause in their grieving to notice,
as she found a place next to a labradoodle
in a section of the church reserved for their kind.
ScottN

ScottN Avatar

Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 28, 2021 - 6:09am

IT'S WEDNESDAY, NOT THURSDAY
by Kim Dower
 
Wake up thinking it's trash day
so I move the cans out to the front
even though it's pouring. Back in,
make extra strong coffee,
read the story in the paper
about the 400-pound bear they
captured in La Crescenta, he strolled down
the mountain, lured by the scent
of meatballs from Costco,
made several trips sensing the danger
but those of us who've had them can agree
those meatballs from Costco are worth
getting pierced by tranquilizer darts.
"Like moving a water bed without a frame,”
claimed the State Fish and Game officials
who loaded him into the truck.
I hope a princess kisses him, he wakes up
human, marries, lives happily ever after
in a home at the edge of a forest
where a bear will stray from the mountain,
raid his garbage, and the ex-bear, father of two,
will keep buckets of chilled meatballs in every room
of his sprawling ranch-style home.
Manbird

Manbird Avatar

Location: Owl Creek Bridge
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 20, 2021 - 10:32am

 oldviolin wrote:

...I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Last lines of
The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Eliot





oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 20, 2021 - 9:20am

...I grow old… I grow old…
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Last lines of
The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Eliot

Manbird

Manbird Avatar

Location: Owl Creek Bridge
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 13, 2021 - 7:06pm

 ScottN wrote:

The Want of Peace

All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman's silence
receiving the river's grace,
the gardner's musing on rows.

I lack the peace of simple things.
I am never wholly in place.
I find no peace or grace.
We sell the world to buy fire,
our way lighted by burning men,
and that has bent my mind
and made me think of darkness
and wish for the dumb life of roots.

WENDELL BERRY




 hey now...

ScottN

ScottN Avatar

Location: Half inch above the K/T boundary
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 13, 2021 - 12:46pm

The Want of Peace

All goes back to the earth,
and so I do not desire
pride of excess or power,
but the contentments made
by men who have had little:
the fisherman's silence
receiving the river's grace,
the gardner's musing on rows.

I lack the peace of simple things.
I am never wholly in place.
I find no peace or grace.
We sell the world to buy fire,
our way lighted by burning men,
and that has bent my mind
and made me think of darkness
and wish for the dumb life of roots.

WENDELL BERRY

oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jul 8, 2021 - 12:37pm

oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 29, 2021 - 11:18am

 

HAMLET

To die, to sleep—
No more—and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to. ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?

WS

oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 28, 2021 - 10:36am

A Psalm of Life

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

 

What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist.

 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.
 
Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
   Was not spoken of the soul.
 
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Find us farther than to-day.
 
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.
 
In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!
 
Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,— act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!
 
Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;
 
Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.
 
Let us, then, be up and doing,
   With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
   Learn to labor and to wait.
oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 24, 2021 - 12:03pm

 Steely_D wrote:
 oldviolin wrote:

All that glisters is not gold—

When people say "glitters" it really grinds my gears.
 
you mean it gritters your getters?
Steely_D

Steely_D Avatar

Location: Biscayne Bay
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 21, 2021 - 12:09pm

 oldviolin wrote:

All that glisters is not gold—



When people say "glitters" it really grinds my gears.
oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 21, 2021 - 10:40am

All that glisters is not gold—
Often have you heard that told.
Many a man his life hath sold
But my outside to behold.
Gilded tombs do worms enfold.
Had you been as wise as bold,
Young in limbs, in judgment old,
Your answer had not been inscrolled
Fare you well. Your suit is cold—

— William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, Act II Scene 7
Antigone

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Location: A house, in a Virginian Valley
Gender: Female


Posted: Jun 20, 2021 - 12:04pm

MaryOliver Summer
Antigone

Antigone Avatar

Location: A house, in a Virginian Valley
Gender: Female


Posted: Jun 12, 2021 - 3:55pm

 oldviolin wrote:

He is woefully underappreciated IMO.
He and his wife Susan are super nice people.
{#Good-vibes}


Love his fiction. Lovely wordsmith.
oldviolin

oldviolin Avatar

Location: esse quam videri
Gender: Male


Posted: Jun 12, 2021 - 3:48pm

 Antigone wrote:
 
Fred is one of my favorites. 
 
He is woefully underappreciated IMO.
He and his wife Susan are super nice people.{#Good-vibes}
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