{"conf": "poetry", "generated_at": "2026-04-26T08:00:02.954878Z", "threads": [{"num": 1, "subject": "Let's introduce ourselves", "response_count": 71, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Mixu", "date": "Thu, Dec  5, 1996 (09:10)", "body": "Yum. I like Chinese poetry, and of course haikus and tankas (I've heard that Finnish is the only language to which they can be translated preserving the syllable count). And yes, I do write poetry. All the time. That's why I always have pen and paper with me."}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Dec  5, 1996 (11:11)", "body": "Will you be the first to post in the topic for this!"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Mixu", "date": "Tue, Dec 10, 1996 (09:41)", "body": "Running busy I noticed my footsteps Not going anywhere So I stopped, too. (DAMN, it is hard to translate poetry)"}, {"response": 4, "author": "fattymoon", "date": "Sun, Dec 15, 1996 (12:40)", "body": "Fatty Moon here, first time. Brain very mushy after marathon 50th bash Saturday in the hills of North Alabama. Too zonked to say much, so I'll just drop a couple old things on ya. Fatty come back. Off two weeks for Christmas. Hoo ha! To pimp or not to pimp? God's bodikin, man! Course I'm gonna pimp! Tis better to be a living dead man than to die - you get my drift? Ahh, the world is grown so bad. You see that gold Lexus outside? Got it from pimpin'. Here, share a plate of worms with me. We'll frog our sides and talk of whores. Look around the room. Pimps and whores is what we are. We bear our birthright proudly on our buttocks. Mark me well, I'll not play the fool for no chump change. Real money's in beavers. Face it, Jack - I was born to pimp. Got a T-shirt says so. The Other Half To whore or not to whore. That's the question? Puleeze! You think I could maybe be a brain surgeon? Or maybe you think I should get my sweet ass to a nunnery. Ever think I might like whoring? I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them. O sweet heavens, do look at the time. Pray you, before I take my leave, think on this - let my candied tongue lick your absurd frankfurter, and you'll wonder why Germany ever lost the war. Leave me now. Twit!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Dec 15, 1996 (12:45)", "body": "Stands up on chair and applauds. The fatty has landed!"}, {"response": 6, "author": "cat", "date": "Fri, Dec 20, 1996 (14:31)", "body": "Gone Away My friends have all gone away What reason? To have a good time. I almost went myself. But stayed behind. They went in an overcrowded car. I was behind them. My car then broke down. Then it happened. They made a U turn at 90 mph. How stupid! How dumb I was. For I had almost gone in that car. That car then overturned. My friends have all gone away."}, {"response": 7, "author": "cat", "date": "Fri, Dec 20, 1996 (15:28)", "body": "Hi Terry! It is me Cat from the hopeless addicts of P&P2. As you know I am eighteen and am a senior in highschool. I enjoy many sports such as soccor, horseback riding, basketball, and presently am a cheerleader. I take piano and singing lessons and as i did not mention there like to write poetry. It is something I don't really share with others. As Terry already knows I am a HOPELESS addict of Jane Austen's \"Pride and Prejudice\". I have two younger brothers and plan to become a vet."}, {"response": 8, "author": "Grace", "date": "Sun, Jan 26, 1997 (17:01)", "body": "This is such a lonely topic! Could it be that most people are afraid to post....feeling 'Fatty' is just too tough an act to follow???? I shall dare to offer a bit of Shelley to compete with Fatty: The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Noting in the world is single; All things, by a law divine, In one another's being mingle-- Why not I with thine?"}, {"response": 9, "author": "Grace", "date": "Mon, Jan 27, 1997 (09:22)", "body": "Such a wonderful topic.....but still so empty. Here is more of Shelley's 'Love's Philosophy': See, the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another, No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea: - What are all the kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? (P.S. We should be noting that the 'noting' in response 8 is 'nothing! ;-)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "Mixu", "date": "Mon, Jan 27, 1997 (09:35)", "body": "One of my own love poems: (Not sure if I've posted this already) (Sorry, you NEVER should translate poems) *** Show me your true self So that I can Shout it in the woods And see the trees bow Tell me your name So that I can Shout in on the seashore And hear the waves stop Point me yourself So that I can Shout it on the mountains And feel the stones crack For you are Taller than trees Fresher than water More timeless than rock *** (It does lose something in the translation, I'm afraid)"}, {"response": 11, "author": "Grace", "date": "Mon, Jan 27, 1997 (22:14)", "body": "Lovely, Mika-Petri. Thank you."}, {"response": 12, "author": "cat", "date": "Tue, Mar  4, 1997 (13:51)", "body": "My God! Doesn't anyone come here? Have pity! Love is a certain something that brings me to despair. When my beloved comes to see his sad love the sunny shore will be covered with pretty flowers. But I do not see him, alas, my beloved is not coming. When he tells the breezes of his passion and lamenting gentle birds, he will teach you a sweeter song. But I do not hear him. Who has heard him? My love has fallen silent. You, pitiful and weary echo of my tears, return to him and he will gently ask for his bride. Hush, he is calling me, hush, alas! No, he is not calling me,o God he is not there."}, {"response": 13, "author": "Literati", "date": "Tue, Apr  8, 1997 (21:03)", "body": "How am I to respond? With a poem? I have many I have written."}, {"response": 14, "author": "Literati", "date": "Tue, Apr  8, 1997 (21:32)", "body": "Last Love I know that I will never love again My heart has lost its fickle wish for change. My eyes not longer look at other men And find them fascinating, new, and strange. I will not live in dreams and memories With mournful sighs because they are not true, Or try to capture vanished ecstasies, Because my heart is quite content with you. Like ashes....... I scatter my unimportant past. You are my first love........ you are my last. Written and Copyrighted 1989 By Marion I. Donegan"}, {"response": 15, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Apr  8, 1997 (23:08)", "body": "Very fine Marion. I hope it's the start of more postings. I'd love to read more of your poems. And welcome aboard the Spring's poetry conference."}, {"response": 16, "author": "mpoet", "date": "Thu, Jun 12, 1997 (21:51)", "body": "A very interesting place here. A lovely forum with far too few poems. Really liked the works I've read so far. I'm a performance poet out of Chicago. I shoot poetry videos and have a band that plays around the city. Terry waved at my friend Tom while cruising through Electric Minds and the Unofficial Soup Kitchen and invited folks to drop in. I've heard nothing but good stuff about the poetry scene in Austin and would love to stop in for a day or two and read at a venue. a short poem d'you ever stop to notice a bubble? the delicious cacophony of melted rainbows madly encircling its globe. recombinant, glistening. burning itself into gray skin. exploding into evaporated shards. scattered breath mating with the afternoon sun."}, {"response": 17, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Jun 13, 1997 (08:23)", "body": "Is there anything we can do to help you get connected to the local Austin poetry scene or hep set up a gig? Do you know Thom the poet?"}, {"response": 18, "author": "MademoiselleJayh0", "date": "Sun, Jun 15, 1997 (19:34)", "body": "Here's one I wrote a few years ago: Soaked To hold the face To kiss the eyes To press the lips Behind the lies To wade in the water To start to be drowned To fall softly under Without breathing a sound To grab for the wall To watch as it disappears To feel so timeless Showered with tears"}, {"response": 19, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Jun 15, 1997 (21:02)", "body": "Thank you Smoky."}, {"response": 20, "author": "hummie", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (16:19)", "body": "i'm a poet specializing at the moment in translating spanish to english. i started doing this because i was more or less enraged to see what robert bly had done to the work of lorca and neruda. then, i started to write spanish stuff of my own. i love poetry. and i have passionate opinions about it."}, {"response": 21, "author": "jzitt", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (17:09)", "body": "You may be interested in some of Leonard Cohen's adaptations of Lorca. I know that his \"Take this Waltz\" is adapted from a Lorca poem, and I think he's done others."}, {"response": 22, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (18:47)", "body": "Did you like il postino carmen?"}, {"response": 23, "author": "mpoet", "date": "Sun, Jun 22, 1997 (18:58)", "body": "Hello Smoky, nice poem. Hi Carmen.... Terry - thanks for the offer. As soon as I can save up some cheap airfare, you're on! I'm not really familiar with the names of the poetry venues in Austin; what's their names?"}, {"response": 24, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Jun 22, 1997 (23:05)", "body": "The main venue right now seems to be BookPeople, the largest bookstore in North America. They've had some packed events. It's a terrific atmosphere for poetry jams."}, {"response": 25, "author": "hummie", "date": "Mon, Jun 23, 1997 (13:53)", "body": "i have not yet seen il postino, but i bought the little book of poems that seems attached to the film. i'd like to see il postino very much, though, as soon as my schedule permits. things being as they are in my head, i have much more faith in leonard cohen's ability to translate lorca than i have in robert bly's. is there a corner around here for posting poems?"}, {"response": 26, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Jun 23, 1997 (14:25)", "body": "Sure is. Or you are welcome to create your own topic for your own poetry. It would be very welcome, hummie."}, {"response": 27, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Aug 28, 1997 (23:45)", "body": "Does anyone live here anymore?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Aug 29, 1997 (00:00)", "body": "Yep, most of the excitement is in bronte, drool and apps. Check 'em out. What's your current interest in poetry? What are you reading?"}, {"response": 29, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Aug 31, 1997 (00:36)", "body": "Lately I've been attempting to create it. Always been my passion, though. My tastes are rather pedestrian, I'm afraid, by many lights...Yeats, Auden, Keats, Burns, Swinburne, etc...Don't know many contemporary poets, but my mind is always open to good poetry. I sort of participate in one poetry site on the net, but I thought it would be cool to interact with some local wannabe poets, like myself. Where are you, wannabe poets?! Anyway, I'll post something, anyway (have site- will post)... Merely earth, Oscar... What she was is here. Do refrain from \"treading lightly\", though. She cannot hear even a drop of rain, much less a daisy grow. I cannot feel her presence, you see. It is her absence that I know. The lack of her is what fills me now. The void has consumed the whole."}, {"response": 30, "author": "bubbles", "date": "Sat, Nov  8, 1997 (23:17)", "body": "I'm physically in Silicon Valley. There is some poetry on my Web site at http://www.well.com/user/bubbles/ I'm presently in via a browser (lynx) that isn't always too good at pasting in text, so maybe I'll post some actual poetry later."}, {"response": 31, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Nov  9, 1997 (01:00)", "body": "You're welcome to a shell account here Tom, if you'd like one. It might beat lynx."}, {"response": 32, "author": "dscott259", "date": "Wed, Nov 26, 1997 (09:47)", "body": "I'm trying to find out if anyone knows anything about William Matthew's. I read in the New Yorker this week a new poem and at the end it had his dates.Does anyone know if and if so how he died?"}, {"response": 33, "author": "josetizoc", "date": "Thu, Dec 11, 1997 (00:55)", "body": "I live in Austin and am looking for a poet's group. Started with love poems and such. Moving to the mundane of every day and reality. As follows: Slamming heads pitch and sway to the beat of the bass. Easing subjects slowly into walking comas. Sliding back and forth over the casserole of vomit and verve. Surrounded by a symphonic aroma of compact flesh. This is the lair of rebelious adolescence. No one questions right,wrong or indifference. Considered blatantly banal amidst comrades. Instead feed the ravenous appetite of id and ego. Tomorrow is too distant a concept. Yesterdays matter only to those who master memories. Today is only slightly closer to fathomed reality. Now, right now, occupies brain cells numbed from chemical stimulation. See them put right foot out, left foot out, shaking all about. Sinewy strands of chaotic citizenry slither toward exits. Remnants of plastic cutlery and foam plates attached to survivors. Ready to escape the next last temptation of fate. Casting out to exist with pointed passivity in sheltered society."}, {"response": 34, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Dec 15, 1997 (12:51)", "body": "cool new poetry site... Diogenes Bob's Poetry Planet... http://www.angelfire.com/la/diogenesbob/index.html (it rocks)"}, {"response": 35, "author": "Vanessa", "date": "Thu, Dec 25, 1997 (20:09)", "body": "I love writing poetry. I used to think poetry wasn't good unless it rhymed. And now I can't write rhyming poetry anymore myself! I hope it's no too boring for anyone. \"Thread of Hope\" holding on with only a thread of hope Products of circumstance, We roam our streets searching for what we shouldn't have Dangling above the cold, common ground of an understanding of a life that could never be But we will it to be And so it becomes the truth of our existance together An existance forbidden to be initiated but we're careless Throwing caution to the wind as always Breaking the rules, but keeping that common bond So closed to everyone, but so open to each other A decision so easy for anyone but me Anyone without my reason and my values If only this were easy, But it isn't and never will be And so the thread breaks and I fall It hurts--no lie But that's life And time passes without our permission Our hearts hoping for that which our minds wish us to forget"}, {"response": 36, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Dec 25, 1997 (21:32)", "body": "Very nice, Amanda, welcome and Merry Christmas......."}, {"response": 37, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Fri, Dec 26, 1997 (03:29)", "body": "i like it very much..."}, {"response": 38, "author": "Vanessa", "date": "Fri, Dec 26, 1997 (09:49)", "body": "Thank you and Happy holidays to everyone."}, {"response": 39, "author": "riette", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (01:55)", "body": "Wolf, great to see the new hostess has landed! If I had more time to read, I'd defenitely stay, but at the moment books are absolute strangers to me, so please forgive me if I don't stay long. I must start reading again - I'll make it poetry, so I can start coming here."}, {"response": 40, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (10:27)", "body": "you're always welcome (and give me some time and this place will be happening!)"}, {"response": 41, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (08:39)", "body": "Oh, no doubt!"}, {"response": 42, "author": "riette", "date": "Sat, Jul 11, 1998 (01:53)", "body": "GREAT HOMEPAGE, Wolf!"}, {"response": 43, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Jul 11, 1998 (14:18)", "body": "thanks reitte!"}, {"response": 44, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (13:43)", "body": "Robert Frost and e e cummings are my favorite poets although I haven't read anything by either of them in several years."}, {"response": 45, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (16:27)", "body": "well, now you have an excuse to do just that! welcome to poetry, tim...."}, {"response": 46, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (18:40)", "body": "Thank you, wolf."}, {"response": 47, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Jul 14, 1999 (18:52)", "body": "Hello my name is Dawnis in here but in the real world.....or is it the other way around.... it is Debra Tenney. To read some of my poems check: http://members.tripod.com/~poetry_suite/poetry_of_debratenney.html"}, {"response": 48, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul 14, 1999 (23:41)", "body": "Welcome, Dawnis!!! and do please post some here...I will be off to read your site tomorrow..."}, {"response": 49, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (06:52)", "body": "Hi Dawnis! Nice to see you here. Dawnis is my poetry coach. I'm just now learning about poetry, at the age of 54. With the help of Dawnis, some of my prose is now finding a new incarnation in the form of poetry."}, {"response": 50, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (07:51)", "body": "explore away! welcome and do come back often!!"}, {"response": 51, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:32)", "body": "(((((((Moulton))))))) Moulton already had the heart of a poet...he just didn't know it. (Dawnis giggles) Thanks folks It's good to be here. I look forward to posting and exploring. Is this the topic to post original stuff in? If not, point the way."}, {"response": 52, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:38)", "body": "anywhere is fine as we usually aren't much of a picky bunch... poetry corner is the open original one...and if the poems fit any particular topic listed, then they are welcome there... (did I actually answer anything you were asking?)"}, {"response": 53, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (14:32)", "body": "Yep Yep Yep! But how do I find Poetry corner? I am having problems navigating in here since this is a new format. Below find my latest three poems. Written at Utne in the ongoing poetry game. I find the format there creates an incentive to write, which in my world I need or I get lazy. (Grin). Each poem contains 10 words chosen each week by one of the poets in the group. We write using the 10 words and then post our results and comment on each other's work. It is fun to see the vastly varied results that each of us come up with. . On Second Thought Tar Black, laconic platitudes slaughter reason. circling the downtrodden, turning away from suffering, stark naked before unseeing eyes. An invasion of armies desecrating sacred ground, in quest of the silver chalice, imposing a fatal reality, like silt enveloping fertile soil, slowly suffocating the divine center, until our planet is gasping for breath, as through a hollow reed. Myopic Reverie Laughter like Spanish moss drifts amidst balmy southern twilights. Dazzling jewels of vermilion and ginger pepper the sky, coddling fantasy like ice cubes floating among mint juleps. Silk in pastel shades, rose and lilac billowing above lace and crinoline as nubile pale skinned youth experiment, scrounging signatures in cotillion books History drained of ugly of hand-me-down calico dresses and cotton bankrupted with each punch, each bull whip, and chain. A legacy, built on sorrow. High School Sweethearts Summer tenses chafing between the beat of monsoon rain and anvil heat Desert willows bloom, extravagant chaperons of Devil1s Claw and and sandstone, returning every summer to bridge the space between my heart and commitment bagged beneath that desert bluff. Like a trapped animal something of me was lost in that first flurry of naive fervor, something more than innocence was lost as you walked away."}, {"response": 54, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (14:59)", "body": "do you telnet in or come in from the web?"}, {"response": 55, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (15:41)", "body": "The Web."}, {"response": 56, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (15:48)", "body": "cool...go to http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/read/poetry/2"}, {"response": 57, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (18:35)", "body": "Whew!!!!! I fanally found this place again. Thanks I found it and posted, Just learning how to get around in this new format. We used Motet before and then ended up in Yahoo while we looked for a new and everytime I finaaly get the basics dwon we are up and running."}, {"response": 58, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (22:12)", "body": "Glad you found us again and hope you find us again and again! We run something called (oddly) Yapp, which is a clone of Picospan which the WELL and the River run. So folks that have been on the WELL, like Ray and Barry, should instantly be familiar with the interface here. And if you need it, I can provide you and Barry with shell accounts if you want to zoom along in a text only world."}, {"response": 59, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (00:19)", "body": "Hello, I'm new here -- migrated with Barry and Debra, and am finding it a most simpatico place. Letter to me from myself, at 80... Oh darling one, what can I tell you from this wheelchair locked on the porch, my eyes dimmed, music mostly a memory -- that you don't know already? When your life is so uprooted and you've been so brave to get this far, yet not far enough to escape -- oh beloved, don't rush it no matter who pushes. There is time. Nothing but time and memories of vanilla pines and the salty Pacific, and fresh-mown hay under humid skies and night air rolling cool and damp over the prairie and through the stars. Breathe. Pray. You will answer your prayers. We all do. We are in this together in this wild mind, Loving and aching and in the end, sitting and feeling it all go by."}, {"response": 60, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (02:44)", "body": "and we welcome you as well, Nan, and I thank you for sharing!"}, {"response": 61, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (06:41)", "body": "Welcome Nan, but you're not quite 80 yet, right?"}, {"response": 62, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (09:49)", "body": "nice piece, come back!"}, {"response": 63, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (11:49)", "body": "Yoikes... Sorry 'bout that being posted in the wrong topic! *blush* But thanks for the welcomes, and no, I'm not 80 yet -- that was a response to an writing exercise that wanted a letter to myself NOW from myself at 80, which happened to come out as poetry."}, {"response": 64, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:10)", "body": "Hey Guys I posted in topic 8 and it did not show up on the topic list indicating new posts. I have to hit *all* and go in and find the topic to see if I got any responses... Was I mistaken when I thought posting brought it up on the front poetry page to alert others of a new post?"}, {"response": 65, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:41)", "body": "no you weren't. we run into glitches like this all the time. like, when you've read everything in a topic but the topic stays like you've not read anything."}, {"response": 66, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:43)", "body": "It just might be easier for you to do as I do and use this to tell what has been entered recently under all categoties http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/confifty/poetry or for just poetry: http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/browse/poetry/all/new"}, {"response": 67, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Dec  9, 1999 (09:02)", "body": "Dorothy Epp is the newest contributor to the poetry conference, in the newest topic. She's orginally from Canada, but has lived in Austin for many years and is active in a flesh based poetry discussion group."}, {"response": 68, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Dec  9, 1999 (18:48)", "body": "then let us welcome her: dorothy, already found your topic *grin* please post away!"}, {"response": 69, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov  9, 2000 (04:37)", "body": "Since I cannot do this for me, will you please create \"AncientChinese Poetry\" for me? Neil sends it with each email and it is so remarkable I want to share it with more than just my own eyes. Thanks, Wolfie!!!"}, {"response": 70, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Nov 10, 2000 (19:01)", "body": "done!"}, {"response": 71, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (00:39)", "body": "Thank you, Wolfie. The man is truly a gentlman and a scholar and an extraordinary friend who actually logged into Spring at my gentle urging. I am delighted and add another of his lovely offerings if he did not already do so. *Big Hugs* to you both! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 12, "subject": "Concrete Poetry", "response_count": 10, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Nov 17, 1997 (20:57)", "body": "That was beautiful- enjoyed it very much..."}, {"response": 2, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 20, 1997 (19:21)", "body": "Well. That was an experiment that failed utterly. That poem was supposed to be shaped like a heart! I want to try again, if you will indulge me. I will insert some HTML tags and see if I can get the shape to remain. If not, we perhaps should delete this poor topic. Charlotte"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 20, 1997 (19:23)", "body": "We meet and sweet sudden lifting incandescent music showers my soul with multicolored notes that circle and hover and sparkle and beckon my heart to hold tight as one would grasp a balloon string and ascend note by note pausing reaching gathering clouds unto my lonely bosom holding close their ephemeral ecstacy until they dissolve melting from my heat as clouds turn into dreams leaving my arms empty and aching and wet and wanting yet I return and return to your song seeking the sweetness the colors the rising the light and even the clouds willing to pay for my brief pleasure with the inevitable empty terrifying fall that comes when the music ends and I let go of the sodden cold strings please help me to find your strong hand warm and substantial because I know that if I hold tightly when the music finds me my heart will not pursue phantom pillows and you will not let me fall and we will sing bright songs to lure the lonely stars from heaven down to us"}, {"response": 4, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 20, 1997 (19:24)", "body": "good enuf. :)"}, {"response": 5, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Fri, Nov 21, 1997 (14:24)", "body": "Tres charment..."}, {"response": 7, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sun, Dec  7, 1997 (14:06)", "body": "Thanks! It remains one of my favorites, not because of the form, but because of its rambling, free-floating, language. I often think it might be better served by the shape of a cloud. :)"}, {"response": 8, "author": "jgross", "date": "Fri, Jul  3, 1998 (13:31)", "body": "neither cement worker was lookin at me when I laid down in it they'd gone to lunch by the time they returned I was below the surface with a straw giving me air their talk told me they thought the mess was probably caused by a dog slipping around in it I pulled my straw down when they spaded smooth that little spot where the straw'd been slightly sticking out (fraction of a fraction of an inch) ok, ok, it's about this monotony....okay? it has nothing to do with Ralph Waldo Emerson oh nevermind but wait, I think I'm in the back woods of a western movie where women express themselves by joining bible belt daughters moving to the mountains letters that they couldn't mail, feel crazy enough to say it was worth it letters they couldn't mail to earlier stragglers, one of them fell to me I read it with my eyes closed, the better to stay out there where the mountains talked mountain talk candles heated warm the wine, as the Appalachians unfastened their spirit and her eyes turned the edge of this letter she wrote me i'll tell you what she plunked down on the paper them words slumped over me like they was reachin' fer ya well...umm, thaz right, the paper forgot me as the words remembered you her letter fluttered loose danced for the cement workers they walked towards it, stepped on my gut, on my cheek and forehead they had no idea the letter knew exactly what it was doing then this mountain song---Jenny was singin' it wine warned her guitar not to stop her voice assured my heart that she would find my child her voice thanked my heart for helping her find my child her voice had this twang in it that we sat up in the cement workers were dangling from the letter by then and the letter was sleepwalking, up, further up into the sky so I'm just lettin' ya know you guessed right so now ya know why I'm rustlin' over them far hills goin' the other way at a gallop (my horse don't poot around---he can't---he invented himself)"}, {"response": 9, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (08:43)", "body": "Charlotte, this is basically my first time here, and I think I'll stay because of that poem. It is truly beautiful, and the idea of poetry being visual really appeals. How wonderful to be able to use language an form together to form a poem for the ears, eyes, and heart."}, {"response": 10, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (13:24)", "body": "Thank you, Riette!"}, {"response": 11, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (16:36)", "body": "No, thank YOU. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 13, "subject": "poetry events - real and virtual", "response_count": 5, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Nov 24, 1997 (17:33)", "body": "from Lenadams Dorris mailto://vegas@well.com (I would have sent this to the poets and authors I know on the WELL via email, but didn't want to get put on the spam list...) ***CALLING ALL POETS AND AUTHORS!*** Coming to Las Vegas? *Want* to come to Las Vegas? Can't imagine turning your Vegas vacation into an artistic experience? Well, Enigma Garden Cafe in Las Vegas, Nevada (owned by Lenadams Dorris, vegas@well.com) is sponsoring the second WordBridge Series of readings by artists from all over the world. The series exists because it is a better way to promote the readings by various authors than doing it on a per-event basis, and gives word-lovers a chance to plan their attendance well in advance. The series, which ran occasionally during 1997, has hosted such authors as Justin Chang, Beth Lisick, Jeff McDaniel, Carl Hanni, Peter Marin, Tarin Towers, Bruce Isaacson, and group readings by the contributors to the Red Rock Review. Enigma also hosted the Allen Ginsberg Memorial Flower Power Pow Wow, a reading and remembrance in honor of the late poet. Readings occur on Fridays, twice a month, at 8 pm. There is the possibility of grant funding for airfare for interested authors, although it has not yet be procured. Unfortunately, there is no honorarium involved, but it is a fine chance to share your art with a hungry and appreciative audience. This is a great opportunity for authors on book tours or general reading tours, to add Las Vegas to their agenda. Readings are held in the garden courtyard of the Enigma (in the unlikely event of inclement weather, readings will beheld inside the gallery.) Recent events have been standing-room only, with as many as 175 attendees. The Enigma is a coffeehouse/cafe/gallery/performance space that opened in 1993 in downtown Las Vegas' Gateway District, the emerging arts and cultural center of the city. It is a complex of three historic buildings and a garden filled with art and flowers, and is open 24 hours a day from March to November, and 7 am to midnight seven days during the winter. Deadline for booking slots for the first quarter of 1998 is the end of December 1997. Deadline for the second quarter is Feb. 15, 1998. For more information, send email to Lenadams Dorris at lenadams@radiant.org, or write him at Enigma Garden Cafe, 918 South Fourth Street, Las Vegas, Nevada 89101. The phone number is 702.386.0999. ***WordBridge Schedule (as of 11/20/97)*** First Quarter Jan 30 Red Rock Review group reading Feb 13 open Feb 27 Poet Claudia Keelan Mar 13 open Apr 3 Poet Dayvid Figler & Friends Apr 17 open Second Quarter May 1 Novelist Michael Ventura May 15, 29 open Jun 12, 26 open Jul 10, 31 open"}, {"response": 2, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Dec 10, 1997 (10:17)", "body": "Found a Wammo CD in San Diego! Brought back memories of the Electric Lounge"}, {"response": 3, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Dec 10, 1997 (10:47)", "body": "What is Wammo?"}, {"response": 4, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Jan  9, 1998 (18:37)", "body": "Whammo is a spoken word (sorta poet) from Austin. He also plays with the Asylum Street Spankers (Guy Forsythe's OTHER band). Funny guy. Saw him a gazillion times with the Spankers and twice or thrice at the Electric Lounge for a couple poetry slams."}, {"response": 5, "author": "stazja", "date": "Sat, Jan 31, 1998 (08:49)", "body": "Hello, poets. Austin International Poetry Festival '98 is still registratering poets for the festival, April 1-5. Register by Feb. 15 to guarantee a scheduled programming spot. You can register online at www.hyperweb.com/aipf Venues include Austin Community College Rio Grande Campus, Book People, Waterloo Ice House, Quackenbush's (midnight to dawn open mic Sat. April 4), DiverseArts Little Gallery and two slams at the Electric Lounge. stazja@aol.com poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 16, "subject": "Helen Huth's poetry", "response_count": 23, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (19:20)", "body": "Je - 63 A some what poem I. A somewhat fleshless Bird. in a somewhat fleshless cage of ribs, in a somewhat fleshless cage of cat, in a somewhat fleshless cage of world, has died. II. Somewhat a pity whatsome friends will do some say - \"what provacation?\" \"Some hunger\" - say I \"He was somewhat wrong!\" - some say Say I - \"To hunger -?\" \"To love\" some say . . . . . . . (\"yes . . . . . \" - say I) - \"to love . . . then some what . . . . . . leave the cat .......that way!\" hel."}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (19:24)", "body": "Don't touch me.... I am a rose A bloody, green rose I look at you, mouth open, and laugh! Where are your petals and your leaves???? don't touch me.... I hae thorns and I am a rose So you were formed of mud .....Black, inferior you are below me What you hate me????? Yes...But Don't touch me.... I am a rose"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (19:33)", "body": "I feel the loss, and I never even knew her. Thanks for sharing these, Terry."}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (20:27)", "body": "In another topic here, Jane Hirshfield wrote: \"Her poems? I will never know them, though they are the ones I most need.\""}, {"response": 5, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (20:32)", "body": "ESSE spinx-like sitting and watching thelittlepeoplerun Stole-faced NodDing oCaasionalLy avoiding the GLARE thatlittlepeopleoften STARE Oh you museum piece of a heart archaic-relic existence laughs at you a paper crown a purple rag and t i m e"}, {"response": 6, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (20:34)", "body": "An ethereal love floats just beyond my reach. ever beyond my reach. My lonely heart longs and lunges for it's tenderness but it is just beyond my reach, ever beyond my reach. (Inspired by \"Death Takes a Holiday\")"}, {"response": 7, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (20:49)", "body": ""}, {"response": 8, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (21:49)", "body": "Thank you Paul. I understand much better now. I can see and feel the e.e. cummings inspiration and can hear the passion"}, {"response": 9, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:25)", "body": "some of the most beautiful stuff i've read in a long while... really enjoyed this stuff... (and empathize with your loss... it never really gets better... they just sorta get further away, but it feels the same)..."}, {"response": 10, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:35)", "body": "Dear Mr. Busch Miles and miles, of miles and miles of ageless, dust deep, lines of directions of many directionless, shadows of shells, of we who are for ever, thralls of we who are never. the motionless wind screams wae-sucks in the deaf ear as it races by to reach the distance of what it has passed, carrying the message, of prophecy, of the vent of forever, the horizon of endless of redness of mist of undefined departure heralds a disturbance, of always, of dust that rises and gathers and stagnates forever ahead of empty, searching, graying, infinitely hollow, sightless eyes, the shadow is drawn and stumbles, and follows as always seeking to reach what it has become, this, as all other, (existance?) of humanity evoked to a sameness of hope of fulfillment by the sign, climbs the ever present, withering barren propagator of all overshadowing, Iscariote tree, and lunges and peers, and hungers for, and hungers with, the wake of the swirling, clinging, dust ladden trale of the illusive wandering jew, of slef of the candy shop or the corner store, the leaves that fall and the men that snore, the birds that sing, and the man that thinks is"}, {"response": 11, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:38)", "body": "The wild rose blushes quietly as the rain steals in and kisses it tenderly. The tiny crystalline drops shimmer in the innocent half-glow of dusk. Even now in the sudden, sulky shower the sun pears over the sloping curve of the earth to whisper 'Good eve' and then glide away to smoke up a grey-blue night."}, {"response": 12, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:40)", "body": "Butterfly Lithe and beautiful with silken stroke the fine web of a dream cools the air. Rise and descend, rise and descend with narcotic side affect The kingdom of color kaliedescopes in a lazy, hazy dream of golden summer and blue."}, {"response": 13, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:44)", "body": "I'm really praying that Merle can find the other 150 lost poems of Helen Huth that he gave to her sister before she died. That's the rest of the tragedy that befell the Huth family."}, {"response": 14, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Mar 20, 1998 (01:25)", "body": "Terry, What was the year that Helen died?"}, {"response": 15, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Mar 20, 1998 (07:19)", "body": "I believe it was '65, but I'll find out from Merle."}, {"response": 16, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Mar 21, 1998 (01:20)", "body": "CURIOSITY may have killed the cat; more likely the cat was just unlucky, or else curious to see what death was like, having no cause to go on licking paws, or fathering litter on litter of kittens, predictably. Nevertheless, to be curious is dangerous enough. To distrust what is always said, what seems, to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams, leave home, smell rats, have hunches does not endear him to those doggy circles where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches are the order of things, and where prevails much wagging of incurious heads and tails. Face it. Curiosity will not cause him to die- only lack of it will. Never to want to see the other side of the hill, or;that improbable country where living is an idyll (although a probable hell) would kill us all. Only the curious have, if they live, a tale worth telling at all. Dogs say he loves too much, is irresponsible, is changeable, marries too many wives, deserts his children, chills all dinner tables with tales of his nine lives Well, he is lucky. Let him be nine-lived and contradictory, curious enough to change, prepared to pay the cat price, which is to die and die again and again, each time with no less pain. A cat minority of one is all that can be counted on to tell the truth. And; what he has to tell on each return from hell is this: That dying is what the living do That dying is what the loving do, and that dead dogs are those who do not know that hell is where, to live, they have to go."}, {"response": 17, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Mar 21, 1998 (01:36)", "body": "Truth and Wisdom sat together on a cold, bare rock in the middle of a silent ocean; arguing . . . they quarreled as to which was the most important to mankind in order to instill peace . . . Truth said that she was the most important . . \"For peace, there must be genuine, truthful correspond- ence of reality between nations.\" Yet, Wisdom maintained he was the supreme require- ment . . . \"To obtain a tranquil and secure world; learning, wisdom, and the ability to judge all things soundly are essential.\" Truth and Wisdom are sitting together on a cold, bare rock in the middle of a silent ocean; arguing . . ."}, {"response": 18, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Mar 21, 1998 (01:40)", "body": "These nine poems are all I received. There are, as I said, at least 150 more that are \"lost\" and might be retrieved someday. The only one Merle knows for sure is authentic is the one titled \"A Somewhat Poem\". Merle doesn't know about the others, but he doesn't know many people who have sent him poems. They're not his poems. Helen told Merle in one of her letters that some of her work would be printed in the Cape Girardeau Literary Magazine. Merle's going to try and find out the particulars and mail them to me."}, {"response": 19, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Mar 21, 1998 (01:43)", "body": "I can think of no more fitting way to celebrate the fourth anniversary of the Spring than to publish the poetry of Helen Huth and share it with the world."}, {"response": 20, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Mar 21, 1998 (03:26)", "body": "very beautiful, promising stuff, terry... she had a fascinating mind, it is evident, and a singular, refreshing point of view... and an amazing feel for verse... hope you can bring us a lot more of her work..."}, {"response": 21, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Apr 13, 1998 (06:20)", "body": "Merle writes that he cannot find the 150 lost poems in his attic. So he's making one last desparate atttempt to get in touch with Helen's deceases sisters husband to see if he might have them. One slim remaining hope that they might be found. Otherwise, the above poems will remain as the only remnants of Helen's substantial body of work."}, {"response": 22, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Thu, Apr 16, 1998 (23:53)", "body": "oh wow....I love them all....what a tragic loss of an amazing mind...yes, there's a definite e.e. cummings influence which is, of course, right up my alley.....thank you so much Terry for sharing these and for making the effort to ensure that death does not silence this incredible voice"}, {"response": 23, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (09:50)", "body": "No word yet on the lost poems. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 18, "subject": "Irish verse", "response_count": 117, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Apr 27, 1998 (04:56)", "body": "been reading lots of this stuff, recently... really excellent, too, and so seldom seen, these days... anyway, this one's among my favorites... pay particular attention to verses 3 and 5... very powerful, moving words... it was written by thomas davis... (from) Lament for the Death of Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill (commonly called Owen Roe O'Neill) Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O'Neill? Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel. May God wither their hearts! May their blood cease to flow! May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe! Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words. From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords; But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his way, And he died at Cloc Uactair, upon Saint Leonard's Day. Sagest in the council was he- kindest in the hall; Sure, we never won a battle- was Owen won them, all. Had he lived, had he lived, our dear country would be free; But he's dead, but he's dead... and slaves we'll ever be. We thought you wouldn't die- were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow- Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky- Oh, why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die? Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill; bright was your eye. Oh, why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die? Your troubles are all over- you're at rest with God on high; But we're slaves, and we're orphans, Owen!- why did you die?"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Mon, Apr 27, 1998 (17:23)", "body": "moving piece. those responsible for his death were cowards."}, {"response": 3, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Apr 29, 1998 (00:20)", "body": "(yes... they were normans)... from \"carrickfergus\", by louis macneice... i was born in belfast between the mountains and the gantries to the hooting of lost sirens and the clang of trams: thence to smoky carrick in county antrim where the bottle-neck harbor collects the mud which jams the little boats beneath the norman castle, the pier shining with lumps of chrystal salt; the scotch quarter was a line of residential houses but the irish quarter was a slum for the blind and the halt. the brook ran yellow from the factory stinking of chlorine, the yard-mill called it's funeral cry at noon; our lights looked over the lough to the lights of bangor under the peacock aura of a drowning moon. the norman walled this town against the country to stop his ears to the yelping of his slave and built a church in the form of a cross but denoting the list of christ on the cross in the angle of the nave... (the bastards)..."}, {"response": 4, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Wed, Apr 29, 1998 (20:26)", "body": "where were the normans from? dumb question to you, but humour me..."}, {"response": 5, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Apr 30, 1998 (01:24)", "body": "(not a \"dumb\" question at all)... when i refer to normans, am referring to the post-invasion brits... (the descendents of william (of normandy, you know), et al)..."}, {"response": 7, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Apr 30, 1998 (15:33)", "body": "you love the attention... *smile*"}, {"response": 9, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, May  1, 1998 (16:25)", "body": "any particular place you'd like that attention focused?"}, {"response": 11, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, May  3, 1998 (23:06)", "body": "i am wind on sea i am wave in storm i am sea-hound and seven-horned stag i am hawk on cliff a drop of dew in the sun a fair flower a boar for valor i am salmon in pool lake on plain a hill with ditches a word of art a piercing point that pours out rage the god who fashions fire in the head (from \"amergin's songs\"... anon., ninth century)"}, {"response": 13, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (09:00)", "body": "...sam I am."}, {"response": 14, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:42)", "body": "(shudder)"}, {"response": 15, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:43)", "body": "i dunno, thought it was powerful, they knew who they were....."}, {"response": 16, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:46)", "body": "(HUH?)"}, {"response": 17, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:48)", "body": ""}, {"response": 18, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:57)", "body": ""}, {"response": 19, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (20:58)", "body": ""}, {"response": 20, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:03)", "body": "golly-gomer... (cool)..."}, {"response": 21, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:05)", "body": "woohoo!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:11)", "body": "here now... let's have none of that loosiana redneck-girl stuff... (this is poetry, after all)..."}, {"response": 23, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:16)", "body": "what was that? redneck-GIRL???"}, {"response": 24, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:23)", "body": "okay... (you're right... sorry 'bout that)... \"redneck-broad\"... (better?)"}, {"response": 25, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:25)", "body": "*giggle*"}, {"response": 26, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:31)", "body": "(apparently it is)"}, {"response": 27, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:33)", "body": "(hey, i asked for it)"}, {"response": 28, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:40)", "body": ""}, {"response": 29, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:42)", "body": ""}, {"response": 30, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:56)", "body": "(you are sooo brazen)..."}, {"response": 31, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (21:58)", "body": "oh, you know you luv it *wink*"}, {"response": 32, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (22:03)", "body": "(indeed?)"}, {"response": 33, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (22:05)", "body": "did you raise one eyebrow when you wrote that?"}, {"response": 34, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May  5, 1998 (22:22)", "body": "(g'night-will wait for your reply afore signing off)"}, {"response": 35, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, May 15, 1998 (23:53)", "body": "for Irish literature as a whole, go to http://www.local.ie/culture/literature/"}, {"response": 36, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, May 16, 1998 (00:09)", "body": "hey, that's really cool, wer (thanks!)"}, {"response": 37, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, May 16, 1998 (00:12)", "body": "so is the rest of http://www.local.ie/ (you're welcome)"}, {"response": 38, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Sat, May 16, 1998 (11:01)", "body": "I know that poem!...I've studied it before....well, not all of it...only the parts I'd been seeking....you posted one of those....it's neat to see it again...I found a fascinating site on Irish poetry and literature....VERY old school...most of it hasn't been translated from its original Welsh version...all the way back to Taliesan and his cronies....if your interested I'll hunt down the address again"}, {"response": 39, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, May 17, 1998 (02:15)", "body": ""}, {"response": 40, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Sun, May 17, 1998 (12:20)", "body": "hmm....I tried to find it...but the scrap of paper I scribbled it onto is lost in the cesspool of papers I've been meaning to look through....this could take awhile...in the meantime, you might want to learn Welsh..it could be helpful and you'll probably have plenty of time(you should see this pile of papers)....but I promise I will get it to you sometime in....oh....the next three months .....maybe"}, {"response": 41, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May 19, 1998 (11:10)", "body": "(was going to make an observation... but it occurred to me that you break boards with your bare feet and everything... so um never mind)..."}, {"response": 42, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (19:50)", "body": "rofl!.....sometimes a long-distance relationship isn't so bad after all.....what's your observation?"}, {"response": 43, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (19:51)", "body": "I love you Nick...I really do..."}, {"response": 44, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (22:27)", "body": "um, je aussi, mlle... (but still wary of whatever the hell it is you're secreting 'neath that bodice)..."}, {"response": 45, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (22:27)", "body": "spit it out or you're going to find out"}, {"response": 46, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, May 28, 1998 (05:06)", "body": "(now there's an interesting proposition)..."}, {"response": 47, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Thu, May 28, 1998 (20:12)", "body": "*eyes that ankle and practices a few kicks*"}, {"response": 48, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, May 28, 1998 (21:47)", "body": "(not PRECISELY what i had in mind) (hmmm, but it's a start)"}, {"response": 49, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Jun  9, 1998 (02:08)", "body": "doesn't seem fitting for this topic to lack an offering from the greatest irish poet of them all... this is from \"to ireland in the coming times\"... (and it's author, of course, is william yeats) ...Nor may i less be counted one with Davis, Mangan, Ferguson, because, to him who ponders well, my rhymes more than their rhyming tell of things discovered in the deep, where only body's laid asleep. For the elemental creatures go about my table to and fro, that hurry from unmeasured mind to rant and rage in flood and wind; yet he who treads in measured ways may surely barter gaze for gaze. Man ever journeys on with them after the red-rose-bordered hem. Ah, fairies, dancing under the moon, a Druid land, a Druid tune!"}, {"response": 50, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Jun 24, 1998 (15:59)", "body": "The Curse (J.M Synge) (to a sister of an enemy of the author's who disapproved of \"the playboy of the western world\") Lord, confound this surly sister, Blight her brow with blotch and blister, Cramp her larynx, lung and liver, In her guts a galling give her. Let her live to earn her dinners In Mountjoy with seedy sinners: Lord, this judgement quickly bring, And I'm your servant, J.M. Synge. (in spite of this, maggie did enjoy a moderately successful career)"}, {"response": 51, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jun 24, 1998 (17:02)", "body": "lol..."}, {"response": 52, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Jun 30, 1998 (17:42)", "body": "okay... i write this last night... feeling my irish or something... yeah whatever the hell that means... anyway it's called \"scaffolds and englishmen\"... (one thought frightening as the other, i suppose)... climb the stair ascend some airy view of once-believed possibility, adhering to a once-believing once possible race (inhabiting empty tower rooms) what remains- from here- where i see is blood and breath and fear- such as runs in me, and true- few millions more, such as, too blood of painted ones coursing veins ostensibly of human issue but irish, through and through have it take it within savage lids Heroic Centuries- well and good- but never enough to keep the bastards out the door poetry and fantasy and denial's sleep no ticket, anymore it is mystic impends and short walk it is from this business end of bullets and ropes and englishmen eternity a stroll a jaunt from this place such dreaming victory unsufficient- but all that remains for a dreaming dying (once) heroic race (nick)"}, {"response": 53, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jun 30, 1998 (22:57)", "body": "wow..."}, {"response": 54, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  1, 1998 (13:26)", "body": "*applauding between shots of Jameson's*"}, {"response": 55, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (22:43)", "body": "I was very excited to find this conference, but disappointed to see that no one had posted anything here for a long time. I'd like to see it revitalized, so here's my little contribution: LOVE--a medieval Irish poem My love is no short year's sentence. It is a grief lodged under the skin, Strength pushed beyond its bounds; The four quarters of the world, The highest point of heaven. It is A heart breaking or Battle with a ghost, Striving under water, Outrunning the sky or Courting an echo. So is my love, my passion & my devotion To him to whom I give them."}, {"response": 56, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (19:01)", "body": "thank you for that, amy...and you're right, it's been awhile since anyone's posted here :)"}, {"response": 57, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (20:56)", "body": "You're welcome! Here's another: LIADAN LAMENTS CUIRITHIR 9th century Joyless what I have done; to torment my darling one. But for fear of the Lord of Heaven he would lie with me here. Not vain, it seemed, our choice, to seek Paradise through pain. I am Liadan, I loved Cuirithir as truly as they say. The short time I passed with him how sweet his company! The forest trees sighed music for us; and the flaring blue of seas. What folly to turn him against me whom I had treated most gently! No whim or scruple of mine should have come between Us, for above all others, without shame I declare him my heart's love. A roaring flame has consumed my heart: I will not live without him."}, {"response": 58, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (21:08)", "body": "Here are a couple of little epigrams from medieval Ireland: Cu Chuimne in youth Read his way through half the truth. He let the other half lie While he gave women a try. Well for him in old age. He became a holy sage. He gave women the laugh. He read the other half. * * * Ah!light lovely lady with delicate lips aglow With breast more white than a branch heavy-laden with snow, When my hand was uplifted at Mass to salute the Host I looked at you once, and the half of my soul was lost."}, {"response": 59, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (18:43)", "body": "Those are amazingly appropriate even now. Love them...More!"}, {"response": 60, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (22:24)", "body": "You're in luck--I have the most marvelous anthology of Irish verse which I received for a Christmas present. Here's a funny one, an anonymous medieval lyric: THE SNORING BEDMATE You thunder at my side, Lad of ceaseless hum; There's not a saint would chide My prayer that you were dumb. The dead start from the tomb With each blare from your nose. I suffer, with less room, Under these bedclothes. Which could I better bide Since my head's already broke-- Your pipe-drone at my side, Woodpecker's drill on oak? Brass scraped with knicky knives, A cowbell's tinny clank, Or the yells of tinkers' wives Giving birth behind a bank? A drunken, braying clown Slapping cards down on a board Were less easy to disown Than the softest snore you've snored. Sweeter the grunts of swine Than yours that win release. Sweeter, bedmate mine, The screech of grieving geese. A sick calf's moan for aid, A broken mill's mad clatter, The snarl of a flood cascade... Christ! now what's the matter? That was a ghastly growl! What signified that twist?-- An old wolf's famished howl, Wave-boom at some cliff's breast? Storm screaming round a crag, Bellow of raging bull, Hoarse bell of rutting stag, Compared with this were lull! Ah, now a gentler fall-- Bark of a crazy hound? Brats squabbling for a ball? Ducks squawking on a pond? No, rough weather's back again. Some great ship's about to sink And roaring bursts the main Over the bulwark's brink! Farewell, tonight, to sleep. Every gust across the bed Makes hair rise and poor flesh creep. Would that one of us were dead!"}, {"response": 61, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (22:27)", "body": "I did not know my SO got around that much...she has obviously been attempting to sleep next to him - and know all the requisit sounds he can make. Loved it, too! (I have slept with earplugs in for years!)"}, {"response": 62, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (22:39)", "body": "He's another hilarious one: A PRESENT OF BUTTER by Tadhg Dall O'Huiginn A woman gave me butter now, Good butter too it claimed to be. I don't think it was from a cow, And if it was it finished me. A beard was growing on the stuff, A beastly beard without a doubt, The taste was sickly, sour and rough, With poison juices seeping out. The stuff had spots, the stuff was grey, I doubt if any goat produced it. I had to face it every day, And how I wish I had refused it! This splendid butter had a mane, The glory of my humble home. No knife could cut it down again, It made me sick for weeks to come. This nasty grease a wrapping had Like a discarded winding sheet. Its very aspect was so bad, I scarcely had the nerve to eat. This horror had a heavy stink That left one fuddled, stunned and dead. 'Twas rainbow-hued, with what you'd think A crest of plumes above its head. The salt's a thing it hardly knew, In fact I think they'd barely met. It was not white, but rather blue. I am not quite recovered yet. 'Twas made of grease and wax and fat, O thoughts too horrible to utter! You may be sure that after that, I rather lost my taste for butter."}, {"response": 63, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (22:52)", "body": "Makes you wonder why he did not dig a hole somewhere and bury it! *lol*"}, {"response": 64, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (22:53)", "body": "Are you conversant with Lady Gregory's great work?"}, {"response": 65, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (23:05)", "body": "Hmm, Lady Gregory...the name doesn't ring a bell, but unfortunately I don't know a whole lot about Irish poetry. In my British lit classes, we got Swift and Wilde and Yeats and Joyce, but not any of the lesser-known poets."}, {"response": 66, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (23:17)", "body": "She was not so much a poet herself as a perserver of the ancient rhymes before they all got lost. Will get more on her for next post...it has been a while..."}, {"response": 67, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (15:59)", "body": "I LOVED \"The Snoring Bedmate\" Brandon does NOT snore on a regular basis but those rare occassions when he is ill or very stuffed with allergies... I do have murder on my brain! *grin*"}, {"response": 68, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (16:42)", "body": "Okay, here are some more serious ones. EPIGRAMS by John Swanick Drennan L'Amitie et L'Amour I. With nought to hide or to betray She eyed me frank and free. But, oh, the girl that looked away Was dearer far to me! II. A golden casket I designed To hold a braid of hair; My love was false, and now I find A coil of serpents there. III. Love signed the contract blithe and leal, Time shook the sand, Death set the seal. (Does anyone know what \"leal\" means?)"}, {"response": 69, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (16:59)", "body": "faithful, as I recall..."}, {"response": 70, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (17:01)", "body": "(it is used in Penn State's Alma Mater) ...North of England dialect for loyal. Also to be true to..."}, {"response": 71, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:18)", "body": "Thanks Marcia! That makes sense now!"}, {"response": 72, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:23)", "body": "The only trouble is with my alma mater, the sentence in which it is used is \"May thy sons be leal and loyal to thy memory.\" Kinda redundant, no?!"}, {"response": 73, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:38)", "body": "Wow, you actually know your alma mater? When we were asked to sing it at graduation, I neither knew the words nor had ever heard it. As it turned out, it was a very stupid song anyway."}, {"response": 74, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:46)", "body": "They are all stupid and maudlin and sticky...but my Dad was a Penn State grad, my eldest sister, her husband and my ex and me...we bleed blue and white in our family. I even knew the fight songs when I was a little kid!"}, {"response": 75, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:49)", "body": "Actually, I know all four verses, which is even scarier. I am a storehouse of irrelevant information, as you will discover. If it is abstruse, I just might know the answer...or know where to find it...!"}, {"response": 76, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:57)", "body": "When did you graduate from there? If you knew anyone in the English department, you might have known my research methods teacher who was there in the late seventies-early eighties, I think."}, {"response": 77, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (23:03)", "body": "Longer ago than that, I am afraid... When I was in college the housemothers gave us morality lectures and warnings not to wear patent leather shoes 'cause guys could look up your skirts in the reflections. (We spent a fruitless evening trying to see anything in those reflections!) We signed in and out each time we left the dorm...and we stayed no more and no less chaste than the the coeds do today...amazing but true."}, {"response": 78, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (07:56)", "body": "Yes, leal is similar to loyal and league, meaning bound to a community."}, {"response": 79, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (09:49)", "body": "Here's a poem from the period of courtly love: O WOMAN, SHAPELY AS THE SWAN O woman, shapely as the swan, On your account I shall not die: The men you've slain--a trivial clan-- Were less than I. I ask me shall I die for these-- For blossom teeth and scarlet lips-- And shall that delicate swan-shape Bring me eclipse? Well-shaped the breasts and smooth the skin, The cheeks are fair, the tresses free-- And yet I shall not suffer death, God over me! Those even brows, that hair like gold, Those languourous tones, that virgin way, The flowing limbs, the rounded heel Slight men betray! Thy spirit keen through radiant mien, Thy shining throat and smiling eye, Thy little palm, thy side like foam-- I cannot die! O woman, shapely as the swan, In a cunning house hard-reared was I: O bosom white, O well-shaped palm, I shall not die!"}, {"response": 80, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (16:59)", "body": "REST ONLY IN THE GRAVE by James Clarence Mangan I rode till I reached the House of Wealth-- 'Twas filled with riot and blighted health. I rode till I reached the House of Love-- 'Twas vocal with sighs beneath and above! I rode till I reached the House of Sin-- There were shrieks and curses without and within. I rode till I reached the House of Toil-- Its inmates had nothing to bake or boil. I rode in search of the House of Content But never could reach it, far as I went! The House of Quiet, for strong and weak And poor and rich, I have still to seek-- That House is narrow, and dark, and small-- But the only Peaceful House of all."}, {"response": 81, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (17:05)", "body": "The courtly one touched me...but this one rings so true! Thanks!"}, {"response": 82, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (17:17)", "body": "AGAINST BLAME OF WOMAN by Gerald Fitzgerald, Earl of Desmond Speak not ill of womankind, 'Tis no wisdom if you do. You that fault in women find, I would not be praised of you. Sweetly speaking, witty, clear, Tribe most lovely to my mind, Blame of such I hate to hear. Speak not ill of womankind. Bloody treason, murderous act, Not by women were designed, Bells o'erthrown nor churches sacked. Speak not ill of womankind. Bishop, King upon his throne, Primate skilled to loose and bind, Sprung of women every one! Speak not ill of womankind. For a brave young fellow long Hearts of women oft have pined. Who would dare their love to wrong? Speak not ill of womankind. Paunchy greybeards never more Hope to please a woman's mind. Poor young chieftains they adore! Speak not ill of womankind."}, {"response": 83, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (17:53)", "body": "This is the best yet...should be cast in bronze somewhere! About the worst thing I ever did was to fall in love with the wrong man...it caused no wars...except for small skirmishes...*sigh*"}, {"response": 84, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (17:57)", "body": "Yep, that's about the worst sin I've ever committed, too. It caused somewhat of a tempest in the teapot of my little world, but it was over quickly enough with no casualties (unless you count my broken heart) on either side."}, {"response": 85, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (18:07)", "body": "...same here...as far as I know...."}, {"response": 86, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (19:12)", "body": "And of course, no Irish verse page would be complete without J.M. Synge: IS IT A MONTH Is it a month since I and you In the starlight of Glen Dubh Stretched beneath a hazel bough Kissed from ear and throat to brow, Since your fingers, neck, and chin Made the bars that fenced me in, Till Paradise seemed but a wreck Near your bosom, brow, and neck And stars grew wilder, growing wise, In the splendour of your eyes! Since the weasel wandered near Whilst we kissed from ear to ear And the wet and withered leaves Blew about your cap and sleeves, Till the moon sank tired through the ledge Of the wet and windy hedge? And we took the starry lane Back to Dublin town again."}, {"response": 87, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (19:14)", "body": "And a little one from William Butler Yeats: THE GREAT DAY Hurrah for revolution and more cannon-shot! A beggar upon horseback lashes a beggar on foot. Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again! The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on."}, {"response": 88, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 29, 1999 (18:21)", "body": "I'm sitting here sighing over John McDermott singing \"Believe Me,\" by Thomas Moore so I thought I might post the lyrics since I've been neglecting to post anything here lately. Believe me if all those endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly today Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms Like fairy gifts fading away. Thou woulds't still be ador'd as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear. No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose."}, {"response": 89, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 29, 1999 (18:31)", "body": "While I'm still listening to my Irish Tenors CD, I might as well post another of my favorites from it: VOYAGE by Johnny Duhan I am a sailor, you're my first mate, All signed on together, we've completed our fate. Hauled up our anchor, determined not to fail, For the hearts treasure, together we set sail. With no maps to guide us we steered our own course, Rode out the storms when the wind was gale force, Sat out the doldrums with patience and hope, Working together, we learned how to cope. Life is an ocean, love is a boat; In troubled waters it keeps us afloat. When we started the voyage there was just me and you; Now gathered around us we have our own crew. Together we're in this relationship, We built it together with care to last the whole trip. Our true destination's not marked on my charts, For we're navigating the shores of a heart."}, {"response": 90, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct 29, 1999 (18:51)", "body": ""}, {"response": 91, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sat, Oct 30, 1999 (16:55)", "body": "Amy, thank you. ;)"}, {"response": 92, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Oct 30, 1999 (20:36)", "body": "You're welcome! I just got the William Butler Yeats reader today, so as soon as I have time to look through it, I should be posting some Yeats yummies!"}, {"response": 93, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (11:32)", "body": "Just to kick off the Yeats yummies: He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and the light and the half-light, I would lay them under your feet, But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have laid them under your feet - Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. Thanks for posting Voyage here (a Christy Moore composition) - I quoted some of it for my parents' 40th anniversary recently. (I think it should be \"coupled our fate\" in the 2nd line)."}, {"response": 94, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (12:19)", "body": "Ohh, that's a beautiful one, Mark! I'll have to remember it for future reference. It reminds me of that dedication from Montaigne: \"I offer you nothing of my own both because it is already yours and there is nothing worthy of you.\" I'm looking through my Yeats book right now and they all seem so sad..."}, {"response": 95, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (13:10)", "body": "Mark that is so sad and so longing and so wonderful. Thank you! I know that feeling, as well. I perhaps should just stay out of poetry for a while. Amy, is there any Happy Irish Verse or is that another oxymoron?! Yeats was a gloomy guy. There is a prof here who is a Yeats Scholar and spends his sabbaticals in Dublin. There are happier things to read to break the dispair, one hopes!"}, {"response": 96, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (16:05)", "body": "Hmm...happy Irish verse...well, the only things I can think of are very funny ones that are usually bewailing someone's situation (remember the ones about the butter and the snorer,) so I guess the answer would be no, not really. There are some happy Irish songs, but not a whole lot of those, either."}, {"response": 97, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (16:48)", "body": "Irish drinking songs would probably fall in the \"happy\" verse category. ;)"}, {"response": 98, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (22:08)", "body": "Well, that depends on how drunk you are--the drunker you get, the sadder the songs get! Here's one from the greatest of all Irish bards (in my opinion): RECONCILIATION by William Butler Yeats Some may have blamed you that you took away The verses that could move them on the day When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind With lightning, you went from me, and I could find Nothing to make a song about but kings, Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things That were like memories of you--but now We'll out, for the world lives as long ago; And while we're laughing, weeping fit, Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit. But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone, My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone."}, {"response": 99, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (22:36)", "body": "POLITICS"}, {"response": 100, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  1, 1999 (22:38)", "body": "POLITICS By W.B. Yeats How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics, Yet here's a travelled man that knows What he talks about, And there's a politician That has both read and thought, And maybe what they say is true Of war and war's alarms, But O that I were young again And held her in my arms."}, {"response": 101, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (00:00)", "body": "Yep, those are sad indeed... I was thinking on the order of \"Bloody Orangeman\" -- you know, \"Oh, one Sunday morning while on me way to Mass / I met a bloody Orangman and I killed him for his pass / I killed him for his pass me boys and sent his soul to hell / and when he got back, he had a strange tale to tell..."}, {"response": 102, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (07:52)", "body": "Great stuff, Amy. Politics is one of my favourites. I'm not sure that all of this stuff is as sad as it may look. Much of Irish poetry is from the perspective of old but happy, or poor but happy, or defeated but brave. For real melancholy, go to those drinking songs! You haven't felt maudlin until you've heard a soulful drunk singing Carrickfergus , or From here to Clare ."}, {"response": 103, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (12:43)", "body": "I've heard Van Morrison singing \"Carrickfergus,\" and that was pretty moving. That's one of my favourite Irish ballads!"}, {"response": 104, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (19:53)", "body": "Here's a really sad one, sung by that blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked, sparkling Irish tenor boyo, Anthony Kearns: GRACE As we gather in the chapel here In old Kilmainham jail, I think about the last few weeks Oh, will they say we failed? From our schooldays they have told us We must yearn for liberty, Yet all I want in this old place Is to have you here with me. Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms And let this moment linger, Then take me out at dawn and I will die; With all my love I'll place this wedding ring Upon your finger. There won't be time to share our love, For we must say goodbye. Now I know it's hard for you, my love, To ever understand The love I bear for these brave men, My love for this dear land; But when glory called me to his side Down in the GPO, I had to leave my own sick bed, To there I had to go. Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms, etc. Now as the dawn is breaking, My heart is breaking too, On this May morn as I walk out My thoughts will be of you; And I'll write some words upon the walls So everyone will know I loved so much that I could see His blood upon the rose. Oh Grace, just hold me in your arms, etc."}, {"response": 105, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (20:10)", "body": "The Folly of being Comforted by W.B. Yeats One that is ever kind said yesterday: \"Your well-belov\ufffdd's hair has threads of grey, And little shadows come about her eyes; Time can but make it easier to be wise Though now it seems impossible, and so All that you need is patience.\" Heart cries, \"No, I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain, Time can but make her beauty over again: Because that great nobleness of hers The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs, Burns more clearly. O she had not these ways When all the wild summer was in her gaze.\" O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head, You'd know the folly of being comforted."}, {"response": 106, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (20:27)", "body": "(I love this one! :-)) THE SCHOLARS"}, {"response": 107, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (20:30)", "body": "By Yeats again Bald heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in love's despair To flatter beauty's ignorant ear. All shuffle there; all cough in ink; All wear the carpet with their shoes; All think what other people think; All know the man their neighbour knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?"}, {"response": 108, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  2, 1999 (20:30)", "body": "(I love this one! :-)) THE SCHOLARS"}, {"response": 109, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Nov  3, 1999 (16:52)", "body": ""}, {"response": 110, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Thu, Nov  4, 1999 (06:33)", "body": "Sorry, Amy. You've held the fort magnificently. The Montaigne dedication you mentioned a while ago gave rise to the title of the anthology in which I discovered most of my early favourites: \"Other Men's Flowers\". (Montaigne said I have gathered a posy of other men's flowers, and nothing but the string that binds them is my own.\") This was compiled by Field Marshal Wavell during breaks from the Second World War, from poems that he had by memory (or had at one time memorised). The amount of stuff is staggering to me (in terms of the memory feats required), but as I also tend to like the stuff I can learn, it makes for a very enjoyable anthology for me. Off-topic, but you mentioned Montaigne..."}, {"response": 111, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Nov  4, 1999 (18:29)", "body": "That's okay, Mark--you can get off topic any time you want, especially if you want to talk about Montaigne! I used to have a lot of poems memorized, and I seem to have a pretty good capacity for doing so if I try, but I've found as time goes on that I tend to change words slightly or get lines turned around."}, {"response": 112, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (16:47)", "body": "A LAST CONFESSION by William Butler Yeats What lively lad most pleasured me Of all that with me lay? I answer that I gave my soul And loved in misery, But had great pleasure with a lad That I loved bodily. Flinging from his arms I laughed To think his passion such He fancied that I gave a soul Did but our bodies touch, And laughed upon his breast to think Beast gave beast as much. I gave what other women gave That stepped out of their clothes, But when this soul, its body off, Naked to naked goes, He it has found shall find therein What none other knows, And give his own and take his own And rule in his own right; And though it loved in misery Close and cling so tight, There's not a bird of day that dare Extinguish that delight."}, {"response": 113, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:26)", "body": "The Irish out-Celtic the Celts...Gloomy and maudlin, though they are,they seem to wallow in it as though it were a blessing and a grace. Thanks for the Yeats and Montaigne. (Mark, the Cricket match is on!)"}, {"response": 114, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:44)", "body": "We are also very proud and with all of those traits combined, we've ended up a race of starving poets and musicians!"}, {"response": 115, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:09)", "body": "i'm so glad there are people out there who enjoy poetry. thanks for keeping this conference alive (or, better yet, bringing it back to life) *hugs*"}, {"response": 116, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:13)", "body": "For our Poetess-Laureate whose muse has gone on Hiatus with the men in my world, could we do less?! *hugs* (Thank you, Amy!)"}, {"response": 117, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:14)", "body": "*bowing graciously* Thank you, ladies!"}, {"response": 118, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:15)", "body": "indeed, amy, thanks so much!"}, {"response": 119, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (17:32)", "body": "A DEEP-SWORN VOW by William Butler Yeats Others because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your face."}, {"response": 120, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (07:33)", "body": "the irish verse is lovely... (especially the yeats) ...and i am moved to offer one of my own favorites (from his 'fergus and the druid')... druid: what would you, fergus? fergus: be no more king, but learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours. druid: look on my gray hair, and hollow cheeks, and upon my hands that cannot lift a sword; this body trembling, like a wind-blown reed. no woman's loved me, no man's sought my help. fergus: a king's but a foolish laborer who wastes his blood to be another's dream. druid: then take, if you must, this little bag of dreams. unloose the cord, and they will wrap around you. fergus: i see my life go drifting like a river, from change to change. i have been many things- a green drop in the surge, a gleam of light upon a sword, a fir tree on a hill, an old slave grinding at a heavy quern, a king sitting upon a chair of gold- and all of these things have been wonderful and great; but now i have grown nothing, knowing all. ah! druid, druid, how great webs of sorrow lay hidden in the small, slate-colored thing!"}, {"response": 121, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (13:29)", "body": "Thanks, Nick...very like Merlin and Arthur, is it not?! The price a druid pays for his \"gifts\" is far higher than any mere mortal would imagine. The celebacy would be enough to discourage most males from pursuing it in the first place! Innocence has its value. I prefer stumbling along the best I can...making mistakes, as we all do, and looking back in wisdom. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 19, "subject": "Constructive Criticism for Your Host", "response_count": 89, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:15)", "body": "so far, so good!!!"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:17)", "body": "yeah well, already had my first request. to delete a couple of topics....."}, {"response": 3, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:22)", "body": "really? who'd a thought?"}, {"response": 4, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:36)", "body": "no joke!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:38)", "body": "none? not even a dirty limerick?"}, {"response": 6, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:42)", "body": "my creative juices aren't flowing right today, sorry."}, {"response": 7, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:44)", "body": "hey, Wolf, before you delete topics, will you please let us know because you deleted stuff I wrote that I don't have a copy of..."}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:46)", "body": "it's in the archives, sweety, i retired them....i had stuff in there too, and it was so nice of the person who requested the deletion to think of us...."}, {"response": 9, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:49)", "body": "okay, so how do I look at it?"}, {"response": 10, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (23:54)", "body": "gotta ask terry. didn't kill anything. my guess is in a file something like spring.net/archives.html, i dunno."}, {"response": 11, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (09:45)", "body": "Don't think I'm going to open this topic in art!!!! No, it's okay, I will, otherwise I have a feeling Wer might do it FOR me!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (20:32)", "body": "look... i only requested that poetry i'd posted be deleted... there was no animosity, no bad feelings of any kind, involved in that request... i've posted at other boards, and as a matter of course the poetry is only displayed for short periods of time... no longer do i post anywhere that archives my stuff, because- as i told you- the idea of my words lingering like spanish cyber-moss on the net creeps me out... some of the things i've posted, particularly here, are intensely personal... and- as i also told you- i have a bizzare relationship with words... they affect me, excessively no doubt, in ways that are probably difficult for others to understand... realizing this i apologize... but only because you obviously do NOT understand, and i regret that... as much as i use them- words, i mean- and as much mileage as i often get from them, it is surprising to me sometimes how completely they fail me when it matters... please, simply try and see that nothing i've said or done was intended to hurt... it's just the words, you know? they- some of them- are real to me, regardless of how neurotic or unnatural or whatever that may be... and the idea of some of the things i've written- and you know which things i'm speaking of, i'm sure- being left behind, to be disparaged or trivialized by those that don't know me and didn't know her- well, that is upsetting to me, even if it is illogical, and even if you cannot fully empathize with my feelings, or even agree with them... it is how i feel, and that i do not apologize for... because i owe... i'm all that's left of her... she deserved one hell of a lot better, one hell of a lot more, but i'm all there is... and no matter what the cost, even if i cannot create the kinds of lyrical monuments for her that i would wish, i can ensure that she never be disparaged, dishonored, whatever, because of my clumsy attempts at doing so... if you knew her, you would know... you'd see, you'd understand... but you didn't, and all i can do is ask you to please appreciate my feelings... and to understand, once and for all, that i meant, nor mean, malice to you, nor to anyone else..."}, {"response": 13, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (20:36)", "body": "(shit... first stirrings of post-poster's remorse)... (sorta like the deer poem, mystery girl)"}, {"response": 14, "author": "paula", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (22:10)", "body": "elke... im sorry if you found the request (to delete my topic) selfish, or rude. i realized that my topic, or even his (nicks), though i shouldnt really speak for him, wasnt just ours and ours alone. other people put into it their words, and their thoughts, and their poetry and i can see why you and other people would be offended when i, or he, ask for them to be deleted. i understand what nick feels, about his writing and how personal it is to him and i feel the same. so, im asking, as he is, to just del te me. us. him. no one else. it has nothing... NOTHING to do with anyone else. there is, in my conference, a peice of writing, from... leplep, i think it was, and if he wants, i could copy that and give it to him, if he doesnt want it erased along with my conference. i know there are some of nicks poetry in there, but im sure he has a copy of each. if anyone else has written something in there that they want saved, i can do that. ill go there and save it. or you can keep them there. or put them in another conference. or anything. its just my writing that i want gone. and, i know i s id it befere, just thought id repeat myself... it has nothing to do with anyone else."}, {"response": 15, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:03)", "body": "excuse me, folks, but it was not taken personally. since i retired the topics, there have been requests for pieces written there. that is still available to those who want it. nick: don't think anyone would've desecrated your writing, nor anyone elses. and in the future, if you have something you want to say to me, do so in email, please. this isn't the place. poetry is not just written for one's own self, it is to be enjoyed. if you don't want anyone to misread it, for goodness sake, don't post it on a public conference board. and again, on behalf of myself and the other poetry readers/posters, we're sorry you feel this way. please find a place to continue your work, they were very good."}, {"response": 16, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:18)", "body": "I don't think that that is what was meant, either, there was a personal piece I wrote in one, and I thought it was gone...you see, for all I can remember, once I write it down, it is out of my head, gone...so when I thought that piece was irretrievably gone, I just wanted to let Wolf know to issue fair warning so that anyone may retrieve their words...unfortunately the way this place is set up, the ability to delete specific posts is turned off, you gotta wack the whole topic. I wasn't upset at Wolf for bouncing the topic (what is now retired is probably better off forgotten anyway...), or upset at anyone for wanting certain things deleted. I wish some things I've said weren't open for public display...but I said them and will deal with the cost of my freedom to speak. This does not mean that I don't understand about your all's points of view, either. I hate reading or listening to the \"experts\" talk about what someone's writing actually meant way after said person is dead...read it, enjoy it or not, but don't go digging throught it looking for flaws, or hidden meanings, or an antiquarian's idea of the historical context one should have to truly appreciate the writing. Personally, I feel the only fate worse than death, is a biography... now, everyone's friends again, right? and don't tell me you leavin' the Spring for good, Nick, 'cause you about the only sane male outside of Terry that posts on this place... and I have really enjoyed and appreciated your work, Paula, and hope to be exposed to it again at some point... and to you, Wolf, I apologize. I meant no harm when I asked for fair warning and am glad that you agreed to hostess this conference."}, {"response": 17, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:20)", "body": "(poster's note: post 16 should be read before post 15...Wolf is just too damn fast...)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:21)", "body": ""}, {"response": 19, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:22)", "body": ""}, {"response": 20, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:26)", "body": "do ya need to? gotta warn you though, I'm in a weird mood..."}, {"response": 21, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:27)", "body": "yeah? me, too! (and yes)"}, {"response": 22, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:29)", "body": "goin..."}, {"response": 23, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (00:30)", "body": "beat ya, mr. man!"}, {"response": 24, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (02:03)", "body": "Topic 19 of 23 [poetry]: Constructive Criticism for Your Host Response 8 of 23: Wolf (wolf) * Sun, Jul 5, 1998 (22:46) * 2 lines it's in the archives, sweety, i retired them....i had stuff in there too, and it was so nice of the person who requested the deletion to think of us.... (you're right, elke... some sentiments are best expressed via e-mail)... as far as the hazards of posting my stuff on public boards... well, again, you're right... i won't do it again, not in any place where i don't have absolute control over it... thank you for the practical demonstration re: why... wer, of course \"still friends\" and all... didn't know (wasn't sure) re: the ability to target specific responses for deletion... did find the poem you were speaking of, and mailed it to you (hope you've received it)... it just never occurred to me when i posted my poetry here that it would be here permanently... i'm glad you understand... (thanks)"}, {"response": 25, "author": "jgross", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (04:31)", "body": "Paula, I got mine---no need to copy it for me....thanks....your mystery will never die, as long as I'm alive....I plan on bein' alive through the year 4068. Nick, I see what you're sayin' about the effect words have on you---quite intelligible; and it felt good to see you saying you like your writings in a temporary setting (that attitude just appeals to me)---I like to post poems in non-poetry topics (it's not the same feeling as a preference for temporary posting, but it's outside standard procedure, for some strange personal or subjective or demented reason). Wolfie, I can see your new hosting role is going through some tough challenges for you, as you are someone who wants to care for everyone's different best interests. In this kind of emotion-packed situation, it's easy for each of us to feel the pressure and to say things that will step on people's toes or cause some or all to wince. Of course, this is the place for that kind of thing to happen---constructive criticism (and reactions to it) isn't always perfectly constructed. It makes sense to me that e ch of us responded the way we did.....it's an interesting experience to respect that. Couldn't a whole topic be copied to a file outside of Spring, then delete certain responses from it, then copy the remains back to this space right here where it says \"Enter your response in the area below:\", then click on the 'Submit response' button, then archive that?"}, {"response": 26, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (06:31)", "body": "Oh, come on!!! Stop patronizing Wolf! She had all the right in the world to react like that - just because she was the one being criticized doesn't mean she can't defend herself, for heaven's sake!! Everyone has the right to criticize another, but just so does the one being criticized also have the right to defend him/herself - what on earth is wrong with that? - yet alot of you people have a major problem with that. I mean WHAT? People can't always just say, oh, thank you so much for telling me I'm this and that even though it's not true, and I should have done this and that like you would have done it, how very kind of you to point that out, and you one hundred percent right, EVERY time they get criticized for something. Have they no right to explain their side of the story too?! Have they no right to have and express an own opinion about the matter? Oh no, I forgot, having an opinion that happens to be different just makes one selfish and egotistical around here. If Wolf felt she was being criticized unfairly in this case, I think she was absolutely right, because I thought so too. I merely tried to stay out of it because of unpleasant past experiences with just that sort of thing. But i won't stay out any longer, no matter what you or anyone else thinks of me. All I have ever seen of Wolf has shown me that she is kind, and considerate, and not the sort of person do just do things in her own interest all the time (if you want to accuse someone of that, then here I am - if you have the guts to take me on). Yet from the moment she became host here no-one could be bothered in the slightest to show her the same kindness and consideration she hands out with such ease and grace to others, and that I very much criticize right now. It would have been a hell of a lot more helpful to her if people could actually be of help instead of just telling her about all the things she was doing wrong. You people think you can just jump in and criticize left and right, and hey, everyone remains friends all through it - as long as the one in that position takes it without complaining and standing up for him/herself once in a while. NO, then you're only too quick to get on your little horses, playing the poor unfairly treated one ever so convincingly. Well, I think that should stop. Not all of us around here are crawlers, and for that I applaud you, Wolf. If we want to criticize others, then we should also be prepared to BE criticized. Wolf, I am sorry this topic has turned so unpleasant for you. Just want you to know that you have ALL my support ALL the way ALWAYS. Jim, it's just my luck that you had to be the last person to respond - this is not directed against you specifically; but seeing as I'm in your black book anyway I decided that responding at this point wasn't going to make much of difference, and I just had to. I couldn't bear it any longer."}, {"response": 27, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (07:43)", "body": "take YOU on????? (who in the hell are you?) you and emily (BRONTE, for crissakes) have been here 2 1/2 minutes... and already... christ, listen to yourself... you have no idea what's going on here (but when has that ever mattered, right?)... well, you and emily (bronte) have a nice time here, okay? elke... really sorry... hope you get over being mad... but that (just posted above) was precisely what the hell i was talking about (when i wrote you)... ugghhh, you know?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (09:11)", "body": "You know, Nick, that's exactly, precisely the sort of reaction I expected to my response, and it merely proves my point about those who criticize so easily not being able to take being criticized themselves. And you obviously only bothered to read the bits which could potentially threaten your fragile ego - didn't bother to read the rest of it. Sorry, I don't think I need to have an idea about poetry when I see a person being treated unfairly - I will jump in, because THAT IS who the hell I am. I can't stand seeing a nice person like Wolf get treated unfairly. But I think we both agree about it, so let's have truce for her sake, and make this conference a pleasure for her to host."}, {"response": 29, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (09:23)", "body": ""}, {"response": 30, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (12:18)", "body": "Cheesecake??? Have no idea how to bake it, so some people around here will think me out of line expressing an opinion on it, I'm sure; yet that will not deter me from saying that I just LLLLUUUUUVVVV cheesecake. Just the sort of thing to soothe the temper too. Which reminds me of something: Nick, you accuse me of expressing an opinion on something I have no idea about, yet you express pretty wild opinions on persons (Emily Bront\ufffd, who by the way is considered a VERY important figure in English poetry, as well as me) - both of whom YOU have no idea about. Doesn't that kinda devalue the whole statement you were trying to make about me? Wer, hand me some cheesecake - it's flarin' up again, I think. Yum-yum, that's better; tastes like flesh almost - do you put coriander in it? YUM-YUM!!!"}, {"response": 31, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (15:57)", "body": "Nick, Paula, Jim, WER, Elke... thank you for sharing your poetry with us. As sad as I was to see the emotion and the smudges of the past evaporate into cyberspace, I am happy to have been exposed and thus so deeply affected (in more ways than one)to your vivid pleasure, pain, ecstasy and heartache. The emotions were real, they made me think, feel, want and desire. As you may, or may not, have noticed, I have been far too insecure and possibly even selfish to share personal works with you... because either I don't trust all of you or else I value your collective opinion too grea ly to risk sharing more parts of me. (Oddly enough, I believe the latter may be a bit more accurate). Anyway, thanks. Your thoughts will never be abused in my heart or in my mind and I will keep some of those emotions very close for years to come."}, {"response": 32, "author": "jgross", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (17:56)", "body": "Emotions that attribute negative motives (or actions or reactions) to others are sometimes very difficult to express constructively, am I right? When those kind of emotions lash out vehemently they can often tend to cause a backlash of the same provoked emotions in others. Short term, that may be quite satisfying to get that release, for example we might feel we're communicating tremendous honesty. Long term, it may leave a mark that can produce a negative influence. We can learn about this together and mature together. I'm not saying we should, I'm asking does anyone else see this as a positive? I would like to suggest that when any of us feels real incited about something that bothers us, that we try a few things at that time: We could begin by seeing if it's possible to move into a perspective that is cool, calm, collected and friendly. With a certain amount of humility, we could first try to understand, then try to be understood. We could stop and ask ourselves, \"How can I say this constructively? How can I put this proactively? How can I do that without neutering what I really feel, and yet be able to show in the words I use that I care about and respect the other person or people I'm talking/writing to?\" Anger is a very volatile energy to shoot from the hip with, and just one alternative (among many) might be to instead simply state what we feel are the issues from all sides, then state what is upsetting for us about those issues with the desire to be one contributor among many to the solution, a solution where we would like to do what we can to help jointly arrive at beneficial results, and to help them be borne out of fairness and understanding. We can feel that the issues could take a little talking out (that we can't vanguish the problem with one slashing group of assertions or convictions) and that we might like to kindle well-disposed (non-agressive) cordiality as the responses go round in the talking out of it. We can see that those who see things much differently from how we see things, we can see that as being a natural healthy result of how we're all living through very different experiences in life. When we see negative, pumped up (or even trumped up) emotions in another, we can be the first to take the initiative to offer a peacemaking gesture, then proceed with the rest of our response, without then attempting to place expectations or pressure on their heads to conform to acting (or saying) what we want them to. If our responses are clear and specific and connect up with the facts by not playing loose with our logic, then the others listening will be enabled to follow more easily what we're attempting to say and mean....they can more likely respond receptively, though not necessarily agreeing with us, of course. It can be seen as important to be sincere and concise and to carry that to the others with a certain innocent poise and mercy, while being firm, forthright, and somehow conveying a genuine desire to reach out in a fellow effort to bring to the table what is good, in the way of progress and solution. We could even try listening with our hearts to the other's heart (you mean even when we're hopping mad? Surprisingly so, especially then). We can ask them how they feel about what we just said, rather than just telling them off. If we do right to others, they might do right to us. Ya gotta do unto others like you'd have 'em do unto you. These things take practice and some reflection and some gradual development over the long haul. I gotta long ways to go with it, myself, I know (we all know). Are we learning together about this? Are we interested? Do we have markedly different viewpoints on this? Hello, I'm Leppy, I'm purty new here.....as you can see, I'm only just adding another dot to the background of the newspaper photographic image....I is only a leeetle part of the picture....ya didn't know that, either?....so good to know."}, {"response": 33, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (18:29)", "body": "no need to apologize to me, nick. riette, stacey, leplep, wer (yes, i will take a piece) thank you for your support. this is NOT the place to air our grievances, especially when each person only has their own side. yes, i was quick about taking out the topic, silly me, i thought it was something to be done quickly (per your tone, nick) and in doing so, i forgot about all the other pieces in there and wer called me on it. so let's just stop all this damn bickering. alright?"}, {"response": 34, "author": "jgross", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (22:36)", "body": "if any your poetry wants to come out and play in the Spring time, Stacey well, we're standing here in the mud we wanna see what our new friend looks like she doesn't wish she would've stayed home does she? look---a yellow leaf just fell off....it coulda fallen into her hand i would've wanted to see her face when that happened i would've wanted to secretly receive her"}, {"response": 35, "author": "riette", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (01:40)", "body": "Have any of you tasted Wer's cheesecake? Wonderful stuff, I tell you! Here, I'll cut it - hold out your plates."}, {"response": 36, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (02:49)", "body": "yes, LePlep, i think it has turned into a positive... and, yes, the leaf and Stacey received each other, she just doesn't say much about stuff like that because she sometimes mistakes it as a weakness, and she can't stand that because it dulls her competitive edge...I think *wink* and Wolf, I love the announcement in the header...that is above and beyond what I was asking...you're doing great!"}, {"response": 37, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (15:08)", "body": "mistakes it as a weakness... maybe. certainly as a door to the inside of me..."}, {"response": 38, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (15:12)", "body": "and how is you, today?"}, {"response": 39, "author": "wer", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (14:31)", "body": "I fixed your pawprint, Wolf..."}, {"response": 40, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (14:34)", "body": "if'n the 'you' is referring to me then... i'm just groovy. field trip to the fire station was fun and THANKFULLY uneventful in the way of accidents. gonna strap on the skates and go to it for a few hours!"}, {"response": 41, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (18:12)", "body": "spent a long time dancing with a yellow leaf today Leplep..."}, {"response": 42, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (22:40)", "body": "thanks, wer *hug* stacey: didja have fun? i spent the day cleaning house and laundry, woohoo!"}, {"response": 43, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Jul 12, 1998 (21:29)", "body": "riette, i apologize for the tone of my last response... as well as for the disparaging remarks i made re: emily bronte's poetry... (considering where i am, actually surprised to still be breathing after that)... it seemed to me that you weighed into a situation that you weren't totally informed about, and made judgements that were only half-formed, as a result, that only exascerbated an already sort of emotionally volatile situation... actually, that is what you did... but i'm hardly one to throw stones re: this sort of thing, having done precisely the same thing myself a few times... (notably when i perceived mike was being attacked by the droolers... my comments, i realize, were not particularly helpful)... undoubtedly, your motivation was a good one, though... and i am genuinely sorry for the way in which i responded... please do not inhibit your participation here, or anywhere, on my account... it isn't necessary, i promise... leplep, your words were wise, and appreciated... i think what you wrote (resp. 32) is an excellent guide to the kind of relations we should try to maintain here... don't know that i'm up to it (possessing, as it were, the most fanatic of \"fanatic hearts\")... but i will try... and... (shit)... i owe you an apology, too... i responded inappropriately to a thing you wrote awhile back, in this conference... it was posted in the topic \"the kiss\"... and it was my perception that you were disparaging a thing i'd posted some time back, a thing called \"raison d'etre\"... that was written about... someone i was rather sensitive about, guess you could say... felt, at that moment, as if \"she\" was being disparaged, illogical as that sounds (illogical being among my particular areas of speciality)... mystery girl has been telling me ever since that i was being an idiot... (yeah, she knows i'm an idiot sometimes... doesn't seem to mind... which is a very good thing, because i'm afraid it's congenital or something)... and, as much as i hate to admit that she was right (because, god, she really LOVES being right), she was... and i'm sorry for what i said... elke... (shit) what can i say? i hope we're still friends... i wish you nothing but the best (you should know that)... and i hope you invigorate this conference, do it proud and everything... (just don't color everything pink, okay?)... wer... an intrinsic part of being a great warrior is to value peace... you make peace with the best of em... (luck with the cheesecake) stacey... nomb... but you should post some of your poetry... it would be a privilege to share it..."}, {"response": 44, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul 13, 1998 (03:16)", "body": "Nick, seems to me we all just had a hard week last week. Did you have a look at the other conferences last week? Did you notice how EVERYONE got into a fight with everyone? And after your rebuke I was quite happy to stay out of it, I can tell ya! But it really wAS a crazy week, and you and me were by far not the only ones. It was not nice, but perhaps we just ALL needed to get something off our chest, and it's probably better for us to target each other for that, rather than take our frustrations out on our loved-ones - so in that sense, I think it was positive. Thank you Wer, STacey, Jim for maintaining a measure of sanity during that crazy week."}, {"response": 45, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Aug 22, 1998 (02:51)", "body": "did the new bars I put in run everyone off? I didn't think they were that distasteful... speaking of, the contest previously mentioned is this Sunday..."}, {"response": 46, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug 22, 1998 (12:04)", "body": "hey wer, the bars are off-center on my screen. what's up with that? i dunno why everyone left. do i smell or something?"}, {"response": 47, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Aug 22, 1998 (13:46)", "body": "I haven't adjusted the template... thought of how I shoulda done it after I already had... can't smell nothing through my screen..."}, {"response": 48, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug 22, 1998 (20:31)", "body": "well, when i visit this site during lunch break at work the bars are centered (but i have a larger screen). wonder why...."}, {"response": 49, "author": "riette", "date": "Sun, Aug 23, 1998 (16:19)", "body": "Computer poetry!"}, {"response": 50, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug 23, 1998 (17:16)", "body": "is this a suggestion, riette? you know, i want to bring more people here and i visit several sites via webrings, but i don't want to be like *whispering* the fab market babe and sort of push myself onto them. how do i go about bringing outside poets here?"}, {"response": 51, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Aug 24, 1998 (03:00)", "body": "Don't know - looks to me like we've managed to scare all the others off already!!! Have you noticed that we're the only two here?!?!? But perhaps it's understandable - what with you being a wolf, and me being a boer.... Now, about the webrings..... Why don't you plant the odd mysterious looking little paw print amongst their poetry-like conferences, with a hyperlink to poetry? I don't know how that works - can you do that? Don't advertise yourself - just the paw, perhaps make it flicker or something to make it more alluring; surely ONE or TWO are going to want to see where it takes them. I mean, the Fabulous Market UNCOOLbabe went wrong in that she was so totally unsubtle about her intentions! I mean, she practical y threw herself at us, open legs and all. And the minute she caught poor Terry and Wer in her fabulous net, she dropped them like rotten potatoes! ha-ha!!! Actually the whole business was pretty hilarious to me!!!"}, {"response": 52, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Aug 24, 1998 (11:04)", "body": "Yep, our babe cheated us and ran off. Probably she's doing the same thing with some other unsuspecting gents down the line. Wham, bam, thank you m'am! Go for it wolfie, subtle plane them!"}, {"response": 53, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Aug 24, 1998 (16:47)", "body": "And you and Wer fell for her!!!! HA-HA!!!! Gullible pair of innocents!"}, {"response": 54, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Aug 24, 1998 (17:41)", "body": "Yep, innocent."}, {"response": 55, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Aug 25, 1998 (02:06)", "body": "Suppose it was inevitable with your being a virgin and all....."}, {"response": 56, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Aug 25, 1998 (02:23)", "body": "Yep, yep. Keep spreading those rumors, good work!"}, {"response": 57, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Aug 25, 1998 (06:30)", "body": "HEY PEOPLE, THERE'S A VIRGIN FREE FOR THE TAKING ON SPRING NET!!!"}, {"response": 58, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Aug 31, 1998 (00:47)", "body": "there's several, actually... so, what do you think of the current redesign, Wolf?"}, {"response": 59, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Sep  1, 1998 (02:13)", "body": "I take it you mean yourself, muffin, and so we'll go slow with you... I know you didn't ask me, but I think Poetry is looking totally cool! THis is a really nice green, and the little colourful lines inbetween are great! Easy to read as well, unlike some of these silly conferences with their silly, over the top colours that no-one can make a thing out of! I don't know who the hell gets it into their heads to design crap like that!"}, {"response": 60, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Sep  1, 1998 (11:29)", "body": "haha!! Yeah, wer, i forgot to say that i do like the changes. we need to put our heads together to do something about the buttons (you know, previous topic and all that)...."}, {"response": 61, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Sep 23, 1998 (06:33)", "body": "you know, this used to be a pretty interesting topic itself... didja notice, Wolf, that on the add a link option on Main Menu that a poet has added a link to his web pages? and, the last I looked, he was the only one that had done so?"}, {"response": 62, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep 23, 1998 (09:09)", "body": "yes i had. this place used to be hoppin'. i don't know what happened. for me, i've been really busy. my muse has taken a sabatical!"}, {"response": 63, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Mar 15, 1999 (01:49)", "body": "Hi, Wolf!"}, {"response": 64, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Mar 15, 1999 (17:54)", "body": "hi wer! i was afraid someone was giving me a hard time about the lack of activity here. i don't know if everyone has writer's block like me or have left due to lack of interest. whatever it is, i'm sorry it's empty here."}, {"response": 65, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Mar 15, 1999 (22:52)", "body": "me, too, maybe this'll spark some activity again!"}, {"response": 66, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (20:58)", "body": "May I give you a couple of suggestions for new topics, Wolf? I would like to see an Elizabeth Barrett Browning topic, and possibly one for French poetry (either in French or translations.) Whaddya say?"}, {"response": 67, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:08)", "body": "you got it!"}, {"response": 68, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:43)", "body": "...we're doing our level best to keep this anthology afloat..."}, {"response": 69, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:45)", "body": "(...in response to a comment made some time ago...) Thanks for the wonderful new topics - especially for Ogden Nash...*grin*"}, {"response": 70, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:52)", "body": "couldn't do it without you!! *hugs* you all, please help me stay afloat here as my muse seems to have vanished without a ransom note or anything! haven't read poetry in awhile, either (aside from what's posted here). so if you come up with more topics, gimme a holler!"}, {"response": 71, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:56)", "body": "Will think on it. For you, Wolfie, anything! *hugs*"}, {"response": 72, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:16)", "body": "Might we have a William Wordsworth topic for John??? Please?"}, {"response": 73, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:24)", "body": "I second the motion!"}, {"response": 74, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:30)", "body": "...ah Romanticism...may it flourish and increase under our care and tending!"}, {"response": 75, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:30)", "body": "Thank you, ladies!"}, {"response": 76, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:35)", "body": "...ah Romanticism...may it flourish and increase under our care and tending!"}, {"response": 77, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (01:36)", "body": "we're steaming up the spring again - it is double posting stuff...not I!"}, {"response": 78, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (19:39)", "body": "yes, i'll put up a woodsworth topic!"}, {"response": 79, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (19:54)", "body": "Many thanks!!! I habve just posted his magnum opus, I think!"}, {"response": 80, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (20:15)", "body": ""}, {"response": 81, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (21:51)", "body": "you're so welcome!"}, {"response": 82, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Aug 29, 2003 (14:09)", "body": "ok guys, i dunno what's going on with this page but all the pictures are GONE (as if you can't tell for yourself). your host is also suffering from the biggest writer's block ever but don't let that stop you from posting your stuff."}, {"response": 83, "author": "zx6rider", "date": "Fri, Oct  8, 2004 (16:31)", "body": "is this a dead topic? has everyone gone somewhere else? Wolf... I need a guide dog sweetie."}, {"response": 84, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct  9, 2004 (12:09)", "body": "not a dead topic by far, your host is trying to recover from writer's block! it's just, um, hybernating, yeah, that's it. hopefully, i'll be able to tend to this conference as my work schedule is much more predictable! glad to see you around again, gena!!"}, {"response": 85, "author": "zx6rider", "date": "Sat, Oct  9, 2004 (17:31)", "body": "glad to be here wolf! hey email me off list... I lost your web address, or rather I had an old one. Nothing there now ;-)"}, {"response": 86, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 2004 (09:33)", "body": "I didn't know that wolves hibernated. Then you're definitely not the average wolf, Wolfie."}, {"response": 87, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 2004 (17:16)", "body": "*laugh* a previously undiscovered species, that's me. gena, my website is in dire need of updating and i've been trying to get together with terry to get my files on line (have 2 now--midnightwolf.net and .com). will let you know when that happens (but be patient) *giggle*"}, {"response": 88, "author": "zx6rider", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 2004 (20:03)", "body": "You want some help? I'm home almost all the time. I have Frontpage. I have an FTP program. Email me (spazzdog@comcast.net) and we can discuss. Now, since this is the Poetry Forum: Roses is red Violets is blue Make me stop rhyming Before I boo-hoo I feel better... hate hijacking topics off road."}, {"response": 89, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 2004 (21:53)", "body": "thanks for your offer, gena, i've got those programs too, it's just a matter of getting them to transfer to the correct location on the spring server! your poem sounds like a blues song! i can just hear it! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 2, "subject": "-=-=-=-= poetry corner =-=-=-=-", "response_count": 163, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "cat", "date": "Fri, Dec 20, 1996 (15:42)", "body": "Very few people here Terry! When I see him my heart skips a beat When he speaks my heart flutters When he askes her out my heart breaks When she turns him down I pick up the pieces If he speaks my name I would give myself to him I wonder... Can it be love?"}, {"response": 2, "author": "PrestonFKirk", "date": "Sat, Feb  8, 1997 (15:45)", "body": "Terry: I suspect that the Valentine season has opened the gates to much ] romantic poetry. But I enjoy what I am reading. Thanks for the website and opportunity to post some of my poetry for others to enjoy...er...read. MARTIN I am a smiling monk among solemn priests. I am a disonant voice among a capella chants. While others sleep uncomfortably, I like awake in my simple cell And wonder at His being. Sweetness others find in Christmas pudding, I find in the unleavened bread. Others pray for miracles, I pray for courage. Easing a dusty foot from my sandal, I cool it on the cobblestones. Forgive, forgive. Preston F. Kirk"}, {"response": 3, "author": "hummie", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (16:21)", "body": "i'll have to go find some..."}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (18:47)", "body": "please . . . that would be *wonderful*"}, {"response": 5, "author": "hummie", "date": "Mon, Jun 23, 1997 (15:34)", "body": "yes, i'll have to find some stuff. it's a while since i've posted poetry anywhere."}, {"response": 6, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Jun 23, 1997 (15:34)", "body": "that would be very cool of you."}, {"response": 7, "author": "hummie", "date": "Tue, Aug  5, 1997 (19:01)", "body": "i like my hand when it is in your hand; your hand is large and strong and very safe. (you are so tall i think you are a redwood tree) my fingers peek out from between your fingers, smiling. (you are the rosevine, flower and thorn) i like my hand even more when both of your hands are wrapped around it, and your eyes shoot sparks at me.(you are lovely and mysterious like a shooting star)"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Vanessa", "date": "Thu, Dec 25, 1997 (19:54)", "body": "Return to me, my darling Until the world is no longer dizzy And love has given up Love me until our life dies Until your deadly gaze is turned away I'm drowning in this air, This space you try to leave me in Realize now, no matter how far you push me away, I'll still love you deep down Denial was fun Moments of peace now forgotten Replaced by a constant recollection of you So now to who do I turn? Gave uo the only one I'll always truly love deep down Confused and scared But pushing my limits In my mind I know I'm just fooling myself But my heart aches for the love we once shared And my mind again interrupts This time mind and heart collaborating Both hoping for the impossible deep down."}, {"response": 9, "author": "Vanessa", "date": "Fri, Jan  2, 1998 (13:26)", "body": "\"Icicles\" I see the icicles melting outside my window The sun ending their sharp, cold existance So beautiful, but so hurtful Dangerous combination you might say Something so harmless in any other form So needed by the world to survive, But such a horror and destructor too Ending lives, creating fear But still needed by all A metaphor for love really And what of the sun? The sun that melts away those feared factors Symbolizing compassion and understanding I hope that happens today I hope the sun helps me melt away the icicles"}, {"response": 10, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Fri, Jan  2, 1998 (14:12)", "body": "nice"}, {"response": 11, "author": "Vanessa", "date": "Fri, Jan  2, 1998 (18:21)", "body": "thank you"}, {"response": 12, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Jan  3, 1998 (18:45)", "body": "(hope so, too) very pretty, amanda..."}, {"response": 13, "author": "stazja", "date": "Sat, Jan 31, 1998 (08:55)", "body": "Let's populate the planet tango love the musical maestro conducting affairs of the heart since the start of the human race primitive man and woman stepping out of the cave first date on a Saturday night first neandrethal fred astaire grabbed his ginger by the hair his way of asking can I have this dance dragging her out on the dirtball dance floor stomped and trompled her toes doing the hey baby let's populate the planet tango love a rhythm section percussionist pounding blood in the veins midnight cat prowlers making the night scene snapping their pool hall fingers tapping their bar stool feet grooving on timeless beat beautiful women wearing i'm ready dresses drumming love me s.o.s.'es men sporting leather jackets stencilled on the back i'm no good but I want you tonight world tour same old standard new rendition doing the hey baby let's populate the planet tango \ufffd 1997 anastasia"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Sat, Jan 31, 1998 (10:04)", "body": "this was neat, liked it!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Jan 31, 1998 (15:28)", "body": "yeah, i liked that a lot..."}, {"response": 16, "author": "stacey", "date": "Sun, Feb  1, 1998 (12:30)", "body": "ditto. thanks for the post stazja!"}, {"response": 17, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Wed, Mar 11, 1998 (11:09)", "body": "The Fields of Wheat I shall ride my horse And sit tall on his back. I will follow the wind As it touches the yellow Wheat mixed with green. Will you be on the trail? The sound of leather Beneath my seat is Soothing as the whinny Of the stallion. He snorts the dust from His nostrils, flaring. He begins a slow trot, With a firm click of My tongue. I can see Smoke from a fire Up ahead, but the sun Is at my back, warm. The fields of wheat are Endless all around us. The wind plays in my hair, My steed's mane and tail. We respond in glee As the wind takes us. I see something move Between the rows just ahead. And I call out a name That I know from dreams. Pulling to a stop, listen, \"Here am I, come to me.\" Together we ride among The wheat fields, laughing."}, {"response": 18, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Tue, Jun  2, 1998 (22:16)", "body": "She Did What She Do (it's okay with me if it is with you) a night of moonlight on the water holds her afloat a night of moonlight on the water keeps her afloat you were watching, but what you were thinking sank your boat knowledge tears easily when she turns and says goodbye knowledge tears easily when she turns and says goodbye you know you're being talked to when she smiles and tells you why she pets the werewolves she thinks for the saints the pets the werewolves she thinks for the saints when they try to go without she catches the first who faints she'll sketch you something just to get you involved she'll sketch you something just to get you involved then you watch your biggest problem be completely solved she always answers your letters by calling you on the phone she always answers your letters by calling you on the phone but when you hear her voice it sounds like your own she blends in like a chameleon she changes like the wind she moves like a chameleon she gets through like the wind if you show a little heart she'll want you to come in"}, {"response": 19, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Wed, Jun  3, 1998 (04:08)", "body": "liked this, nice movement..."}, {"response": 20, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Jun  3, 1998 (17:01)", "body": "thank you for sharing with us. the chameleon imagery is in my head and i like the smile i have on my face."}, {"response": 21, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Wed, Jun  3, 1998 (18:39)", "body": "could be that the second stanza of it stepped out into Response 20 and sorta came alive could i also sorta cover that back up? I mean that notion didn't occur to me until a few minutes ago I mean, please also keep in mind that a good home has been found for me --the SPCA gave me the number of a Mr. River Phoenix or wait, was that a Mr. Kurt Cobain? no, a Mr. P.J. Harvey I'm okay, I'm just, y'know, trying to slip out of an embarrassing moment --why do i feel so precariously self-conscious all the time...? ...why does my self-worth always have to wear a condom...?"}, {"response": 22, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jun  3, 1998 (21:46)", "body": "hey, at least yours is protected..."}, {"response": 23, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Wed, Jun  3, 1998 (23:11)", "body": "self-consciousness and self-worth. i think mine are so unstable because i want stuff i can't have. or that just aren't there. i could actually be getting alot outa what i do have. and that if i did that, it would create more. not more in quantity. more in quality or something. it would be healthy. like giving instead of taking. some of my desires flow and are cool. some are disconnected and loopy and camouflaged in what they're not. they're like pop-up emotions that poke out of inner schisms. and with a suddenness that made it feel like it seemed okay at the time. but quickly gets reduced to being outflanked by reality in no time. and there i am once again, down on my hands and knees, trying to clean up the silly mess with a bucket and a big sponge. like there was something i did morally wrong and shoulda known better. that makes me shudder about it so i can't go up high, let it go easy and sure, and then see it go in....swiiishhhhh. the abstractness of talking this way is the condom. it protects me from emotional growth, is all. another embarrassing mess to clean up with my guilt. seething with dumbness. too stuck to get unstuck."}, {"response": 24, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Jun  4, 1998 (09:21)", "body": "what do you want that you cannot have?"}, {"response": 25, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Thu, Jun  4, 1998 (18:45)", "body": "I'm red as a beet. you really put it on the line. let's see, just one two three four five six seven eight words. yikes. what i want is inside a fantasy. therefore the \"cannot have\". Because in this case the fantasy is: your love not the \"I love you all\" love and I knew my fantasy was just that yet it still ventured inside and snagged a piece of me it crashed through into the associations migrating from the poem's stanza that made it more lurid my emotions were sillily bewitched by the succulence contained in the experience --I knew it was a flash experience gone as quick as it arrived and I know it's not that I can't have love and I know I can't have that kind of love from you but fantasy, y'know, what can I do, y'know. --this make you uncomfortable? --I being too truthful? --you appreciate knowing what I meant, rather than not knowing? I don't know what else to say...."}, {"response": 26, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Fri, Jun  5, 1998 (04:26)", "body": "this makes me uncomfortable. need to go lie down........."}, {"response": 27, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Jun  5, 1998 (09:05)", "body": "no Leplep, it doesn't make me uncomfortable and I do apologize for putting you on the spot. Your response does make me curious though. My love? As in Stacey? Or the love of a woman in general? Or the love of a fantasy woman that has been created by you or by the interactions on the Spring? And then I suppose I'd ask why depending on your answer to the first question. You cannot usually be TOO truthful. Especially not when you're asked a direct question. Unless, that is, someone is trying to play with your head and make you jump through hoops and find fault with any response. And I wasn't trying to do any of those things."}, {"response": 28, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Fri, Jun  5, 1998 (16:05)", "body": "I was expecting more of a Wolf reaction from you, Stacey. This society that we live in, the way men act toward women compared to the way women act toward men, and that break-in where you live, that kinda thing in overall accumulation can make men affect women with a mindset of anxiety. I know.....it's a complicated issue that can be looked at in many ways. It's hard to answer your question because it was a daydream that hit and in an instant was gone. I can't remember it at all as far as what actually happened. Maybe it was like if a tornado hit, and what people remember is their memories of the tornado rather than the actual I-am-there-now experience, because that's impossible....and then the memories change slightly and so on. And maybe that was a crummy analogy. My guess is that it was a combination of 2 of the possibilities you suggested, with the one out being the love of a woman in general. See, I got confused by the time I read your third one, because when I read your first one I thought it probably was that (your love, as in Stacey). Then when I read your second one (love of a woman in general) I thought it was probably not that. Then when I read your third one, my first thought was how could it be anything but that. Then I thought back to the first one and thought (guessed) your meaning of it was probably a little closer to what I actually experienced. It's not something I can say I know. The 'Why?' is real interesting. Fantasies are fantasies. They happen. They're beyond my control. What is within my control is what I make of the fantasy experience now. Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone wants to be loved by someone they would love to be loved by. Fantasy jumps in. Sometimes it takes a catalyst. A catalyst can subvert reality for a mechanism (fantasy) that feeds on non-reality. I'm sure this can be taken on and on, as far as why I had a fantasy. We all have fantasies. Why that one, though? Why was I primed to have it? Why was I susceptible to that fantasy? Well, uh, beet red again, that's the whole thing, it's embarrassing to say.... You have certain qualities that are very attractive in my imagination that I got from Spring, that I got from what the actual Stacey created with your actual words (input) in topics, and from what others inputted and I inputted in reaction to your inputs....it's all that mixing together. There are lower level fantasies that happen all the time that are verbalized all the time and not just on the couch in Philosophy. All the time, doesn't mean every response, it means somebody will usually verbalize that fantasy kinda thing about another person in some form every day. I do it with everyone: Autumn is statuesque, Wolf is funny and folksy and expressive, Riette is uncannily invigorating and revealing. That's silly saying Autumn is statuesque, cuz she's lotsa cool stuff. I was being simplistic about all three. But with each one there is an attraction. There is a fantasy of what would it be like to see them. What would it be like if they got to really like me. What would it be like if some of those couch things really happened. Fantasy drives the casual informality of how we do Spring sometimes, not all the time. A healthy Spring means a healthy fantasy (when we're talkin' about fantasy, that is). A healthy Spring means a lot more than just healthy fantasies, of course. Is this helping any? Am I making much sense? Isn't this worthwhile to bring up? I'm attracted to certain qualities of wer, too. It's not just attraction, it's also fantasy. I've fantasized that wer and i were together hangin' out and I was takin' in his qualities, albeit not in a romantic or erotic or love sense, except love of his brilliance and humor and personality, certain qualities of all three. The fantasy I had of you, Stacey, I can't recall if it occurred during or after I read your response to my poem, remember the fantasy was very short-lasting, maybe 5 seconds or less. But it was not a usual fantasy. It had an added potency. That's why I mentioned it, or one reason why. There's something I couldn't say about it till now, and I don't know why I'm saying this (the rest of this sentence) but this might have more to do with your second possibility (the love of a woman in general) than the other two possibilities. Here's what I couldn't say till now: the fantasy itself (don't forget, this is more like a memory of a memory at this point) somehow made it all the way in and touched my soul. I mean, what I'm saying is, even though it happened, and it was what it was, the fantasy that it was, it also was of a quality of feeling pure, heartfelt and innocent....oops I just remembered that I had earlier remembered it as succulent....ok, it was pure, heartfelt, innocent and succulent. That's why I decided to override my fears of arousing suspicion and stirring up uncomfortability (even of the kind where a person may have to lie down). I just thought to myself, well, it happened. It's truth now, a fact, and a"}, {"response": 29, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Jun  5, 1998 (16:49)", "body": "no Jim, it wouldn't 'take one of' us for you to be gone. You are already a huge part of us. And I'd hate for, now that you feel you've revealed the previously unrevealable, that your position in my life whould remain stagnant. We all adore you. Or maybe I should only speak for myself. I understand a five second fantasy, heck, perhaps I'd understand more if you said you had it everytime you logged on to the spring. You see, I too have felt the twinge, the 'what if?' the 'what not?', the sense that perhaps ou understand me more completely than the man I sleep next to every night, the thought that perhaps you could touch me physically as deeply as you touch me mentally, spritually and virtually. I've thought it all. (and I've also been unable to express it) I didn't intend to 'call you out' but perhaps I'm glad I did. The fact that you have similar sensations makes mine seem not so unusual (or inappropriate) I like the fantasy, sometimes it causes me true physical sensations... warmth, anger, sadness, joy... all somewhere within the butterfly net in my middle and lower abdomen. I wonder what we would talk about over a beer, I wonder how you would react if I gave you a hug, I'd love to hear you laugh and to see the look on your face when you're nervous, or proud of yourself, or angry, or happy, or in love. I've printed out posts of yours, put them in my journal but somehow never thought... well, I just never thought. I enjoy the posts, I adore the poetry, I respect the stream of conscious musings and I'm sending you a smile via the electronic ether to let you know that everything is allright."}, {"response": 30, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Jun  5, 1998 (23:52)", "body": "thank you two for showing me how conversations between friends should be I applaud the both of you"}, {"response": 31, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Sat, Jun  6, 1998 (03:44)", "body": "yeah, thanks for showing me too, Stacey. that WAS a conversation. how do you do that? you seem to settle into such a perfectly natural personal circle of sharing. there's this word that's cruising on a fine line through my mind. innate innate innate it's innate with you. you're one of those ones who knows. I just had no idea a person could be that understanding. I've never had the feeling that I've been related to like that. I gotta find somebody in this Austin town to fall in love with. Someone who has real intelligence....REAL intelligence. Human intelligence....the kind that can grow wings....the kind that soars... Now I really see the worth. No one's ever brought that home to me like today. This is just amazing."}, {"response": 32, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Jun  8, 1998 (09:10)", "body": "(sitting here content) well I'm certainly glad we were able to work through that! and I am extremely grateful for the opportunity."}, {"response": 33, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Jun  8, 1998 (09:11)", "body": "By the way, if you don't mind, I'm taking the bit about good communication as a huge compliment (certainly not as flattery! *smile*) and... thank you."}, {"response": 34, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct 10, 1998 (20:31)", "body": "To Believe And should the light pale inbetween Or the shifting sky move to extreme, \"You would find shelter here,\" said He. When tall mountains fall into the sea And valleys fill up with Man's debris, \"You would find shelter here,\" said He. If all the Earth's treasures were held in the sky, The stars could all fall, the truth become lie, \"And you would find shelter here,\" said He. When they all scorn and sneer out your name, Should hate and love become one and the same, \"You would find shelter here,\" said He. We then raised our heads to see He who's higher, His arms stretched out with love never tire, \"Come and take shelter here,\" said He."}, {"response": 35, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Oct 12, 1998 (13:12)", "body": "that's really pretty wolf. I especially like the part about hate and love becoming the same and truth becoming lie."}, {"response": 36, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct 12, 1998 (20:49)", "body": "thanks...."}, {"response": 37, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Oct 14, 1998 (12:24)", "body": "Very nice, Wolf."}, {"response": 38, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 14, 1998 (14:35)", "body": "t'anks *smile*"}, {"response": 39, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Oct 20, 1998 (19:44)", "body": "good work, elke... liked it very much..."}, {"response": 40, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (07:47)", "body": "thanks....you written anything lately?"}, {"response": 41, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (15:56)", "body": "nope... not really... not much poetry, anyway..."}, {"response": 42, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (17:40)", "body": "so you're writing other things? good....give us a sample sometime!"}, {"response": 43, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (17:48)", "body": "actually been doing a lot more reading than anything else... some other kinds of writing, like i said... but basically just trying to clear my head sort of kind of i guess..."}, {"response": 44, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (17:55)", "body": "did come up with something today....hmmmm, doesn't have any real stanzas or anything or any rhyme, for that matter...but once i started the words just wrote themselves, so i'm just going to post it the way it came out. Landscape Clouds of such that they were of a woman's white hair being blown by the breeze, perfectly accented by the deep, soft blue of the sky. Have I ever seen eyes the color of a clear day, surely I would remember. The kind of heaven one could lose themself staring into while lying on the green grass, soft. Who'd have thought a spring day in fall? God doth surely have a deft hand with His paintbrushes, a palette from which to choose. All the details not left off for the mind to wonder. All set just so when upon or afar this beautiful lanscape. And does He yet inspire a closer look for the eye to ponder a lady bug, butterfly, among the poppies in the meadow. Let me soul breathe this in, let me be one with Thy canvas. Indeed, as I am part of His marvelous work and thankful am I for being given such a gift."}, {"response": 45, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (17:58)", "body": "that's really lovely, elke... it's wonderful, feeling like that..."}, {"response": 46, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (18:04)", "body": "really? (well, i used the wrong version of me---let MY soul not ME soul) but you all knew what i meant *smile*"}, {"response": 47, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (18:04)", "body": "and it was like that today!"}, {"response": 48, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (18:08)", "body": "i'm in austin today... cold and sort of drizzly... (adam's family weather... i love it)"}, {"response": 49, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (18:16)", "body": "LOL! been like that all week here, love the cool down..."}, {"response": 50, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Oct 24, 1998 (19:38)", "body": "wrote this yesterday... (untitled) cold here now. fading light through the square little window above my bed mirrors in aspect cold- rhythms dead- imaged chaos in my head. i could- in a chosen instant could- decompose. each wasted breath, thought, want, sensory perception beating there- wash away. that i don't- this instant, next- means some little thing less. being man of Man- fool of Fools- given, thus am to subversion's rule- i subvert too. no less than any- undoubtedly so- that is the single rule of that i know- follow that light, however it goes- follow it, whether it to some store of love mislaid in a dreaming heart or within the blackest waste of that some way come dark- follow, whether you live at midnight or noon, whether your god speaks sun or moon- follow that light, dissolving through every spiralling eternity misspent upon your disappearing soul- (it is there i go, then to know- finally finally finally know- each little thing that's left to know) (\"remember him poor dreaming thing- didn't know, from one to next wherefore to think or go or be- he was swallowed up, finally, in his goddamn poetry pass the potatoes won't you please?\") (nick)"}, {"response": 51, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct 24, 1998 (20:09)", "body": "this is interesting (especially the last verse) so what have you been up to lately? it's nice to see your face around here again."}, {"response": 52, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Oct 26, 1998 (23:05)", "body": "pretty eventful, last few months actually... (paula jane and i were married, 2 weeks ago) been busy concluding business here, moving up northwest fulltime ('til she finishes this year's school, maybe next... she wants to finish at UT, so we'll be back then, maybe)... how bout you? how's work and stuff? kids? etc?"}, {"response": 53, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Oct 27, 1998 (05:24)", "body": "you're not gonna believe what i just did... (shit) (and not to change the subject or anything cause i still wanta know what's up with you and all)- -but i was vandalizing a couple of message boards randomly (very randomly, from the search at insidetheweb.com), posting something i wrote earlier today... and completely without realizing what in the hell i was doing, i posted at the planet (shit) (i mean, i just go there, paste and i'm out... don't even think about it till i'm done)... anyway, how's that for stupid?"}, {"response": 54, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 27, 1998 (08:08)", "body": "congratulations on your marriage, hope you are happy! me and the kids are doing great. can't believe how big they are. the hubby and i will be celebrating out tenth thursday. woohoo!!!"}, {"response": 55, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 27, 1998 (14:58)", "body": "nick, you actually got a comment over there at the planet. gypsy wants to know if you want that piece placed on the board. (oh, and my husband and i will be celebrating OUR not out-oh, well, maybe we WILL be celebrating out-haha)"}, {"response": 56, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:43)", "body": "I. M. Going With ee cumings serial enounters with life Beef - It's What's For Dinner - - - as freedom is a breakfastfood So Power is Uneven Tide or truth can live with right and wrong And Falsehood Dies with Yes and No or molehills are from mountains made And Moles Build Burrows Underground -- long enough and just so long Small Enough and Just that Hidden will being pay the rent of seem Won't Become Earns the Wages of Sin and genius please the talentgang Or Ignorance Annoy the Foolish One and water most encourage flame Or Darkness Snuff thy Tears of Joy -- ee cummings (1940) --I. M. Going (1999)"}, {"response": 57, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:44)", "body": "Peter Pan Poetry Slam | Solomonic Verse DeadLines | LifeLines --------- = --------- Oh, the Tick, Tick, Tock Of the Hungry Clock o Dial Fills My Churning Tummy With a Sick, Sick, Sock Of a Bitter Crock o Bile Up Against the RockWall | Salt Peanut Envy ----------------------- = ---------------- Hempathy Dempathy Sat on a Rock Hempathy Dempathy Sucked on a Sock Hempathy Dempathy Ate a Salt Peanut Hempathy Dempathy Jazzed Up Again"}, {"response": 58, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:50)", "body": "Mouna Kashama is hearing and speech impaired. She teaches mathematics and logic. Her name means \"silent forgiveness\" in Sanskrit. Here is her poem... silent forgiveness i forgive the mother i never knew for borning me with muffled ears i forgive the gods who tie my tongue and curse me with twisty uterus i thank the spirits who give me eyes to see and a nose to smell, and fingers to touch i thank my mentors who teach me to sign i thank my stars for numbers and books to all these angels i sing my praise... ...and to all my devils i sign my name mouna k'shama"}, {"response": 59, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:52)", "body": "A poem Dan Raphael wrote and posted at another site. NATO Expresses Its Regrets In the search through the ruins Sifting through the debris Stepping over the bodies Of those now made free You can find the card calling The appearance of jets The laser-wired message, \"NATO expresses regrets\" It is a real-life riddle A question writ in the sky-- To guard innocent people Innocent people must die And we never connect here With there in our sighs At-home killing with killing In the field NATO plies If this is the way out Of crisis chosen by rule Then why can't we see, then, This was taught us in school The classroom is our lives And to learn, our desire So why shock or surprise felt When kids open fire? Hospitals, refugees, embassies, Journalists, homes... NATO expresses our message Where the buffalo roam It is our mirror, our faces true This carnage carnival death Where we babble of peace And hand out bombs with one breath Those who live by it gather The same that they sow Why can't we just see it Why is it so hard to know Meantime, tell the parents Holding the parts of their child A story of protection Of all that is mild Weave them a fantasy world Sing a lovely, sweet song And console them with this thought: It shows we are *strong*"}, {"response": 60, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (17:06)", "body": "This poem is in the form of a Word Ladder for Autodidactics. Autotutor : Tooterado --------- . --------- Rock Rock : Rock Tock Tick Tock : Rock Sock Awe Toe : Two Tor Too Tor : Awe Toe Rock Tock : Tock Rock Tick Tock : Rock Sock Awe Toe : Two Tor Too Tor : Awe Doe Awe Toe : Too Tor Awe Toe : Two Tor Too Tor : Awe Toe Two Tor : Awe Doe Rock Rock : Tock Talk Talk Tock : Tick Tock Awe Toe : Two Tor Two Tor : Awe Doe ."}, {"response": 61, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (17:48)", "body": "((((Moulton))))))) We get to do poetry in a poetry Topic finally. Yahoooooooo!"}, {"response": 62, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (17:56)", "body": "Quantum Leap Who am I? I am... atomic particles, molecules... evolution1s tools which scatter in seeming chaos... second by second, hither and thither, in random projection... rock to fish, table to air, insect to rainbow, entity to non-entity... endless assimilation of form. I am...new meaning...a being one with the universe, composed of atoms, which make up clay and mountains air and space encompassed in one minuscule grain of sand on the farthest star. A part of cloud, raindrop, lightening and wind. I am...sacred text, written with a drop of ink, in which I am...but a dwarf of it's essence. I am...the essential part of steel tempered to make complaint new form... in the tear drop of the new born babe, as I was in the fluid of its mother1s womb or in the water flushed down toilets and sinks. Manifest in life or death1s decay... I am...the molecule that exists in the tip of a finger, claw, hoof, or fin. I travel the universe and beyond, existing as everything or nothing perceived by humans. \"I am..you and you are me, the walrus, the eggman cu cu ca choo...\" existing in a quantum reality of which you know little.. but through my existence you exist... creating all that is , and was, and ever shall be AMEN. I am... the universal blood which flows and binds the creator to the created... incarnate in the petty thief, holy man, perpetrator and victim alike. Partaking in the role of sage and fool... neither race, creed. nor philosophy create a boundary to the I am..I choose as my interim domicile. I blithely \"go where no humans have gone\" and yet where all humans are destined to have come from and return. Simply put... I am."}, {"response": 63, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (23:35)", "body": "that was quite a ride, thank you"}, {"response": 64, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (00:25)", "body": "Oops, I guess I blew it -- posted a poem in the Intro topic instead of here."}, {"response": 65, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (02:46)", "body": "don't worry about it!"}, {"response": 66, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (06:41)", "body": "No sweatinski."}, {"response": 67, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (09:52)", "body": "you can post anywhere you want. there are topics if you feel a piece belongs there."}, {"response": 68, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (11:51)", "body": "thanks! :)"}, {"response": 69, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 17, 1999 (21:51)", "body": "(((((Moonbeam))))) (Big Hug) Haven't the time to do more than say Hello. Great to see you in here. Has Pampee come in yet? I haven't slept in two nights so I will read everything when my brain clears up."}, {"response": 70, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Jul 17, 1999 (22:16)", "body": "sleep deprivation is the best condition to post in!!!"}, {"response": 71, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Jul 18, 1999 (15:17)", "body": "Yes perhaps, but sleep deprivation and crisis combined, do not make for a lucid state from which to post. (sad grin)"}, {"response": 72, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul 18, 1999 (23:41)", "body": "okay, I'll give you that one! and here's to hoping your crisis resolves quickly and beneficially!!"}, {"response": 73, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (02:25)", "body": "This is a poem I wrote some time back, but I would like to dedicate it to Moulton. Playgrounds Whatever happened to the playgrounds... filled with fantasy and dreams? Where all the neighborhood children from across the street and down the block met to play kick-the-can and hide-n-seek. Sidewalks...the boundaries, to Never Never Land, the Wild West, palaces, jungles or Mars, limited only by imagination. The playgrounds... forbidden to grownups, who appeared only as villains and witches come to drag home unwilling spacemen and princesses. The playgrounds still ring with gunshots... but today....children fall shattered like Humpty Dumpty never to be put together again. Pirate ships no longer sail the jewels buried are children. Playgrounds mark boundaries, speeding cars sail by spitting bullets followed by black cars filled with eyes that wail and moan. Childhood fantasies buried by children who never heard of Winnie or Owl never dreamed of Oz Their heroines and heroes peddle dreams in paper and cellophane. Blood feuds and boundaries defined by city blocks and playgrounds in cities of lost souls...lost dreams...lost stories."}, {"response": 74, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (08:32)", "body": "very sad....."}, {"response": 75, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (10:12)", "body": "Here are some Creation Poems from an Organizational Consultant... The Flaring Forth Scientists say the universe \"flared forth\" From a single particle, That popped out of the nothingness And exploded into the everything, Like a good idea whose time had come. And each of us comes forth From a single cell, Made from stuff left over from That first particle from nowhere. We, too, flare from there, That primordial blast, To see and celebrate our own creation story; Each of us a good idea whose time has come. \u00a91997 Chuck McVinney __________________________ Expanding Universe The work of the universe is never done, Consider the evidence: First a dot from nowhere becomes everything, Then keeps changing, changing, and changing, Each change more dramatic than the last, Until complexity simply reigns. Transformation is the pastime of Creation, Creation is creation's business, From lava to rock to life to thought; \"What next?\" the emerging spirit asks: \"Stay tuned\" the universe responds, \"The best is yet to come.\" __________________________ And Now The Dawn First light we hear, was said not made, a work of art from a word; Words are work, too, when they create a city, or a whole universe. Why not believe in that primordial moment when thought became; No other reason, not one other sound, can ever call its name. ________________________ Light of the Mist Out of the mist came the morning As if it was hiding there all along, Mist - keeping the sun safe from the night, Single handedly protecting the secret of the light. Showers of photons everywhere, so many, Bouncing and streaking like some crazy barrage of bullets Multiplying, or so it seems, as they cascade one over the other Through the foggy banks that billow tall in the early, wet sky. To catch such a photon, with lens and eye, is like Touching a moment in the history of time. The soul, too, stirs at the touching, its memory kindled That it too is light. Trapped, though lovingly, in matters cage, The soul responds with its eternal gaze; After all, gravity, too, is matters memory it once was light. The lifting soul rejoices in the promise of the mist; That it, too, will escape from the darkness brought on by night. __________________________ A Question of Prosperity What tells the value of these raindrops in the trees? Or of the light thats dancing in the leaves? Are they measured in their abundance? Or by their scarcities? Is this just God playing with his toys? Or, was all of it meant from the very beginning Just for you, and just for me?"}, {"response": 76, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (11:07)", "body": "Dawnis tells me that the Word Latter Poetry I introduced in is a new poetic form that she had not seen before. So perhaps I should say more about it. There is a kind of puzzle called a Word Ladder in which you start with a given word, and produce a sequence of words by changing one letter at a time, until you come to a final word that is in some sense the opposite of the starting word. I've liberalized the rigid rules of word ladders puzzles and adapted it to poetry so that one starts with some simple sing-song phrase and gradually morphs it to something interesting. In the word latter poem, Autotutor Tooterado, there was an added wrinkle that to the left and right of the \"reflector\" the phrases are mirrored in some interesting (if vague) way. I sent this puzzle to Wil Shortz, the NY Times and NPR Puzzlemeister, suggesting it as a challenge. If you look up the bio page on Wil Shortz on the NPR site, it says he lives in a Tudor style house and drives a sports car. So I proposed he take Autotutor : Tooterado and morph it into a 3-syllable word ladder reflector poem that ended with OddOldTudor : TwoDoorAudi"}, {"response": 77, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (14:50)", "body": "hmm...word ladders, interesting....have worked them in puzzle books but haven't seen any used for poetry before...."}, {"response": 78, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (18:38)", "body": "Ring Ding : Ding Dong Sing Song : Ping Pong Bomp Romp : Camp Lamp Home Dome : Long Bong Word Bird : Herd Gird Nerd Furd : Chez Curd Bump Rump : Hump Dump Rink Dink : Tank Sank Nite Nite : Wink Wink Frog Clog : Camp Sink"}, {"response": 79, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (21:24)", "body": "is it me? i don't get it *grinning*"}, {"response": 80, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (22:36)", "body": "It is brain gym for dyslexics. (giggle)"}, {"response": 81, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (02:44)", "body": "This was shared by Jane StarWalker.......felt a need to pass it on! Love to All..... Valerie Eagle Heart ~~~~~~~~ Why Rocks Do Not Sing Alone If you hold a blue rock to your ear. you will hear the ancient river that kept it as its heart. The dry wind that used it for its tongue, and the earth that promised it a mouth of fire. A speckled rock is from the dream of a galloping appaloosa. The herd sings its Ceremony of Grass and their dream-Stones fly from their hooves into the spattered sky. A black rock has the Bear's spirit caught in its last sleep. The song circles the stone, giving it the illusion of fur. All yellow rocks keep the secret of Owls, All green rocks are the breaths of plants singing in nightly joy. A red fist-sized rock is two lovers as their bodies sing on the grass. A gray stone naturally honors our ancestors. It is a word from the common language of the dead. Keep the rocks. Someday you will understand. Rocks do not sing alone. Author Unknown (unless we count Creator!!)"}, {"response": 82, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (12:30)", "body": "beautiful..."}, {"response": 83, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (12:38)", "body": "Moonbeam, Thank you for hangin on to the gray stone for me."}, {"response": 84, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (13:03)", "body": "i just want to say that it's great to find folks in here again! thank you so much for coming!!"}, {"response": 85, "author": "moulton", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:31)", "body": "Brain Gym : Train Him Blue Rock : Wind Sock Speckled Clod : Clip Clop Black Stone : Smokey Groan Yellow Pebble : Wisdom Gavel Green Mound : Lichen Bound Red Clay : Lovers Play Gray Tablet : Spirit Inhabit Color Lesson : Rainbow Gladden"}, {"response": 86, "author": "moulton", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (19:32)", "body": "A Clear Midnight by Walt Whitman This is thy hour, O soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done, Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best, Night, sleep, death and the stars."}, {"response": 87, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (00:36)", "body": "Mouton like your Poetry for Autistics and Dyslexics. Wolf we are so glad to be here."}, {"response": 88, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (00:41)", "body": "On Awakening By Debra Tenney Hot Java early morning crisis caught between sunny side up, and scrambled egg imperatives. Yesterday's burnt toast dressed in lumpy oatmeal has found its way into a trash can, over-full with coupon madness, milk cartons, unpaid bills and Tuesday's moldy eggplant on a suicide mission. The tube chants Regis and Cathy Lee mantras, garbage disposal humor grinding its way through the early morning chill. Pop Tart commercials and Barry Manalow render their greatest hits, assaulting the mind like a Waring Blender set on puree. As from the trash Tuesday's egg plant, finds new meaning to life, slithering to the floor as if to change its ways. In the laundry room, the washing machine kick boxes it1s way past boxes of classic Tee shirts, posters espousing 19701s rhetoric, and Tuesday's egg plant spills out its soul on the kitchen floor with soap opera abandon. In flip flops and oversized sweatshirt cracking eggs onto a cast iron skillet... I flip the eggplant back into the trash, flip the last egg, and flip off the tube... shooting a raspberry at the harmonic duo as they pixelate back to Never-Never Land delivering morning's manna to a bleary eyed brood. With eggplant resolve, pour myself another cup of hot Java midmorning mania"}, {"response": 89, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (07:51)", "body": "There is Purple Prose, and there is Eggplant Poetry. I like Eggplant Poetry better."}, {"response": 90, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (12:34)", "body": "I feel intimidated here, but want to say it's nice to read you who are not."}, {"response": 91, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (19:55)", "body": "I'm too naive to be intimidated. Everybody knows I've never tried my hand at poetry before, so anything I do is a net gain. Now if I had a reputation to live up, that would be a different story."}, {"response": 92, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (14:17)", "body": "or epic poem..."}, {"response": 93, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (14:53)", "body": "Epic? Sort of like this? Psychi\ufffds Reply \ufffd Hard core feminist, HA! What do you know of\ufffd passive aggressive terrorism? Boy child, Breast explodes out of Cupid mouth like a hot-air balloon. Infant body, gondola like, clings to life source. I watch you suckle and years of denied understanding... illuminated. Joy...wonder felt\ufffd for the first time at peace with my bosom. NO! Incensed with realization that all humanity was nurtured at this woman\ufffds hearth.... cornucopia of life giving nectar: Gods and mortals alike take sustenance here. Full grown...you stand before me,\ufffd impale my psyche with vile words.... tits, boobs, hooters, knockers. Labels spit out by the same lips\ufffd that once tenuously clung to life, abundance given freely at woman's breast. You attach obscenity to the very act that brought you forth. Pornographic implication adorns the womb into which\ufffd you cast your seed, as if the sacred nursery from which you emerge\ufffd were the inquisitor\ufffds dungeon you cast my sisters into as you tried to erase the knowing.... It was Woman who wiped\ufffd your fevered brow and vomit when your youth had not yet equipped you for such tasks. We cradled you in loving arms,\ufffd wishing only to take your suffering unto ourselves. It was Woman who aided your first step, gave your babble meaning and\ufffd taught you to hold your head high when cruel words from peers sent you sobbing into our arms; for non knew better those poisoned barbs which leak their venom deep into virgin souls, leaving spider web fissures; microscopic death traps of spirit\ufffd that lay seemingly dormant until one becomes entangled in a cocoon of doubt and misconception a slave to every bully puppeteer who will not desist\ufffd until who you are...is rent asunder... laid to rest in a graveyard of inconsequence. Today, youth gone,\ufffd the Cupid mouth stern and righteous, you call me hard-core feminist. A tough old bird, armored in iron and steel. Tears of frustration long dried up,\ufffd cemented into resolve... encased in shallow graves,\ufffd hastily dug while dodging snipers\ufffd in an undeclared holy-war of \ufffdmight is right.\ufffd Because i refuse to bow my head,\ufffd acquiesce and titter glibly\ufffd at obscene jokes about my womaness\ufffd or put on chains and submit\ufffd to comatose servitude... a \ufffddamsel in distress.\ufffd When i refuse to remain silent\ufffd before your rationalizations of male \ufffdmanifest destiny,\ufffd which you brandish like a\ufffd crucifix to ward off evil, or claim my right to respect.... for this, you declare me your nemesis, gather up kindling, burn me at the stake,=...or\ufffd upon your funeral pyres of inequality, so that I may not shine and illuminate the fallacy of your faux paux kingdom,\ufffd which binds both our realities into separate dungeons... and you come no longer unfettered to my breast. \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd By Debra Tenney \ufffd"}, {"response": 94, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (21:37)", "body": "All right, DEBRA!!!! * applause *"}, {"response": 95, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (01:38)", "body": "Thank you sweet one,"}, {"response": 96, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (06:58)", "body": "Angel Construction Kit 1. Build a Flying Machine 2. Practice the Healing Arts This has been a public service message of the Orenda Flying Machine and Healing Arts Society."}, {"response": 97, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (16:43)", "body": "((((((((Moulton)))))))))) (Big Hug)"}, {"response": 98, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (20:37)", "body": "Welcome to NeverNever Land, Wendy."}, {"response": 99, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (21:24)", "body": "Why Peter you really must grow up you know. (chuckle)"}, {"response": 100, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 26, 1999 (20:16)", "body": "The Bridge Builder --by Will Allen Dromgoole An old man, going a lone highway, Came at the evening, cold and gray, To a chasm, vast and deep and wide, Through which was flowing a sullen tide. The old man crossed in the twilight dim; The sullen stream had no fears for him; But he turned when safe on the other side and built a bridge to span the tide. \"Old man,\" said a fellow pilgrim near, \"You are wasting strength with building here; Your journey will end with the ending day; You never again must pass this way; You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide -- Why build you the bridge at the eventide?\" The builder lifted his old gray head; \"Good friend, in the path I have come,\" he said, There followeth after me today A youth whose feet must pass this way, This chasm that has been naught to me To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be. He, too, must cross in the twilight dim; Good friend, I am building the bridge for him!\" --Will Allen Dromgoole"}, {"response": 101, "author": "moulton", "date": "Tue, Aug  3, 1999 (07:58)", "body": "I'm feeling a Little Lo... I'm feeling a little bilious. I'm feeling a little trashed. I'm feeling a little trapped. I'm feeling a little trampy. I'm feeling a litttle crippled. I'm dwelling on my little feelings. I'm feeling a little drilled. It kills my spirits. I'm feeling a little demonized. I'm feeling a little sermonized. I'm feeling a little frosty. I'm feeling a little icy. Now I see what I have been feeling. I am beginning to see a pattern. I am beginning to hear my patter. I am beginning to sense the clatter. Now I see what may be the matter. My teeth are beginning to chatter. My teeth are beginning clench. I'm sitting on the bench. I'm leaning against a fence. I'm inclined to take offense. Where is my common sense? i'm feeling a little dense. nothing makes any sense nothing? nothing makes sense? o i'm feeling a little enlightenment i'm feelng a lotle foolish now i'm beginning to see a little better now i'm beginning to see my way home now i'm beginning to see my front stoop i'm seeing some kind of a mess i'm eyeing a stoopy mess i'm sensing a stoop id ness a finger runs through a tress i feel a bit distressed i feel the need for rest i rise above the rest has this been a test? i am doing my best all the best? well I guess stop the press good news god rules no fools tools twos us ."}, {"response": 102, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Aug  3, 1999 (10:20)", "body": "I really enjoyed that moulton..."}, {"response": 103, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Aug  4, 1999 (08:22)", "body": "When I wrote that, about 10 weeks ago, I was still in the manic phase after my last big epiphany. Nan says it's an example of what Natalie Goldberg calls \"Wild Mind.\" My post-epiphanetic high has since subsided, and I have not been able to write like that since slipping back into dysphoria. I actually forgot about that poem, but Nan had saved it from her E-Mail. I had not even saved a copy for myself."}, {"response": 104, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Aug  4, 1999 (09:19)", "body": "Great resolution!"}, {"response": 105, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Aug  4, 1999 (12:58)", "body": "it's one of your best poems, bear..."}, {"response": 106, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Aug  4, 1999 (16:40)", "body": "I guess I'm not a very good judge of my own work."}, {"response": 107, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug  5, 1999 (12:26)", "body": "I faced the thing I feared the most, And now it all seems clear. I've found the strength inside of me, And all I've lost is fear."}, {"response": 108, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Aug  6, 1999 (00:11)", "body": "Seasons Forest green prickling against a morning sky nothing has changed, except winter crows have gone now, sparrows and robins in ritual initiation, gather up yesterday1s facade, weaving it into tomorrow1s promise. nothing has changed, except spring forms its first gown, blossoms give way in ceremonial observance of unrehearsed renewal, creating refuge in an autonomous playground. nothing has changed, except feelings which wane and emerge on the other side of yesterday1s dream, dripping with morning after dew. A spit and promise feeling that I tuck away among other forgotten seasons."}, {"response": 109, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Aug  6, 1999 (02:01)", "body": "Very nice! \"Spring forms its first gown\" -- what a fine image."}, {"response": 110, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Aug  6, 1999 (09:33)", "body": "Thanks Moonbeam! By the way...the way I found that is most effective to not miss others posts in here is to look at the the last 50 post and find my last on and read the topics up from there. You had expressed a concern about missing others posts some time back. I didn't reply because I have been searching for some very important paper- work this week. I found a small insurance policy from my mother, who died in 93....that it turns out is valid. Just enough for one months rent...but hey what a surprise! (grin) One last gift from mom."}, {"response": 111, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, Oct 25, 1999 (23:28)", "body": "CHAOS THEORY Looking back, I can see it was only a minor scrap -- some cross words, a smallish bubble in the smooth varnish of time that most anyone seeing the whole picture would scarcely notice. Who could have foretold it was the butterfly wing, a tiny event that would tweak the current of life and cause an earthquake years in my future? Who could construe a meaning from that, absent intent?"}, {"response": 112, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 25, 1999 (23:54)", "body": "very well written, cryptic, obviously personal..."}, {"response": 113, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (00:00)", "body": "...I know the feeling... Thanks!"}, {"response": 114, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (00:03)", "body": "Thanks! I've been having fun over on Utne Cafe's literature conference in the poetry game topic. Every week someone posts a list of 10 words; the assignment is to use them all in a poem. That was my last week's poem. Here's another one: Telnet at Midnight You bring me words on an onyx plate, Floating green in a pool of darkness, Their edges knifing clean against the black. They nip those caught in the ether without a raft, With no way to keep heads up, breathing air. I love this no-place, my home of first choice And last resort. Your words punch the breath Right out of my lines. They leave me mute And stunned. Oh, see how well you used them, stoning me senseless without one bruise."}, {"response": 115, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (00:23)", "body": "I learned computerese on telnet and pine...I do not long for the old days...! But, I did enjoy your poem...somehow words in stark contrast can punch the daylights out of you...!"}, {"response": 116, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Oct 27, 1999 (12:52)", "body": "really love Telnet at Midnight moonbeam... visual, strong... I thought my favorite phrase was \"my home of first choice and last resort\" but when I reread them I was drawn in again to the entirety of it all and felt the 'punch' and the bruiseless sensation of senselessness. I really love that piece. May I please copy and paste it on my office wall... with credits to moonbeam of course?"}, {"response": 117, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Oct 27, 1999 (22:58)", "body": "Thank you, Stacey! I'd be honored to be pasted to your office wall. ;)"}, {"response": 118, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Mar  7, 2000 (19:40)", "body": "here's a couple for ya! The National Poetry Contest had come down to two semifinalists: a Yale graduate and a cowboy from Wyoming. They were given a word, then allowed two minutes to study the word a come up with a poem that contained the word. The word they were given was \"Timbuktu.\" First to recite his poem was the Yalie. He stepped to the microphone and said: Slowly cross the desert sand Trekked a lonely caravan Men on camels, two by two Destination: Timbuktu. The crowd went crazy! No way could the shitkicker top that, they thought. The cowpoke calmly made his way to the microphone and recited: Me and Tim a huntin' went Met three whores in a pop-up tent They was three, and we was two So I bucked one, and Timbuktu."}, {"response": 119, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Mar  7, 2000 (19:46)", "body": "Oh Wolfie! Too good. *lol* Let's hear it for the Cowboy!!!"}, {"response": 120, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Mar  7, 2000 (19:47)", "body": "haha!!"}, {"response": 121, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Mar 28, 2000 (00:17)", "body": "* laughing! * (\"Idaho?\" \"No, Udaho.\")"}, {"response": 122, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Mar 28, 2000 (00:24)", "body": "Nan!!! There you are! How are you? We have missed your gentle voice here! Welcome Hugs"}, {"response": 123, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Mar 28, 2000 (00:28)", "body": "Must be late at night for me...-*lol* I just figgered out who-was-daho"}, {"response": 124, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Apr  6, 2000 (16:30)", "body": "here a three new ones. written one after the other..... Panic anxiousness runs to my bones body's fine but brain explodes all the troubles i can find are asked to haunt my tired mind. stresses such that i conceive only i, it's depth perceive. a moment and all's serene again only to remind me what had just been. ****** Faith How to call out and beg reprieve How to let go my sins I keep To let the One into my heart Let's loose the grasp I have so hard. Do I doubt the power He reigns? Nay, I pray He keeps me safe. But please my sorrows do take, They hold no place nor can make Right from wrong or hate to love I must trust the One Above. ******* A Prayer Lord, to Thee I praise To Thee I love, to Thee I raise Hearts and hands and spirits high Take me there when bodies die. Stay with me now, My Lord I pray Keep me filled with grace each day. Let me know the joy You bring Let me use my voice to sing. Forgive me of my human wiles Shine down the sun, Your warmth and smile. Allow the angels sit with me Let their light remind me of Thee. And when my troubles be so vile Walk with me each lonesome mile. And keep me close, your love I feel And with this prayer, I humbly kneel. Through Thy Son to Thee I speak Forever mild, forever meek."}, {"response": 125, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Apr  6, 2000 (16:51)", "body": "Very touching and wonderful, Wolfie. I can relate to that first one...I experienced just that when you told me to talk to you. And, so I did. It helped a lot. Thanks for putting into graceful words what I felt."}, {"response": 126, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Sat, Apr  8, 2000 (16:33)", "body": "Thanks Wolfie. From the heart."}, {"response": 127, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Mon, May  1, 2000 (14:02)", "body": "Here is a poem I wrote. Lord, I feel like a small child, crying in the dark, alone,afraid. Frightened of the shadows that seem to leap up at me. Longing for the presence of someone to share the darkness with to comfort and reassure. I cry out to you and it seems as if your ears are deaf. Why do you not heed my crying? Why do you not answer? He does not answer becuase I do not listen. I'm curled up in my own little cocoon of self-pity and misery. Ears plugged to the sound of his voice by my own self-concern. Gradually I uncurl. I look around and realise that the dark is not so dark. I can see, but not clearly. I am aware that He has been here all along. Sitting, waiting. Quiet and uncondemning. I look up. He reaches out to me. My prayer is answered."}, {"response": 128, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, May  1, 2000 (19:30)", "body": "thanks for that, maggie *hugs*"}, {"response": 129, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (05:54)", "body": "Here's one I wrote in the early hours of this morning. The Tree Standing there Alone, Defiant, Wounded yet healed, bearing scars like a war heroe's medals. In winter, dead looking Drab Shrunken Death defying Alone Defiant Wounded yet healed. In Spring, reborn Alive Budding Death defying Alone Defiant Wounded yet healed."}, {"response": 130, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (13:47)", "body": "Tree is great stuff. They don't do that here much, but in places where what you describe happens, Spring is almost magical. Like the Ent Forests in Tolkien..."}, {"response": 131, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (15:35)", "body": "We've just been for a forest walk among the bluebells. The trees are all budding madly, and in the early evening light it was magical."}, {"response": 132, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (16:39)", "body": "indeed it is! thanks for the tree poem. i have never been able to see a tree as just a tree. it is a living creature."}, {"response": 133, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (16:47)", "body": "Definitely an Ent (Tolkien)"}, {"response": 134, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Sat, May  6, 2000 (16:48)", "body": "Thanks for giving me the confidence to post!"}, {"response": 135, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, May  7, 2000 (01:13)", "body": "To whomever your thanks was directed, I am also grateful. Thanks Maggie!"}, {"response": 136, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sun, May  7, 2000 (22:28)", "body": "Marcia, thanks (weeks later!) for welcoming me back - obviously I'm still catching up! My father died of cancer this morning, at home, my mom and sister with him to the end. I feel every inch of the 800 miles that separate us. I'd like to share a poem I wrote about his dying. --- In the dark of an evening rain as my father lay far away on his deathbed, golden fire burst the sullen shroud enveloping the distant mountains, and bathed my valley in the color of joy - Drenched in light so warm and fierce it turned car headlights blue I drove west, pulled by that bright magnet globe of yellow, an open door to heaven, and waited to see if my father walked through - But all I saw were white pelicans, Canada geese, sandhill cranes flying long slow wingbeats into the deepening twilight, rosy now, purple falling and the wet meadow turning silently from emerald to gray - Feathers carried my prayers upward to the flaming paintbrushed clouds, wrote them on the heart of God in the language of cinnamon teal, while the sea above me went on weeping, washing the world clear."}, {"response": 137, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, May  7, 2000 (22:58)", "body": "Oh Nan! I am touched and share my bleak sorrow with you on the loss of your father. You spoke him to Heaven with those words just as you did Alan (sp?) before him. Very big hugs of remembrance and love from me to you. Thank you for sharing so much of that incredibly beautiful soul you house in that mortal person I know as Nan. May it dance in Heaven with the men you have loved so dearly this evening in your dreams and bring you comfort."}, {"response": 138, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (00:16)", "body": "Bless you, Marcia, for the comforting, loving spirit you share here so generously. You're a treasure. --- Do you remember, Daddy? Those late night walks out on the golf course, away from city lights, when you showed me Orion, the two dippers, Casseopeia? We watched Sputnik too, after man launced his tiny beam of light into the heavens -- I still get my bearings in the dark."}, {"response": 139, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (17:08)", "body": "thank you for sharing those poignant pieces with us, nan. am very sorry for your loss. *HUGS*"}, {"response": 140, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Thu, Jun  1, 2000 (09:23)", "body": "A nightmarish week, resolved and put to verse SHADOWS OF CHILDHOOD Shadows of childhood Stretching long fingers of dark into the present Filling the nights with pain to be endured Childish fears and agonies amplified by adult perception Distorted images seen in the mirror of time. What healing balm is there to soothe away deep scars that become inflamed? Is there some magic potion to calm the fears of the small child within? The child that lives forever in the shadows Resurrected by fear and desolation Longing to be nurtured, and soothed by love to rest. Voices of childhood Stretching extended echoes in to the present. Filling the mind with murmurs that cannot be ignored Amplified by present darkness Distorted sounds that are now meaningless Shadows and voices of childhood Released to the light of His love Warmed, cosseted, cuddled, relieved Soothed by a balm and a warmth both unexpected and unearned A kind of dying in life."}, {"response": 141, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jun  1, 2000 (17:20)", "body": "*hugs* Sweet Maggie!!!"}, {"response": 142, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Jun 24, 2000 (11:24)", "body": "MARKED BY DARKNESS \"Are you afraid of the dark?\" She asks wrapping her hair around his arm. Tropically scented, dangerously dark hair Constricting against fish-belly pale. She sucks out his breath, murmurring, \"The mark of darkness is on me And now it's on you too.\" Does she know about his first-born son? Who is very like him -- The boy who is a small dark blot on his father's pristine name. The child whose mother is quite like her -- And he has his father's eyes of porcelain blue. Among her people are those that remember the time Before the strange, pale people came Bringing their religion and refinements. Their burden to be the protectors of their lesser brethren. They bring disease and degradation as well. Such a small price though for all which they offer. Are they not wayward and wanton children? He feels the weight of their dark eyes as he labors To show them the error of his ways. He feels himself a small white dot adrift on a darkening sea. Reflecting on the darkness of their souls, Or is it his own soul engulfed by darkness? Does he know about his first-born son? Who is very like him -- A very beautiful child who is marked by darkness, In that the boy will be just like him -- And he has his father's eyes of porcelain blue. \"Don't be afraid of the dark,\" She breathes into his ear. He should be. The mark of darkness is in him As it will never be in her. It's his own deep guilt festering In the darkness no one sees, Because he cannot see himself."}, {"response": 143, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jun 24, 2000 (17:45)", "body": "OOOooooh, Cheryl. Great stuff. Where did that come from. There must be more to it. My imagination wants to run with it but is directionless. I am fascinated by this poem......."}, {"response": 144, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Tue, Jun 27, 2000 (19:39)", "body": "Okay, Marcia I can tell you my intent when I wrote. What I wanted to get across, but first let me ask you -- what do you perceive from it? Why do think there must be more to it? Lastly, why do you feel directionless? Let your imagination run with it. I will tell you, however, that it came from the right side of my brain."}, {"response": 145, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Jul 15, 2000 (13:20)", "body": "Now for a really bad poem. I wrote this, er, poem when I was an art student. I was taking an art history course at the time, that particular course was on the Pre-Raphaelites. So this bad poem is all the fault of John Everett Millais, William Holman Hunt, and Dante Gabriel Rossetti. A really bad poem -- hope you have a few chuckles between the groans. MAIDEN UNDER THE WAVES What did you do! You have drowned yourself in the sea, When I would have proudly married you. But you would have none of me. I am of a great house, with vast lands, the finest of horses, and a great fleet of ships Which carried me here that I might press my suit for a fierce lord's gray-eyed daughter. You gave me bitter recompense for my perilous trip. It was not blood coursing your veins, but salt water. When I swore love to you, your reply to me, \"Sweet youth, I only have love for the waves. I only desire to stay here and watch the sea.\" I was in a way which only one who was mad would behave. Foolish maid, you could have had my love. Mine! Why were you so unkind? Now you lay with the deep, cold tide. Yet it is not as cold as your virtue, as cold as your pride. How beautiful you were Maiden with eyes as light as a winter's morning. I was ensnared by your alure. Your skin was as pale as the ocean foam at the height of storming. I brought you cloaks of silk, silver cups, and fine brooches of twisted gold. To watch your hair, a cloud of bright darkness, blowing behind you Was the greatest pleasure I was to be granted from one so cold. You were a wondrous work of shadow and silver, but hard. A mad creature masked in a perfect form For the purpose to rend men's heart apart? An empty, exquisite vessel of no warmth. Foolish maid, you could have had my love. Mine! Why were you so unkind? Now you lay with the deep, cold tide. Yet it is not as cold as your honor, as cold as your pride. You are beneath the watery deep. The colored fishes through dark tentrils of that wondrous hair. You never cared for those who now weep For you here in the realm of land and air. Wretchedly mad girl, I could have helped had you only accepted my love. The maiden under the waves. I stand fondling one of your embroidered gloves Wondering if you have found solace in your wet grave. Damp fingers of seaweed to caress your skin. May your chosen lord the sea find pleasure in you! Cold comfort for your velvet limbs. You or the waves. Which is the colder of the two? Foolish maid, you could have had my love. Mine! Why were you so unkind? Now you lay with the deep cold tide. Yet is not half so cold as your maidenhead, as cold as your pride."}, {"response": 146, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jul 15, 2000 (19:33)", "body": "Talk about pride??!! That is wonderful and it is only dreadful in the most wondrous sense. I love it!!! I can just see the paintings too..."}, {"response": 147, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Jul 15, 2000 (20:22)", "body": "i love it too!"}, {"response": 148, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jul 15, 2000 (20:24)", "body": "can't you just see the seaweed hair???!!!"}, {"response": 149, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Jul 15, 2000 (20:31)", "body": "yes! and his frustration at her leaping into the waves!"}, {"response": 150, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sun, Jul 16, 2000 (15:05)", "body": "Well, er, gosh, thank you. I am especially flattered that the poem affected you visually as it was inspired by movement in painting. The Pre-Raphaelites get rather derisive treatment from many art historians. They are praised as technicians, but the subject matter -- is such melodramatic, frilly drivel. I had one art history teacher who refused to even acknowlege Edward Burne-Jones as part of the Pre-Raphaelite Movement. That it was merely a folly of his youth; Burne-Jones would latter come into his own as Symbolist. It is within the psychological complexity of the Symbolist and Decadent Movement that he (Burne-Jones) should be viewed. That's what he taught. I also submitted this particular poem as a writing assignment for an English class. That teacher critiqued it as being \"a bad approximation of Edgar Allan Poe's 'Annabelle Lee'\". He gave me a \"C+\" on it. Told me in future if I wanted to write, it might help if I tried to write like myself. I did end up with an \"A\" for the course, though."}, {"response": 151, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul 16, 2000 (19:02)", "body": "and had you read poe's poem? (before your writing?) i'll have to take a look through my poe anthology and read it for myself. but i liked yours. we never get away from critics, whomever they might be."}, {"response": 152, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Jul 16, 2000 (22:22)", "body": "WOT??? Cheryl - That man should have been boiled in oil. The PreRaphaelites illustrated my treasured Howard Pyle books. They are as much of my fantasy life as a child as anyone ever was."}, {"response": 153, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Mon, Jul 17, 2000 (16:33)", "body": "Wolf, I'd read the Poe poem several years before, when I was 8th grade. I wrote my poem when I was in college. I've read Poe since. I was going for the \"feel\" of 19th Century poetry, so Poe did have some influence. The major impetus still came from 19th Century painting. Marcia, that's a bit extreme -- being boiled in oil. His thoughts on 19th Century Art were basically that their wasn't much to be regarded seriously outside the famous landscape painter Turner, later the realist Gustave Courbet, the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists, and the Symbolists and Decadents. The big problem with art history is that is very much at the whim of the prevailing opinions of each successive generation of art historians. It is, however, I real pain when your getting graded on it, and the prevailing taste dictates what will get you a good grade."}, {"response": 154, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Aug 10, 2000 (13:12)", "body": "Ok, we'll just hang him by his....thumbs?! I did not see Peo at all until it was mentioned after I read it. Your PreRaphaelite images totally capivated my imagination. Thanks for sharing this. I loved it!"}, {"response": 155, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Sep 13, 2000 (19:26)", "body": "These offerings are the maiden postings for public consumtpion of a young friend who, in my opinion, has great potential. Going, Going, Gone! Watching, waiting, wondering Will he hit a homerun? Here he swings. Here he hits! The ball flies far from first and proudly prancing the runner runs, watching, waiting. The crowd cries out! He hit a homerun. this one's about my sister *** Sister Together we ride our bikes, play catch, and eat cookie dough ice cream. Together we run through the sprinklers screaming and yelling as the cold water freezes our legs. Alone she sings and watches her TV shows- Sailor Moon is her favorite. Together we sit in the back of the car on a long road trip and comment on our parent\ufffds music, wishing we could listen to our own. Together we fight and overreact until our parents get involved. Together we hug and make up. Together there is sisterly love. *** Love Love. It strikes you with its arrow. Quick and sharp as it sends roses and hearts floating. At first, you are blind, but love opens your eyes to a new perspective. You feel as if you are walking on air and your heart is drifting in front of you, leading you, guiding you, to your love. He smiles. Your knees collapse and your lungs gasp for the next breath. You know he loves you too. *** Pain It's me who has to be different from the crowd. For the moment, it's a bad thing. I have been hurt, judged, teased, and mocked for the way I am. I have hurt. and sometimes the pain swallows me whole until I can no longer hold in the tears. When people throw stones at me, all the bones inside of me break, as if I'm a fragile box dropped from a twenty story building. I hold in my anger as it burns and spreads like a wildfire until I am alone and can let the rivers wash away my pain. *** People I do not understand why people are so judgmental who cares if your religion is different? who cares if you aren\ufffdt \ufffdpretty\ufffd? they do. What I really don\ufffdt understand is \ufffdmaterialism\ufffd why are items so important? you should already have everything you could possibly ask for: love, shelter, food, and a free life. why is that not enough for you? What I do understand is the differences between people how if we were all the same, it would be boring and how if we all liked the same music there would never be anything new and nothing to discuss how if we were the same, nothing exciting would happen to just one person... *** Copyright \ufffd 2000 mandy"}, {"response": 156, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Thu, Sep 14, 2000 (19:12)", "body": "She is wonderful, Marcia."}, {"response": 157, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Sep 14, 2000 (21:19)", "body": "these are great, thanks for posting them here!"}, {"response": 158, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 15, 2000 (00:00)", "body": "Thanks PPoP (Wolfie!!!) I'll let her know!"}, {"response": 159, "author": "falconr44", "date": "Fri, Sep 15, 2000 (14:14)", "body": "hey cudllz i love your poems love snowzie"}, {"response": 160, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 15, 2000 (17:00)", "body": "Thanks for posting, falcon. It is always nice to know others appreciate your hard work when you bare your soul to the world and let them take pot shots at you! I am sure Mandy will be delighted you saw her poems and thought enough to comment on them."}, {"response": 161, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 15, 2000 (17:00)", "body": "Oh, and *hugs* to you both - of course!"}, {"response": 162, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Tue, Nov  7, 2000 (16:29)", "body": "PRECIPICE The world slants Away in slashes of white and blue. He is lost awash in dreams Of her and the glory To be found in climbing this mountain. He wants her because She will never acknowlege him. He scales the mountain Purely for himself. Clinging to a spur of the world Crooked into space. He catches glacial reflections of her Glimmering distant and silvery-blue. Shadowing, tinkling, Whispering in slow slide Of rivulets of snow. The world rips Away in a fall of white and blue. Careening into her embrace. A gash of dazzling blue thirty feet above. Sheer ice on either side Throwing out myriad images of her. He feels the blue, clear cold Seeping in, making him so clean and very pure, Dreaming eternal pale blue visions of her."}, {"response": 163, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov  8, 2000 (17:18)", "body": "OOOOOooohhhhhhh This is spectacular. Thank you, Cheryl! How eloquent. The very personification of the frigid remote woman?! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 20, "subject": "Poems of Loss", "response_count": 193, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (14:54)", "body": "I am certainly feeling the loss of the previous topic... there were some truly beautiful thoughts and images floating around in there."}, {"response": 2, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (19:50)", "body": "yes, i know, sorry for no warning."}, {"response": 3, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (15:59)", "body": "no 'sorry's Wolf -- I am merely musing selfish thoughts."}, {"response": 4, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (02:53)", "body": "as were those of us who posted in there..."}, {"response": 5, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (15:21)", "body": "stealing someone else's words... (from a small poetry book I discovered in a even smaller used bookstore some years ago) SHE TELLS THE TRUTH by Ruth Danon Invention is not enough. These are facts and you need to know them. In 50 million years Los Angeles will crowd into the Aleutian Islands and chill slowly into the Arctic night. The Red Sea will dwarf the Mediterranean; the timing will be better. There will be no new oceans and no new continents but Oaxaca, where you and I have never been together, will sink gently into the water. By then we will have known each other through millions of lifetimes. Maybe we'd be wiser and we'd know what to do. The equator is where it is because that position is half way between the poles. The prime meridian was an arbitrary choice. Columbus thought the world looked like a pear and he was right. He had no reason for this speculation. Some facts are worth explaining. Right now I can think only of the wind in Chicago and how I would rather do anything with my life than hurt yours. There's more to making a map than taking a few aerial photographs. Invention isn't enough and on this sea green planet there's more going on than you know, more than you can imagine. How good a map is depends on the ability of the mapper to interpret what she sees on the surface. I'm having a harder time with your face than I had with the moon. When continents bump up against each other they leave scars and ridges on the earth's crust. There's a slow bleeding of lava onto the ocean floor. It took centuries to create the delicate instruments of measurement used by cartographers. Still, triangulation from a known point remains the basis of geodesy."}, {"response": 6, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (15:52)", "body": "\"maybe we'd be wiser and we'd know what to do\"... (i liked this poem very much, stacey)"}, {"response": 7, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (17:41)", "body": "thanks, Stacey..."}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (19:20)", "body": "Sorry And so you assumed I said A thing. You flatter yourself. I was lured by mere words. In my heart, I knew them to Be that and that alone. So Speak naught of it, tis over And I have learned and you have too. Words can be misconstrued Even by the sincerest ear."}, {"response": 9, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (03:23)", "body": "(and the most loving heart...)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Sep 24, 1998 (14:45)", "body": "(hey) contemplating one or other lying noble roman searching the bottom of the row (of the history shelf) absently even less aware than usually i am turned abruptly to my right without thinking or glancing not giving a damn (for oncoming traffic you know) i nearly plowed her to the ground (poor thing, nearly murdered randomly on a saturday afternoon at waldenbooks by a book-drunk stranger who should've had his browsing licence qualified long ago)- a pretty one, she was- kind eyes, brown and wide and an amused ironic mouth- and a smile that graced even reckless men that menaced chain-store aisles- mumbled apologies, so little aware was i- 'no problem', said she, looking up at me, still smiling as she squeezed on by- and i- and i- i looked at her- began the descent into my favored hell- nothing beneath me to break my fall- just fell and fell and fell into the place where's kept her face and i reduced and she was not and nothing nothing nothing nothing was i. contemplating romans at waldenbooks nothing was all."}, {"response": 11, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Sep 24, 1998 (19:06)", "body": "nice (been there and done that myself), as is seeing you around, Nick... you ought to go check out http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/browse/screwed/all I can see your Celtic barbs working wonders in there..."}, {"response": 12, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Sep 24, 1998 (21:13)", "body": "good piece and welcome back"}, {"response": 13, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Sep 28, 1998 (13:40)", "body": "thanks, y'all (ummm, should've been \"nothing was all\"... stead of \"nothing was i\"... hmmm, yeah...) (freudian slip i suppose)... checking the site out, wer... thanks"}, {"response": 14, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Sep 28, 1998 (14:11)", "body": "(no title) If delusion it is It's of the purest degree. And though it less It belongs to me, And purely. And if it so- If less is Me- if more Believing illusioning Fantasy- Was so, from the start. But even so- EVEN SO- Cannot cannot Dissuade diminish Deter dismiss This dimming damned Deficiency (that beats in me). Delusion, so pure Is true. And enough (in you). All (in me)."}, {"response": 15, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Sep 28, 1998 (14:14)", "body": "so how long is it gonna be before i have to kill this topic? (re: words floating around out there) this piece has a lot of d's in it....almost a tongue twister, but done in your style-nicely"}, {"response": 16, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep 30, 1998 (23:16)", "body": "sheesh, no offense...."}, {"response": 17, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Fri, Oct  2, 1998 (13:55)", "body": "geez louise (none taken) you make a relevent point re:'words floating around' and all... i am appropriately chastened... nearly coherent (sometimes happens, brief interludes, coincidence with expression rare but occasional)... (sorry)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Oct  2, 1998 (18:39)", "body": "good to see you around. you doing ok?"}, {"response": 19, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct  7, 1998 (18:21)", "body": "yup... (and you?)"}, {"response": 20, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct  7, 1998 (23:19)", "body": "just busy as a beaver (almost literally-no trees down on my account)"}, {"response": 21, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Oct  9, 1998 (00:43)", "body": "maybe, but it's still a helluva dam, Wolf!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Oct  9, 1998 (11:55)", "body": "haha!!!"}, {"response": 23, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (05:02)", "body": "wrote this tonight... has no title... never forgiven this earth that gave and took you away. cold careening amoral rock that hid you under dirt. never forgiven the boy who loved Love more than love could take. who for the sake of Love and Pure- spent your love away. it's all finished, that time ago. unforgiven, all we turn and spin and breathe and be as if you hadn't been. what more to say, that isn't said? nothing left but for that i've bled and left undone. sleep, and well, my dreaming one- and the face of night which is become the ghost of all your days but touched will merge to one- one light and such as star or sun as heaven's never seen- till you are free (of all, of me) and dreaming better dreams."}, {"response": 24, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (12:11)", "body": "very sad"}, {"response": 25, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Nov 16, 1998 (16:28)", "body": "beautiful"}, {"response": 26, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 16, 1998 (23:02)", "body": "Title it. Publish it. Write more!!"}, {"response": 27, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Nov 17, 1998 (10:27)", "body": "nick, are we going to hear from you ever again after you move?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Nov 18, 1998 (22:31)", "body": "yep, i imagine... sure i'll be online purty quick... (and i'm gonna miss austin really really bad... just leaving texas is traumatic, too... every time i've done it in the past, and i've done it a couple of times, i was really homesick... and it's funny, really, cause there's so many things about this state that embarrass me... but damn i love it) (not so bad moving off to colorado, i should think... being that colorado's rightfully a part of texas anyway) oh, and thank y'all for what you said bout the poem... it's nice, i appreciate it"}, {"response": 29, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Nov 19, 1998 (04:08)", "body": "(damn) from belly cross to nervous thigh lingering at the gentle swell of your hip- the subtle ripening angle there the delicate sway dancing girl swimming in sheets writhing, to rhythm writ on wanting skin from wanting finger tips"}, {"response": 30, "author": "TIM", "date": "Thu, Nov 19, 1998 (05:26)", "body": "I like it. you ought to publish."}, {"response": 31, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Nov 19, 1998 (08:46)", "body": "erotic, nick...."}, {"response": 32, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Dec  3, 1998 (07:36)", "body": "wrote this yesterday... sort of a bridge/continuation thing for some ideas banging around a few months now... has no title, really... 1 (rememberance) gape-mouthed flailing at a scorning moon light entered in. stars ground to vapor dreams then swallowed full light the way to dark leeching lessening coming thick and dull and blunt as failing fingertip's reaching fumbling grip- the waste of mind the want of heart thick as droning moments ticking dissonant parts rigoured- not bidden or aware (no matter. it is on the air) the thing impends. and so more it is than ken can coalesce to even one idea of might or would. But closing eyes, waking, could (would and did) forget. And Dream can mingle every all- can bleed into some better whole- and falter, at it's end. It too, must serve that best unto- so impervious is unconcious to- that damned impend. Certain, i within the curse of darkening mind and Reason's worth then reason's final utter waste- humans blind epochs dead- centuries strung from undreaming heads (the dull the purposed men) flung from out the hands of we asleep, in rhapsodic reveries of never-certain dreams (memory, transfixed and steeped within some lingering lulling imagining sin of Never Was and Never Be). Certain to empty empty to waste waste to absence of every trace of thinking's dreams or dreaming's thought- 'til we are become what others be- bought from out a legacy of never-yielding need. 2 (intent) Upon this city in sleep (not)light descends and casts a pall of forgetfulness over each roof. Morning bends what's left, within that silence- each bitter reproof of belief conformed with dying days. And promises, remembered in the dreaming haze are mirrored in the imaged words of men- reforming, receding- becoming, again connected-seeming days. \ufffd Perversity, this. Time forms whole; and sensation diminishes, every one. Replenish each, in it's time. Uttering each- let metered rhyme transform the seeming way. Absolve them all, from their curse and by one thread of slender verse dissolve corrupted day. 3 (consolation) cold here now. fading light through the square little window above my bed mirrors in aspect cold- rhythms dead- imaged chaos in my head. i could- in a chosen instant could- decompose. each wasted breath, thought, want, sensory perception beating there- wash away. that i don't- this instant, next- means some little thing less. being man of Man- fool of Fools- given, thus am to subversion's rule- i subvert too. no less than any- undoubtedly so- this is the single rule of that i know: follow that light, however it goes- follow it, whether it to some store of love mislaid in a dreaming heart or within the blackest waste of that some way come dark- follow, whether you live at midnight or noon, whether your god speaks sun or moon- follow that light, dissolving through every spiralling eternity misspent upon your disappearing soul- (it is there to go then to know- finally Finally FINALLY know- each little thing that's left to know) 4 (postscript) (\"remember him poor dreaming thing- didn't know, from one to next wherefore to think or go or be- he was swallowed up, finally, in his goddamn poetry pass the potatoes won't you please?\")"}, {"response": 33, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (19:04)", "body": "i lose myself in the words sometimes nick your words can make me feel so lonely, so loved, so hopeless... they are not meant for me yet the come across so forcefully i sometimes dream about the images thank you for sharing again"}, {"response": 34, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (00:16)", "body": "Nice to be able to read your stuff again, Nick. Thank you."}, {"response": 35, "author": "PT", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (12:34)", "body": "That was good. I was sorry to see it end."}, {"response": 36, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (13:12)", "body": "thanks y'all your words are encouraging, and appreciated (the words are meant for anyone that braves them... only hope the images/dreams aren't too difficult to endure)"}, {"response": 37, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (01:06)", "body": "nothing, I think, is too difficult to endure with the right words..."}, {"response": 38, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (17:16)", "body": "nick, they've created new characters in my mind... i think about them and they've actually triggered a few brief verses of my own creation. (have you moved?)"}, {"response": 39, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (06:29)", "body": "that's really cool stacey... thanks for telling me that... (you mind telling me what kind of characters you mean? and i know that you've been sort of reticent bout posting your own verses... but if you ever did, know that i... everyone... would feel honored to read them) far as moving, just half-way... currently in houston, trying to wrap up some outstanding business... still have my apartment in rollingwood till the end of the month, hotel room in vancouver, where we'll probably stay till summer... this past months, been dividing my time between there and austin, but should be there more or less fulltime before christmas..."}, {"response": 40, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (23:10)", "body": "(I'd like to second Nick's aside, Stace)"}, {"response": 41, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (18:45)", "body": "(pretending I'm ignoring you both, although am incredibly honored by your interest... still thinking about violating that false sense of security I hold so dear and near)"}, {"response": 42, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (19:24)", "body": "(and after all we've done...would it help to beg?)"}, {"response": 43, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 17, 1998 (13:56)", "body": "I would also like to see some of your poetry, Stacey."}, {"response": 44, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jan 31, 1999 (12:43)", "body": "ok, this piece probably doesn't belong here, but it is about loss and it's new.... I have no poems to write Gone are they from my muse. Lacking inspiration, only excuses Flow from my pen and I waste Precious energy to appease The empty paper that I long To fill up with sounds. Yet I keep marking the lines With empty, lonely sentences. Is it to prove that I write? To enjoy fulfilment from my labor? What a lie to Vanity! And have we not all lost A moment or two to Time? So is this it? My talent Truly gone away forever? Or a mere lull in my Movement through Life?"}, {"response": 45, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Jan 31, 1999 (21:20)", "body": "just a lull (i'm sure of it)"}, {"response": 46, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jan 31, 1999 (21:21)", "body": "thanks sweetie!"}, {"response": 47, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Feb  1, 1999 (00:23)", "body": "once again, I'd have to agree with Nick..."}, {"response": 48, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Feb  1, 1999 (11:15)", "body": "*hugs*"}, {"response": 49, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (22:36)", "body": "alright, stacey, we're still waiting for your poetry! (and yes, the muse of mine is still AWOL)"}, {"response": 50, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Aug 22, 1999 (21:36)", "body": "how're yall? been gone awhile... been pretty much offline, mostly... living in seattle... (miss texas a lot)... anyway... it's august... the twenty-fifth marks twenty years... so... this is for teri... there was a park here once. oleander bushes and ponderosa pines. a seesaw, missing a bolt- shimmying action, good for a jolt, if you weren't ready, coming down. swings were...over there. the type with plastic seats, weathered black- affixed to squeaking chains that screamed to heaven and back- over and over again when the northside kids let out of school at 3pm. and she liked the swings but just to sit sometimes and think. or gently rock as we would talk when i first began to know her, then (and she was fifteen). we played horse sometimes (between horsing around) on the half-moon court with the rusted hoop and the chain-link net. will never forget the trinkling, swishing sound of 'e' rolling in that first time we played (when i let her win. and no better proof of love nor more profound has ever been than that). it seemed an eternity that day enduring, to that kiss. she was standing with her back against a crooked tallow tree and her head was raised, just slightly anticipating me. such breathless terror persuading lips those lips one foot opposed could, in this life, or any, desire the touch of a thing composed so poorly, as this trembling mouth. but when i worked the nerve at length to form my lips with hers- i found therein my moment and bound my love to hers and to every fragile thing that is- then's not. and tied myself to stars. no park here now. the city deemed this place in need of further cement. and too many trees detracts from the spirit of urban renewal, i guess. but nothing's static. everything goes- changes, to some lesser/greater/different thing. whether it's the languid thoughts of a poet replacing a living girl or a parking meter for a swing everything alters and we endure from change to brutal change. convicted, as we are, in what is- but still connected and buffered by stars. yeah... that's the end of that... gonna re-post one i posted awile back, if y'all don't mind... never forgiven this earth that gave and took you away. cold careening amoral rock that hid you under dirt. never forgiven the boy who loved Love more than love could take. who for the sake of Love and Pure- spent your love away. all was finished, that time ago. unforgiven, all we turn and spin and breathe and be as if you hadn't been. what more to say, that isn't said? nothing left but for that i've bled and left undone sleep, and well, my dreaming one- and the face of night which is become the ghost of all your days but touched will merge to one- one light, and such as star or sun that heaven's never seen- till you are free (of all, of me) dreaming better dreams. anyway... twenty years... hard to believe..."}, {"response": 51, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug 22, 1999 (21:39)", "body": "thanks for trusting us with it again, nick. glad to see you back, please come by more often *hugs*"}, {"response": 52, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Aug 22, 1999 (22:28)", "body": "Painful and profound, Nick. My belated sympathies for something too soon taken from you. Thank you for sharing."}, {"response": 53, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Aug 24, 1999 (17:11)", "body": "thanks, Nick, just drank a toast for her again... and I second Wolf in telling you to bring your butt around here more often..."}, {"response": 54, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Aug 24, 1999 (17:12)", "body": "and I third it... (drinkin' already?!?! I'm envious...) ./"}, {"response": 55, "author": "paula", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (03:12)", "body": "thanks yall... we're not drinking tonight, though... (at least not yet)... paula read at the world poetry cafe, in vancouver, earlier... (she read 'sir'... knocked 'em dead... she's been reading a great deal, both in vancouver and in seattle)... now she's playing pool (not exactly knocking 'em dead)(but she's enthusiastic)... anyway... yeah, that's that, i guess..."}, {"response": 56, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (10:36)", "body": "congrats to paula! btw, I noticed living in the northwest hasn't taken the Texan outta ya, just the apostrophe outta ya'll... what about you nick?? reading? writing? working? playing?"}, {"response": 57, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (22:47)", "body": "I guess I gotta drawl \"y'all\" to fit in here. I noticed most--but not all--of the poetry here is original--and quite good I might add. I think this is quite good (or I wouldn't post it) but it isn't original. Oh, well. It IS a poem of loss. When You are Old When you are old and gray and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars. --W. B. Yeats (when you're not as talented as Nick, Paula, or Wolf, cite a master...)"}, {"response": 58, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (22:52)", "body": "Lovely, John. You cannot be talented in ALL the arts...you are mortal, after all. However, before I swallow that modesty whole I might remind you that elsewhere on this conference there are original poems by you - very good ones, too. No false modesty here, I beg you!"}, {"response": 59, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Aug 27, 1999 (00:37)", "body": "Thank you all. I am no master either, so bring this to the table: It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness - I'm so accustomed to my Fate - Perhaps the Other - Peace - Would interrupt the Dark - And crowd the little Room - Too scant - by Cubits - to contain The Sacrament - of Him - I am not used to Hope - It might intrude upon - Its sweet parade - blaspheme the place - Ordained to Suffering - It might be easier To fail - with Land in Sight - Than gain - My Blue Peninsula - To perish - of Delight - Emily Dickinson, 1862"}, {"response": 60, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Aug 27, 1999 (02:31)", "body": "Amazing that Dickinson only published somewhere between 8 and 11 poems in her own lifetime and those were edited (not to her satisfaction). Thank God, someone mined the \"gold\" she left in her steamer trunk!"}, {"response": 61, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Aug 27, 1999 (18:02)", "body": "(and you can't sing it to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas... YEA!!)"}, {"response": 62, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 27, 1999 (19:34)", "body": "...or the New York City version..The Yellow Rows of Taxis. (sorry...)"}, {"response": 63, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Aug 30, 1999 (16:08)", "body": "funny! i like it!"}, {"response": 64, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (18:58)", "body": "Space Available In the chill before dawn when the alarm clock clatters for my attention and the rooster insists he spoke first I snap out of my rapid-eye reverie. Sometimes I reach out to stroke the vacant place where your hair made the down inside the now lonely pillow jealous of its softness. --John Burnett, copyright 1993"}, {"response": 65, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (19:15)", "body": "MMMmmm... I like..."}, {"response": 66, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (19:44)", "body": "Thanks, Stacey."}, {"response": 67, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:03)", "body": "I am getting painful intimacy here again...perhaps I should read these when I am old and jaded. Lovely, John...I am so sorry!"}, {"response": 68, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:12)", "body": "Thank you...my poetry professor (Alan McNarie) made me write one that doesn't rhyme--he always preferred free verse and I always seem to write stuff with rhyme and rhythm...it was therapy (the subject matter, not the free verse) when I wrote it...now I actually like it."}, {"response": 69, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:16)", "body": "Poignant and evocative, John."}, {"response": 70, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:24)", "body": "Your professor, Alan McNarie, has written some really fantastic stuff. You need to put some of it in Poetry in the appropriate places...please!"}, {"response": 71, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:29)", "body": "He is a terrific poet...he's also very territorial about his stuff. I would have to contact him first. He's been a little scarce--and way underemployed lately. The university screwed up when they didn't give him tenure."}, {"response": 72, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:34)", "body": "You're kidding!!! Why was he denied tenure when we have sodden jerks here with no value sitting on their okoles and not inspiring either student or colleague... makes me furious!"}, {"response": 73, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (21:18)", "body": "I believe there was some jealousy among two professors on his tenure committee. One said that he wasn't helpful enough with ESL students (he had a complaint from a loud disgruntled Korean student) and the other said that he hadn't authored enough \"scholarly articles in refereed professional journals.\" Amazing...and sad. At the time, his first novel had just won the prestigious Pushcart Small Press award and he has published dozens of poems in nationally recognized literary reviews. Scholarly articles, my okole. He was a writing instructor, not a scientist. I'll tell you who those professors were if you remind me when we talk in person. I'm not about to say anything in print that may get back to them. I still occasionally take courses from the University."}, {"response": 74, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (21:19)", "body": "good piece, john!"}, {"response": 75, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (21:19)", "body": "hey! you two were supposed to wait til i got through! *grin*"}, {"response": 76, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (21:23)", "body": "Thanks, ladies (Stacey, Marcia, Nan, Wolf). I appreciate it."}, {"response": 77, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (21:27)", "body": "Talk to you this weekend...I will endeavor to remember (making note to put in cash box for t-shirt sales...)and we shall talk story..."}, {"response": 78, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Sep  6, 1999 (20:57)", "body": "(stacey) some of all, i s'pose... (reading/writing/working/playing) (etc)... very coolish up here... very un-texaslike in just about every way, but i'm adjusting... (in my fashion)... (what about you?) both the yeats and the dickinson were lovely, by the way... and john- while i, too, find myself drawn to the discipline of (mostly discarded, these days) form- i thought your verse well-made, and moving... (paula wrote this) (but everything above nick wrote) (if that makes any sense at all): (yes... very much liked the piece, john- reminds me of a cummings poem, actually... lemme see if i can find it, hold on-) \"Sometimes I reach out to stroke the vacant place where your hair made the down inside the now lonely pillow jealous of its softness....\" [27] \"... - before leaving my room i turn, and(stooping through the morning)kiss this pillow,dear where our heads lived and were\" thats what your poem made me think of... thank you for posting it. she's done now... back on her own damn terminal (we're at an internet cafe, in vancouver)... going to a laborday poetry picnic thing in a few minutes, on the beach... gonna be some kind of live hookup with some san antonio poets, which sounds very cool... though why anyone would start a picnic (labor day, otherwise) at seven o'clock at night is a little confusing (but they're very peculiar here, in many ways)..."}, {"response": 79, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Sep  6, 1999 (21:17)", "body": "It sounds like Hawaii, Nick. Perhaps they are too hot and laid back to do much musing before dark?!"}, {"response": 80, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Sep  6, 1999 (23:30)", "body": "anytime my poetry can remind someone of cummings, I am beyond flattered. Thanks Nick and Paula."}, {"response": 81, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Sep 17, 1999 (17:52)", "body": "nick: (stacey) some of all, i s'pose... (reading/writing/working/playing) (etc)... very coolish up here... very un-texaslike in just about every way, but i'm adjusting... (in my fashion)... (what about you?) coolish mood wise? or temperature wise? a little of both? or a little of none? I think I'm dreamy comfortable in a realistic sorta way... fantasizing about running away with B to marry... wine country and sunshine and more fresh air than I could ever possibly fill my lungs with... *deep breath* surrounding myself with that love as we exchange vows... making it more than words... more than pretty pictures for posterity... making it breaths breathed in unison yes... dreamy. writing in my head... cursing laziness while I actively refuse to scribble thoughts onto paper... lotsa thoughts though. good ones and silly ones and grown up feeling ones... I'm pretty comfortable nick. this place is very un-texaslike in many ways ... i think I have adjusted. I have a real cozy, shady but warm home inside my house and in my circle of happiness... (and in this topic... I guess i have only recently lost my fear and lonliness and weariness... never fear... I'm sure I'll stumble upon it again one day.)"}, {"response": 82, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (20:25)", "body": "by Robert Bly A man told me once that all the bad people Were needed. Maybe not all, but your fingernails You need; they are really claws, and we know Claws. The sharks--what about them? They make other fish swim faster. The hard-faced men In black coats who chase you for hours In dreams--that's the only way to get you To the shore. Sometimes those hard women Who abandon you get you to say, \"You.\" A lazy part of us is like a tumbleweed. It doesn't move on its own. It takes sometimes A lot of Depression to get tumbleweeds moving. Then they blow across three or four States. This man told me that things work together. Bad handwriting sometimes leads to new ideas; And a careless God--who refuses to let you Eat from the Tree of Knowledge--can lead To books, and eventually to us. We write Poems with lies in them, but they help a little."}, {"response": 83, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (20:46)", "body": "Thanks for that, John. This is a place I fear to come when I feel vulnerable - as I do today. Yes, those poems with little lies in them help a little...!"}, {"response": 84, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (20:50)", "body": "One of the all-time great movie lines is from Jeff Goldblum in \"The Big Chill\": \"I don't know if I can make it through a day without a nice, big, juicy rationalization or two.\" (or something like that)"}, {"response": 85, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (20:52)", "body": "Stace, that is lovely. I hope you let Brandon see it...you heart and soul have found their home."}, {"response": 86, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (21:11)", "body": "That is nice, Stacey...you have a poetic touch even when you are (just) answering a post. But it seems basically everyone who enters here has that."}, {"response": 87, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (23:29)", "body": "damn, stacey... that was so beautiful... really happy for you (and brandon)... glad, too, that you're feeling so at home... but- 'untexas-like'? (colorado being, after all- rightfully- texas northern-most county)"}, {"response": 88, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Oct  7, 1999 (19:40)", "body": "Oh, life is glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania. --Dorothy Parker"}, {"response": 89, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  8, 1999 (19:14)", "body": "Thanks for that, Nan...the first laugh this place has gotten from me in a very long time!"}, {"response": 90, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sat, Oct  9, 1999 (03:29)", "body": "Great, Nan! Dorothy Parker is one of my favorites...a first-rate wit, which she had to be to keep up with the rest of the wags of the Algonquin Round Table. One Perfect Rose A single flow'r he sent me, since we met. All tenderly his messenger he chose; Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet- One perfect rose. I knew the language of the floweret; \"My fragile leaves,\" it said, \"his heart enclose.\" Love long has taken for his amulet One perfect rose. Why is it no one ever sent me yet One perfect limousine, do you suppose? Ah no, it's always just my luck to get One perfect rose. - Dorothy Parker, 1926"}, {"response": 91, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sat, Oct  9, 1999 (13:36)", "body": "Oh GOOD!! More Parker fans. ;) And I'm glad that made you laugh, Marcia. I'm also fond of her one-liners -- for example, \"Brevity is the soul of lingerie.\" She proves that poems about loss can keep their protective edge, doesn't she? I've been searching for one poem in particular that I can remember only snatches of -- about a relationship gone south, formerly cherished, with a line about must we pretend it never was \"just because it perished?\" Anybody here know that one or have it in a volume? I've searched for it online to no avail."}, {"response": 92, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct  9, 1999 (14:45)", "body": "Not yet, but I am also an avid DP fan and I shall search for it, as well, both on the net and in my books here. We shall find much good stuff Parker, even if we don't succeed in finding that particular one! Ascerbic wit - my favorite kind - with just the right amount of pain to let you know she has \"been there\", too...*hugs* for posting Parker!"}, {"response": 93, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (04:17)", "body": "More of it came into my head tonight... you know how that back burner works: \"..... ..... ...... ... no longer cherished, Should we say it was not love, Just because it perished?\" Yes, Marcia, that's why I like her too -- when her heart was broken she bled in public because she was a writer, but always with a wry, sardonic smile for her audience."}, {"response": 94, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (12:50)", "body": "I love poems of loss, and I don't know why I haven't posted on here before, but here goes: ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE by Muireadach O'Dalaigh (early 13th century) I parted from my wife last night, A woman's body sunk in clay: The tender bosom that I loved Wrapped in a sheet they took away. The heavy blossom that had lit The ancient boughs is tossed and blown; Her was the burden of delight That long had weighed the old tree down. And I am left alone tonight And desolate is the world I see For lovely was that woman's weight That even last night had lain on me. Weeping I took upon the place Where she used to rest her head-- For yesterday her body's length Reposed upon you too, my bed. Yesterday that smiling face Upon one side of you was laid That could match the hazel bloom In its dark delicate sweet shade. Maelva of the shadowy brows Was the mead-cask at my side; Fairest of all flowers that grow Was the beauty that has died. My body's self deserts me now, The half of me that was her own, Since all I knew of brightness died Half of me lingers, half is gone. The face that was like hawthorn bloom Was my right foot and my right side; And my right hand and my right eye Were no more mine than hers who died. Poor is the share of me that's left Since half of me died with my wife; I shudder at the words I speak; Dear God, that girl was half my life. And our first look was her first love; No man had fondled ere I came The little breasts so small and firm And the long body like a flame. For twenty years we shared a home, Our converse milder with each year; Eleven children in its time Did that tall stately body bear. It was the King of hosts and roads Who snatched her from me in her prime: Little she wished to leave alone The man she loved before her time. Now King of churches and bells, Though never raised a pledge a lie That woman's hand--can it be true?-- No more beneath my head will lie."}, {"response": 95, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (13:06)", "body": "Wow, Amy - powerful stuff. The poor man. I know that feeling of only being a half of a person while someone either encaring or unable to bring it back to where it belonged remained unattainable. It is an acute ache that never quite leaves, like a haunting... Thanks for posting that."}, {"response": 96, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (14:56)", "body": "(Marcia)I know that feeling of only being a half of a person while someone either encaring or unable to bring it back to where it belonged remained unattainable. It is an acute ache that never quite leaves, like a haunting You are so, so right. It's twice as bad when the person isn't dead, because you're always tortured with the idea that someday you might get back together, someday you might make it work."}, {"response": 97, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:09)", "body": "I don't know if this classifies as a \"poem of loss\" per se, but I once had a very emotional experience while reading this aloud: NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING by Stevie Smith Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much farther out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning."}, {"response": 98, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:21)", "body": "I'm going through my anthology of English literature, and I'm just finding so many poems that I loved so dearly when I took that class! A YEAR'S SPINNING by Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1. He listened at the porch that day, To hear the wheel go on, and on; And then it stopped, ran back away, While through the door he brought the sun: But now my spinning is all done. 2. He sat beside me, with an oath That love ne'er ended, once begun; I smiled--believing for us both, What was the truth for only one: And now my spinning is all done. 3. My mother cursed me that I heard A young man's wooing as I spun: Thanks, cruel mother, for that word-- For I have, since, a harder known! And now my spinning is all done. 4. I thought--O God!--my first born's cry Both voices to mine ear would drown: I listened in mine agony-- It was the silence made me groan! And now my spinning is all done. 5. Bury me 'twixt my mother's grave, (Who cursed me on her death-bed lone) And my dead baby's (God it save!) Who, not to bless me, would not moan. And now my spinning is all done. 6. A stone upon my heart and head, But no name written on the stone! Sweet neighbours, whisper low instead, \"This sinner was a loving one-- And now her spinning is all done.\" 7. And let the door ajar remain, In case he should pass by anon; And leave the wheel out very plain,-- That HE, when passing in the sun, May see the spinning is all done."}, {"response": 99, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:24)", "body": "Ah yes, hope springs eternal...for me, as well. Just the right word (or any word, for that matter) from him and the entire complexion of the world changes. Flowers bloom where there were none before; sun shines where there were gloomy clouds hovering. Everything changes! With just a little word or two from the right person... Sometimes I wonder how close to drowning I really am..."}, {"response": 100, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:27)", "body": "Sounds like EBB had a mother like mine! Fortunately, and thanks be to God, I have never experienced the ultimate horror of burying my own child."}, {"response": 101, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:30)", "body": "My goodness, Marcia, we do have so much in common! Many times I have despised myself for letting my happiness depend upon whether or not HE would condescend to be nice to me that day, but I can't seem to stop it. I was in therapy for two years, listened to grief counselors, but nothing seems to have been successful in getting him out of my heart. I'm wondering if separation might do the trick, since we have to work in such close proximity to one another and every time I see him it just opens the wounds anew."}, {"response": 102, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:35)", "body": "Separation may be the only way to heal the wounds and to let you see what more worthy gentlemen are out there looking for someone just like you. Alas, at the proximity in which you find yourself, all you can see is unworthy him . If you ever discover the secret to not depending on the sun's rising on another, please let me know...!"}, {"response": 103, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:40)", "body": "And I find myself not wanting to be separated from him, either--I deliberately chose not to go away for graduate school so I could still be near him. I think I would go bonkers if I didn't know that if I really get desperate, I can always pop in and say hello, just to get my bearings. I'm hopeless, I know."}, {"response": 104, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:42)", "body": "I know. I truly know. If you are hopeless, you are not alone...I am in the same situation. But, I am not allowed to speak - or if I do, he is not allowed to respond...(very long story)"}, {"response": 105, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (15:49)", "body": "I have the same kind of situation (I think)--administration has said that we're not supposed to be talking to one another about anything \"personal\" (ie, anything other than school or literature,) so I have to think for a while to come up with a question to ask him about either of those things. There are ways around THE RULES (as I so nastily call them,) but I haven't figured out how to use them terribly effectively yet."}, {"response": 106, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:05)", "body": "...ah, yes...THE RULES...it is an interesting challenge to your intellect (aided and abetted by your libido) to find a way to use them effectively. It can be done...(similar situation with different agents governing the rules) but he is either unable or unwilling to go against them."}, {"response": 107, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:14)", "body": "Well, my Belov\ufffdd is a bit on the spineless side these days--he used to be very brave and thumb his nose at administration (once, I had a very bizarre conversation with him about \"what if people think we're having an affair?\" and he said, \"Who cares? Honi soit qui mal y pense,\") but now he acts like he's afraid someone is going to see him talking to me. He only talks to me when there's no one else around, and if his wife is around, he makes every effort to get out of the area as soon as he can."}, {"response": 108, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:18)", "body": "...hmmm...also interesting. Sounds like he is covering his backside, as it were, for the time being. This might be a temporary situation till things cool down for a bit...that is what I am hoping for with mine."}, {"response": 109, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:26)", "body": "It's been two years since we \"split up\"..."}, {"response": 110, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:39)", "body": "Oh, My Dear! How extraoridnarily painful for you! My utmost symapthies. Mine is still fresh...thus the wounds are still raw and might be felt on both sides of my situation...I shall continue doing the usual and trying to be as open to things as possible without destroying what is Me! You, as I, will always carry part of him in your heart - and he, like it or not, will do likewise...*hugs*"}, {"response": 111, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (16:46)", "body": "I know--my therapist once told me that no matter what happens, I'll always have him in here (tapping her chest.) I nearly burst into tears when she said that."}, {"response": 112, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (18:24)", "body": "i must be quite a strange bird. because these things haven't happened to me. oh yes, i've had my crushes and thought the sun set and rose on those people but that was long ago. the only people i care about loving me are my children. i've never been in love so desperately (that i can remember). nor have i obsessed over anyone (save movie stars, who don't count anyway). and what about these rules? what rules are you talking about? am i living my life with my eyes shut? well, the above isn't entirely true. i ve had major adult crushes too, but let them go as that. and in the heat of those moments, a word or not could make the day. i'm sorry that you both feel so isolated in your grief. *HUGS* thanks for rediscovering this topic and do keep posting! and what a sad piece by EBB. hope her mother didn't really say those things (and if she did, i can relate)"}, {"response": 113, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (18:54)", "body": "Oh, THE RULES I'm talking about have nothing to do with anything in the outside world--purely academic rubbish. Not that absurd book that was so popular a short while ago. To continue with the poems of loss (like we're supposed to be doing,) here is one that tears my heart apart every time I read it: THE SPRING AND THE FALL by Edna St. Vincent Millay In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The trees were black where the bark was wet. I see them yet, in the spring of the year. He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach That was out of the way and hard to reach. In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The rooks went up with a raucous trill. I hear them still, in the fall of the year. He laughed at all I dared to praise, And broke my heart, in little ways. Year be springing or year be falling, The bark will drip and birds be calling. There's much that's fine to see and hear In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year. 'Tis not love's going that hurts my days, But that it went in little ways."}, {"response": 114, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:26)", "body": "And I got chastised for mentioning Jesse Ventura..."}, {"response": 115, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:32)", "body": "Poor John...*hugs* (The rules you were talking about were THE RULES of academia I know so well...and of the whole sorry mess we find ourselves in...!)"}, {"response": 116, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:34)", "body": "Goodness, I thought you would have forgotten all about that, John! I'm sorry--it was a frivolous comment and I meant no personal offense by it at all. *Hugs*"}, {"response": 117, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:36)", "body": "(Thank you for saying that, Amy...he was going to gather up his talent and silently go away...our loss, indeed!) Great poem about breaking her heart in little ways. Oh Man! Can I ever relate!"}, {"response": 118, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:43)", "body": "Thank you, Amy. I feel better now."}, {"response": 119, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:49)", "body": "You're welcome. Sometimes I get to be a haughty intellectual and I need to be taken down a notch."}, {"response": 120, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:54)", "body": "John is worthy company of academics as he is one, as well. My dear John, you also qualify for the screwed in love topic at 163 if you care to join us...!"}, {"response": 121, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:56)", "body": "Unfortunately, I am screwed, but only in the sadly most figurative sense."}, {"response": 122, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (19:58)", "body": "...um...just guessing about this, but I have the feeling you are NOT alone in this lamentable condition...*sigh*"}, {"response": 123, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (20:04)", "body": "Quite right, Marcia--we're all pretty much s**t out of luck when it comes to love!"}, {"response": 124, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 10, 1999 (20:09)", "body": "...sounds like the lyrics of a country-western song...\"I'm s**t out of luck...\" (*lol* a little levity to keep me from crying)"}, {"response": 125, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (00:01)", "body": "Since we're all feeling a little crummy tonight, how about another Edna St. Vincent Millay poem that is just as bitter as we are? SPRING To what purpose, April, do you return again? Beauty is not enough. You can no longer quiet me with the redness Of little leaves opening stickily. I know what I know. The sun is hot on my neck as I observe The spikes of the crocus. The smell of the earth is good. It is apparent that there is no death. But what does that signify? Not only under ground are the brains of men Eaten by maggots. Life in itself Is nothing. An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs. It is not enough that yearly, down this hill, April Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers."}, {"response": 126, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (00:18)", "body": "I love it! Caterpillers reeling down out of the trees and down my back tickling and squashing when I finally caught them...Yuck! Give me Fall any time!"}, {"response": 127, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (00:48)", "body": "Not sure under which category this Dorothy Parker Gem should be posted... Ultimatum I'm wearied of wearying love, my friend, Of worry and strain and doubt; Before we begin, let us view the end, And maybe I'll do without. There's never the pang that was worth the tear, And toss in the night I won't- So either you do or you don't, my dear, Either you do or you don't! The table is ready, so lay your cards And if they should augur pain, I'll tender you ever my kind regards And run for the fastest train. I haven't the will to be spent and sad; My heart's to be gay and true- Then either you don't or you do, my lad, Either you don't or you do!"}, {"response": 128, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (00:50)", "body": "I think DP needs her own topic! Wolfie, can I create it? Or shall you?"}, {"response": 129, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (03:03)", "body": "Although I love both DP and ESVM and their wry, sardonic wit, here's another view of loss, the hopeful one that I still have and wish that my own words could express one-tenth so eloquently: What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. from William Wordsworth \"Ode: Intimations of Immortality\" stanza 10."}, {"response": 130, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (09:17)", "body": "Here are a couple of English Renaissance lute songs over which I have wept a time or two: Oft I have sigh'd for him who hears me not: Who absent hath both love and me forgot. O yet I languish still through this delay. Days seem as years, when wish'd friends break their day. Had he but lov'd as common lovers use, His faithless stay some kindness would excuse: O yet I languish still, still constant mourn For him that can break vows, but not return. --Thomas Campion Now, o now, I needs must part, Parting though I absent mourn. Absence can no joy impart: Joy once fled cannot return. While I live I needs must love, Love lives not when hope is gone. Now at last despaire doth prove, Love divided loveth none. Sad despair doth drive me hence, This despaire unkindness sends. It that parting bee offence, It is shee which then offends. Deare, when I from thee am gone, Gone are all my joyes at once. I loved thee and thee alone, In whose love I joyed once. And although your sight I leave, Sight wherein my joyes do lie, Till that death doth sense bereave, Never shall affection die. Deare, if I do not returne, Love and I shall die together. For my absence never mourne, Whom you might have joyed ever: Part we must though now I die, Die I do to part with you. Him despaire doth cause to lie, Who both lived and dieth true. --John Dowland"}, {"response": 131, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (10:46)", "body": "Ms Dorothy Parker and Ms Edna St. Vincent Millay have their own topics! please enjoy!!!"}, {"response": 132, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (13:32)", "body": "I don't know much about American literature and poetry. But I once bought a book with poems from Robert Frost, because I was looking for a special one that I found (some lines) cited in a novel, but I couldn't find the one I was looking for... :-[ (All I remember is that it had something to do with a tree and winter...)"}, {"response": 133, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (14:02)", "body": "Could it have been this one, Isabel? STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING by Robert Frost Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep."}, {"response": 134, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (17:23)", "body": "It's lovely! Thanks, Amy! That's why his poems impress me so much,they seem so mmh - yearning... But sorry it's not the one I'm searching... I remember something like an apple tree in winter (???), which should not bloom, otherwise it could froze...mmh, something like that. It was a bit sad...but expressed a feeling I had some time ago, when I lost somebody very close to me... That's why I want to find it."}, {"response": 135, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (17:33)", "body": "Sorry--I don't have anything like that in my anthology of American lit, and I'm not a big Frost fan so I couldn't tell you exactly what one it is. I don't do the American thing--I'm a British and French lit person."}, {"response": 136, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (17:39)", "body": "Isn't it a bit curious that a lot is happening now in the Poetry conf.? Now, when it got autumn and the days are getting shorter and darker, I felt a strong urge to unpack my books, that's what I will do in the next week, besides getting the garden ready for winter. I got some new books and reading is my favorite habit in winter, besides needlework, when in summer I don't find any time to do so. In the cold season I like to sit on the sofa with a good book and just dream of better seasons coming..."}, {"response": 137, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (19:04)", "body": "Angles By Debra Tenney 4/19/98 I awaken to a bed devoid of sharp angles & deep furrows and I am reminded of a light house on a windy strand, September waves rolling over its base, and of yesterdays when that was enough. Of time when the chilled wind of February did not fill me with spring longing. Buried beneath this desert of tangled bed, in which I am drowning, in a space once my asylum, I am a winter cottonwood surrounded by tumbleweeds, static form amidst chaos. I lay awake and drink deeply of your pillow\ufffds essence hoping as the first hyacinth purples March\ufffds burnt umber I will hear your footsteps in twilight\ufffds first blush."}, {"response": 138, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (20:18)", "body": "WITH RUE MY HEART IS LADEN by A.E. Housman With rue my heart is laden For golden friends I had, For many a rose-lipt maiden And many a lightfoot lad. By brooks too broad for leaping The lightfoot boys are laid; The rose-lipt girls are sleeping In fields where roses fade."}, {"response": 139, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:40)", "body": "Debra, that is a lovely poem. Amy, I've always considered Housman underrated."}, {"response": 140, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:55)", "body": "Prophetstown by John Burnett, copyright 1994 I grew up in Prophetstown, a place of farms, frost and football-- where once an Indian prophet named White Cloud counseled the mighty Sauk and Fox chief Black Hawk, where a young Indian fighter named Abraham Lincoln learned to respect the savvy of adversaries most called savages, a place whose hallowed history vanished with the vanquished. There were towns not far away which still bore names they were called by natives: Annawan, Kewanee, Oneida, Winnebago, Wataga, and Tiskilwa-- names with power, pride and poetry. The names were all that was left. Sometimes in right field while waiting for the ball to be batted my way, wedging the rubberized tips of my Converse All-Stars into the dirt, I'd unearth a significant discovery: an Indian arrowhead or a piece of tomahawk that somehow surfaced when the wind and rain stripped away the topsoil, where the grass had been eroded by the incessant shuffling of youthful feet. I'd take my find home and put it in a shoe box. My Florsheim box of antique stone was a precious to me as a pirate's treaure chest filled with gold doubloons. One night after inventory I ran downstairs and asked my father, \"Dad? What happened to the Indians?\" \"Most of them are dead,\" he said. \"Killed by the white man's guns or by disease they had no resistance to. Those who survived the Black Hawk War in 1832 were rounded up and driven West to a reservation.\" \"Will they ever come back?\" I asked through tears I vainly fought to keep from coursing down my cheeks. He shook his head and softly answered, \"No, Son.\""}, {"response": 141, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:17)", "body": "...oh John...how poignant...! (I love how the meter insinuates itself in my brain as I read this...)"}, {"response": 142, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:09)", "body": "Nicely done John."}, {"response": 143, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (07:48)", "body": "Shit River by John Burnett, copyright 1994 Pinatubo sunset exuding beauty that bursts the prismic envelope. Poverty blankets the atmosphere like the fecal coliform stench permeating the brackish air from the burnt-brown surface skin of Shit River. There are rowboats, eight abreast riding high on the toxic tributary, positioned on each side of the bridge with plaintive voices rising from the scum: \"Hey Joe, you boo-koo guapo! C'mon, Joe! Throw me pesos!\" There's a young girl in each dinghy all dressed in the uniform of the day: Spandex bike shorts, skin-tight midriff blouses, stuffed brassieres and sailor caps embroidered with their names. They use the caps to catch coins the sailors throw to them. Each girl has a younger boy on board clad in skimpy Speedo knock-offs. The boys plummet headlong into the merciless mire to retrieve the coins the girls miss, some of which are purposely thrown awry."}, {"response": 144, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:02)", "body": "Been tossing coins awry in the Philippines, have you?! Hmmm...Pinatubo did not erupt that long ago that you were in the Navy then...either it was another eruption (leaving that untouched) or you are taking justifiable poetic license (where else could it be more appropriate?!)"}, {"response": 145, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:19)", "body": "Good grief, I nearly forgot this poem! VITAE SUMMA BREVIS SPEM NOS VETAT INCOHARE LONGAM (The brief sum of life forbids us hope of enduring long) by Ernest Dowson They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, the closes Within a dream."}, {"response": 146, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:25)", "body": "Pinatubo was used to mark the setting (poetic license, I suppose)...and I NEVER purposely threw a coin awry to make a kid take a dip in that foul ditch (between the Subic Bay Naval Base and Olongapo City). I would never do that to another human being."}, {"response": 147, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (15:30)", "body": "I know you to be a gentle man in all things...I am happy you were not one of those perverse enough to....was it really raw sewage? I had hoped that was poetic license, as well. Pinatubo was splendid, and I was immediatley transported to the Philippines...(I DO know my volcanoes!)"}, {"response": 148, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (15:42)", "body": "Raw sewage it was...it is a third-world country."}, {"response": 149, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (16:42)", "body": "I remember visiting Mexico - one never appreciates the good old USA than when they have seen how bad it can be in other places...! Thanks for not causing the boys (or any human being) to have to get into that filth! There is no other stench quite like it!"}, {"response": 150, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (17:55)", "body": "SINCE THERE'S NO HELP, COME LET US KISS AND PART by Michael Drayton Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part; Nay, I have done, you get no more of me, And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart That thus so cleanly I myself can free; Shake hand for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover."}, {"response": 151, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (18:02)", "body": "Ah, chacteristic personification..."}, {"response": 152, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (21:48)", "body": "One of my favorites -- It's possible I am pushing through solid rock in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone; I am such a long way in I see no way through, and no space: everything is close to my face, and everything close to my face is stone. I don't have much knowledge yet in grief -- so this massive darkness makes me small. You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in: then your great transforming will happen to me, and my great grief cry will happen to you. --Rainer Maria Rilke, from A Book for the Hours of Prayer (No. 22)"}, {"response": 153, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:16)", "body": "Lovely, Nan. I am not coming back here for a while. I put something from my past in posts yesterday that were read and misinterpreted. Be very careful of what you say and how you phrase it...someone just might read something entirely different into what you write and take it personally. Aloha!"}, {"response": 154, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:31)", "body": "NO SECOND TROY by William Butler Yeats Why should I blame her that she filled my days With misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the great, Had they but courage to equal desire? What could have made her peaceful with a mind That nobleness made simple as a fire, With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind That is not natural in an age like this, Being high and solitary and most stern? Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?"}, {"response": 155, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:35)", "body": "LEISURE by William Henry Davies What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. (I would like everyone who reads this to remember to take a moment to smell the roses today!)"}, {"response": 156, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:36)", "body": "NO SECOND TROY by William Butler Yeats Why should I blame her that she filled my days With misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the great, Had they but courage to equal desire? What could have made her peaceful with a mind That nobleness made simple as a fire, With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind That is not natural in an age like this, Being high and solitary and most stern? Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?"}, {"response": 157, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:36)", "body": "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."}, {"response": 158, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:45)", "body": "Milton wrote this sonnet about his blindness, considered his greatest, less than a year before his death. Sonnet XIX by John Milton - 1673 When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, \"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?\" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies: \"God doth not need Either man's work or his own gifts: who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait.\""}, {"response": 159, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:53)", "body": "Oh Marcia -- I'm sorry to hear of that misunderstanding, whatever it was. I'll miss your voice here. Hope you're not away for long."}, {"response": 160, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (00:55)", "body": "That's one of my favorite sonnets, John. Memorized it eons ago in high school - still hold phrases in my memory banks. Thanks. ;)"}, {"response": 161, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (02:07)", "body": "...how could I stay away when people as lovely as you are here?! Thank you, Nan... *big hugs*"}, {"response": 162, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (02:08)", "body": "...John...that is magnificent - and always moving to read...thank you! Puts things into perspective, does it not?!"}, {"response": 163, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (02:11)", "body": "To put it in its simplest terms, I like it."}, {"response": 164, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (02:14)", "body": "(wonder how many people quote that last line and never know from whence it came)"}, {"response": 165, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (04:22)", "body": "I've used it when pitchers who warm up don't get into the game (but I always give Milton credit)."}, {"response": 166, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:46)", "body": "marcia, don't worry about what other people think or read into your poetry, do not let them stop you from writing or visiting. afterall, i had one misread too, but that's the way things go. please don't leave us here in poetry!"}, {"response": 167, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:53)", "body": "*hugs* Wolfie...thanks more than I can say...*sniff*"}, {"response": 168, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (22:28)", "body": "Don't let the irony of the title line of this sonnet fool you. It IS a poem of loss, and one of Wordsworth's better \"later\" (beyond his 30s) works: Surprised by Joy by William Wordsworth - 1815 Surprised by joy - impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport - Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind - But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss! - That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore."}, {"response": 169, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (22:41)", "body": "Lovely, John - very moving, indeed..."}, {"response": 170, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (10:53)", "body": "But for lust we could be friends, On each other's necks could weep, In each other's arms could sleep, In the calm the cradle lends, Lends awhile, and takes away - But for hunger, but for fear, Calm could be our day and year, From the yellow to the grey, From the gold to the grey hair - But for passion we could rest, But for passion we could feast On compassion everywhere. Even in this night I know, By the awful, living dead, By this craving tear I shed, Somewhere, somewhere, it is so. Ruth Pitter"}, {"response": 171, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (16:06)", "body": "nice one but sad.....thanks mark :)"}, {"response": 172, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (12:59)", "body": "That is an amazing poem, Mark. So beautifully poignant and so true!"}, {"response": 173, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (14:33)", "body": "I should know better than to come into this topic to read. Lovely, Mark! 'Tis true....*sigh*"}, {"response": 174, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (21:55)", "body": "ok, y'all don't pass out, but i've got a new piece to share: My Friend How I miss you, my friend, Mere words cannot express. Although I saw you rarely, You meant the world to me. Your kindness and steadfast Love and friendship was an Unexpected treasure. Please rest where you are And miss nothing of This life. Look upon Me with forgiveness, I Never said I love you. (for Jeff Chambers, 1967-1999) i miss him very much!"}, {"response": 175, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (22:34)", "body": "My heart weeps with yours knowing how incredible this man was to you. That last sentence says it all, really! My sympathies, again *hugs* Thank you for sharing something so deeply felt..."}, {"response": 176, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (23:18)", "body": "that is beautiful, wolf. thanks for bringing it here -- you have my sympathies too."}, {"response": 177, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (23:20)", "body": "DEATH WATCH -- (for Allyn) He died as night rolled back on the next to last day of the year, when frost coats dead weeds by the road and old leaves glow with cold fire like pale glass that winks in the sun. Ice takes its own slow time to melt, flows out of my heart the way hope leaks, like red wine spilled from a glass by his bed in drips - It may be my own blood - I can't see yet - but the stains have marked a sort of map of the sky on the backs of my eyes, and this dark weight sinks deep like silt in my veins. Breath of life flies like a gasp from his gaunt frame - he lies still as wax. We sit stunned on his bed and watch it go. Hear the clocks tick. Where is the thing that was once his laugh? Off on a jaunt? Will it be right back? Dawn broke pink and orange that morn, I saw it light the clouds, meet the bright star that pulled the new day up to the tip of the sky, and I knew then he could fly - My heart rose like a lark with the sun, grew wings - His race was won. He was home."}, {"response": 178, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov 17, 1999 (00:13)", "body": "Just when I though there were no more tears to shed...I find them blessing my keyboard (as the Hawaiians say of the gentle rain we get here) again... Nan...I am speechless with sorrow and the beauty of your poem. I am wrapping my arms around you and Wolfie and having virtual catharsis *HUGS*"}, {"response": 179, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Nov 17, 1999 (12:09)", "body": "((((((((marcia)))))))) thank you."}, {"response": 180, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov 17, 1999 (13:48)", "body": "It was very difficult for me last evening (perhaps I was ovely tired) to relive your loss. I am not sure there is anyone on earth who has ever loved me that much. I have loved that much, and understand your feelings so strongly, but to have been loved that much is a gift I cannot even imagine. You were, indeed, blessed with a most excellent brother. Again, thank you for sharing. *hugs*"}, {"response": 181, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Nov 17, 1999 (17:43)", "body": "thanks nan and marcia *hugs* nan, i can't imagine what you went through (and still go through). please find comfort in the knowledge that \"he could fly\". my piece was really a lame attempt at words. how can someone describe what it meant? but thank you for obliging!"}, {"response": 182, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov 17, 1999 (18:37)", "body": "...and you, Wolfie, were blessed with a most excellent friend. I was very moved by your poem...perhaps because you honored me by allowing me in on your grieving. Hugs and love to you both from this lady in Hawaii *sniff*"}, {"response": 183, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Nov 19, 1999 (23:51)", "body": "I am blessed to be able to share what was, with you. Thank you for accepting it with such tenderness. Being able to stay with my brother for his last journey and help him go home was a precious gift, and seeing that incredible dawn -- and the morning star that drew back the night's curtain -- well, it's an image I'll never forget."}, {"response": 184, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 20, 1999 (13:34)", "body": "I am sitting here with chicken-skin just thinking of your divine revelation. What else could it have been?! *hugs* again..."}, {"response": 185, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Jun 10, 2000 (11:30)", "body": "Intransiet Modes of transportation, Vehicles of conveyence Always smell -- Of cleaning fluid and vinyl. I'm intransiet. A disjointed traveler looking out the window Feeling nebulous. Reflected in the darkness I notice All the cracks and fissues in my face -- That no one else can see. Outside Splinters of myself are flying by. I'm shattering. They say even the stars die. Sometimes I think that under the gravity of the situation, I'll start collapsing into myself. I am filled with sweet memories that cloy. Maybe I'll learn to remember Without pain. My memories are sweet, But they stick -- Like an icepick in the mind."}, {"response": 186, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Jun 10, 2000 (16:05)", "body": "thank you for stopping in and leaving a piece of you here, cheryl *HUGS*"}, {"response": 187, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jun 10, 2000 (16:39)", "body": "Oh Cheryl...my heart cries with yours! Does the pain ever go away? I think not. At least not for me... not yet... It remains a dull ache in the back of your psyche ever ready to leap to the forefront and bring fresh tears."}, {"response": 188, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Mon, Jun 12, 2000 (19:08)", "body": "Thank you for the encouragement and comments. This poem is actually several years old. I was one of the easiest things I ever wrote. It was written backwards, as it were. I got the lines: My memories are sweet/But they stick --/ Like an icepick in the mind., as my first thought. It just seemed that these had to be the last lines of a poem, not the start. I pretty much worked back from that point to the completed piece, and it was the complete piece. There really was no rewriting to speak of, I took out about three words of the original draft. Still, this is basically the orignal concept. Oddly, I've never really thought of it as a particularly personal poem. It was written from my own experience, but it could apply to just about anybody. I've never felt it to be specific to, nor about me."}, {"response": 189, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Jun 12, 2000 (19:15)", "body": "It surprised me that it is not intimately personal to you. Perhaps I plugged into your words my own loss. It still effects me profoundly and could reduce me to tears if I read it at a time I was feeling vulnerable."}, {"response": 190, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Mon, Jun 12, 2000 (19:25)", "body": "I think it may well have been a conscious decision on my part to distance myself from it. Maybe a way to cope with my pain by placing it in what I perceive as a more universal context. Everybody hurts, it isn't unique to me. In writing it, perhaps I found a way to define what I was feeling. In definition I found limits, and by doing that I found that move on with my life. Of course, it could be that it is extraordinarily personal, and I just can't perceive it because I'm too close and want to keep an illusion of distance."}, {"response": 191, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Jun 12, 2000 (19:51)", "body": "Let is rest as a sublimation. I think it is a form of catharsis to put down on paper and send it out to the world. It transforms it from being merely personal angish to a universal \"been there, felt that\" truth. Thanks!"}, {"response": 192, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Mon, Jun 12, 2000 (20:04)", "body": "Thank you for reading my babbling about it. Thanks for you kind words."}, {"response": 193, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May 14, 2001 (23:21)", "body": "O handsome chestnut eyes, evasive gaze, O fiery sighs and falling tears, O night Obscurely black through which I wait for light for nothing, O clear dawn of the futile days! O lamentations, O obstinate desires, O wasted time, O grief scattered about, O thousand deaths, O thousand nets throughout my life among the worst insidious fires, O laughing lips, brow, hair, arms, hands, and fingers, O funereal lute, viol, bow, and voice! A woman's heart always has a burned mark. I sob because of you. Your fire lingers in every place my seared heart would rejoice, Except in you who keep no single spark. --Louise Lab\ufffd poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 21, "subject": "Favorite Poets", "response_count": 77, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Jul  5, 1998 (22:41)", "body": "Ogden Nash What else is there to say?"}, {"response": 2, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (08:52)", "body": "Can you put in a poem by him/her, Wer? I'm sorry, I've had very little to do with English/America poetry up to now. My favourite poet, and the only one whose works I know a bit, besides Goethe (who is of course my second favourite), is Emily Bront\ufffd. Do you think we could open a topic on her, Wolf? There was a time when my cheek burned To give such scornful fiends the lie Ungoverned nature madly spurned The law that bade it not defy O in the days of ardent youth I would have given my life for truth For truth, for right, for liberty I would have gladly, freely died And now I calmly hear and see The vain man smile the fool deride Though not because my heart is tame Though not for fear though not for shame My soul still chafes at every tone Of selfish and self-blinded error My breast still braves the world alone Steeled as ever was to terror Only I know however I frown The same world will go rolling on. BEAUTIFUL"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (11:13)", "body": "i can, but i think the bronte sisters have their own conference!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (12:46)", "body": "They do, and I've been there. I was there for a long, long time before starting to go to the other conferences It was going great for a time, but nobody's interested anymore. I think everything's been said and done there, frankly. There's only so much one can say about people who lived such short, mysterious lives. But I think it a shame that Emily's poetry should just go quiet like that."}, {"response": 5, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (13:29)", "body": "cummings. hands down. no contest. then again, i can't overlook that indelible sonnet by John Gillespie McGee, Jr."}, {"response": 6, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (18:52)", "body": "ok, riette, you got it!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (15:38)", "body": "(pour tu, mystery girl)... our favorite poem (written by our favorite poet, the incomparable cummings)... a clown's smirk in the skull of a baboon (where once good lips stalked or eyes firmly stirred) my mirror gives me,on this afternoon; i am a shape that can but eat and turd ere with the dirt death shall him vastly gird, a coward waiting clumsily to cease whom every perfect thing meanwhile doth miss; a hand's impression in an empty glove, a soon forgotten tune,a house for lease. I have never loved you dear as now i love behold this fool who,in the month of June, having certain stars and planets heard, rose very slowly in a tight balloon until the smallening world became absurd; him did an archer spy(whose aim had erred never)and by that little trick or this he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss -and wonderfully i fell through the green groove of twilight,striking into many a piece. I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon, collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon) resembles something that has not occurred: i am a birdcage without any bird, a collar looking for a dog,a kiss without lips;a prayer lacking any knees but something beats within my shirt to prove he is undead who,living,noone is. I have never loved you dear as now i love. Hell(by most humble me which shall increase) open thy fire!for i have had some bliss of one small lady upon earth above; to whom i cry,remembering her face, i have never loved you dear as now i love - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (16:47)", "body": "Ohhhh, Nick! Can you believe I have never before seen that one?? Consider your feet virtually kissed."}, {"response": 9, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jul  8, 1998 (17:46)", "body": "now, that's a visual for the art conference!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (00:06)", "body": "i'd never seen it before, either, 'til paula jane sent it to me, few months ago... (she found it)... so beautiful it just... i dunno, sorta makes you ache, doesn't it? try and post some more cummings later on... he is always worthwhile... enriches, restores... (etc)..."}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (10:36)", "body": "i'll start a topic for him (e.e. cummings)"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (12:38)", "body": "And I'll christen it!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (16:00)", "body": "great!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (18:51)", "body": "Robert Frost is my favorite poet. My favorite poem by him is: \"The Road Less Traveled\"."}, {"response": 15, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (19:03)", "body": "I compliment you on your superb taste, Tim."}, {"response": 16, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (20:00)", "body": "Thank you, Charlotte. That has been my favorite poem ever since I first read it in grade school."}, {"response": 17, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (09:53)", "body": "My favorite poem has always been \"High Flight\", by John Gillespie McGee, Jr. It is unknown whether he ever wrote any other poems, but this is surely the only one that was ever published, and it was published posthumously. It is that sonnet that inspired me to learn about, and attempt to write, poetry. when I was 45, I attempted to locate Mr. McGee, to write him a fan letter and let him know how his poem had influenced my life. I wish I had the skill to describe how I felt when I discovered that he died before I was born."}, {"response": 18, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (13:10)", "body": "I've never seen that poem, Where did you find it? You may not have the skill today, maybe tomorrow you will. keep thinking about it. I look forward to you writing about it."}, {"response": 19, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (17:58)", "body": "Oh, I'm sure you've seen this poem! But here it is, just in case: HIGH FLIGHT ---John Gillespie Magee, Jr. Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth, And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings. Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds, and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of; wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there, I've chased the shouting wind along and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious burning blue I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace, Where never lark, nor even eagle flew, And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod The high untrespassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand, and touched the face of God."}, {"response": 20, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (18:03)", "body": "If you will forgive a little rambling, I'll attempt to explain why I love it so. I was raised in rural Kentucky, during the 50s. Poetry was not a common or very accessible art to me. But my English teacher, while teaching us the sonnet form, read us this poem. I was not impressed. Didn't sound like a poem to me! Very little rhyme. Sounded like a nice paragraph by somebody who loved to fly. But THEN! She passed copies of the poem to each of us. And I was able to see the form of the poem on the page, and read it slowly, pausing at the end of each line, as if a comma were present, so I could see the brilliance of the rhyme, and the perfect iambic pentameter. I wanted to clutch the paper to my heart and run singing from the room to some nearby meadow where I could wallow in the joy that I felt. But this was Kentucky. 50's. High school. I didn't wallow. I hope you find some joy in it, too."}, {"response": 21, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (19:11)", "body": "i know that poem! thanks for posting it. and thanks for expressing your love of it (you never need to explain yourself to us) you know, you should write. just in that paragraph above, geez, i saw it all..."}, {"response": 22, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (21:40)", "body": "WOW!!! I'm a pilot. WOW!! He has captured the essence of the love of flying, which all pilots have! Charlotte, I agree with wolf. I think you are more than ready."}, {"response": 23, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov 24, 1998 (08:26)", "body": "McGee was 18 when he died. And he died while flying. How odd: those two sentences give me grief and peace, simultaneously."}, {"response": 24, "author": "TIM", "date": "Tue, Nov 24, 1998 (10:20)", "body": "He could not have asked for a better death."}, {"response": 25, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov 24, 1998 (14:03)", "body": "I've always found comfort in that thought, Tim. Once, while I was teaching poetic forms, I wrote the following raccontino to illustrate the form to my students, since it's not easy to find samples of this very old Italian form. Eight lines, iambic pentameter, abcb defe is the rhyme scheme. And if you append the last word in each of the odd- numbered lines to the title, it should form a sentence or a phrase that summarizes the poem. For John Gillespie McGee, Jr. .... All through my poet's life I've held aloft Your sonnet, like a torch against the night. It led me on, through darkened tunnels where I questioned my ability to write. They ask me who you are, and I say: He, A pilot-poet, died before my birth; His single sonnet, wordlit flame, belongs To all who write for joy of 'tumbling mirth'. (John Gillespie McGee, Jr. ... aloft where he belongs.)"}, {"response": 26, "author": "TIM", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (13:28)", "body": "See Charlotte, I told you you would find the words to express how you felt when you found out that he was dead. You did a really good job right there."}, {"response": 27, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (20:36)", "body": "Not really wanting to break the conversation, but what part of Kentucky and/or city, Charlotte?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (09:34)", "body": "Mt. Sterling. 35 miles east of Lexington."}, {"response": 29, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (23:14)", "body": "Born in West Liberty Lived in Sandy Hook, Louisville, Lexington, and Winchester"}, {"response": 30, "author": "TIM", "date": "Fri, Nov 27, 1998 (00:09)", "body": "Charlotte, the raccontinos that you wrote here, were works of art. Tell me do you have other examples that you would like to share, either of your work, or that of others. I really like this kind of poetry, and I've not seen it before."}, {"response": 31, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Nov 28, 1998 (17:28)", "body": "I lived in Louisville right out of college. I worked in the city planning dept. and as a photographer for the Louisville Courier Journal and Times. I also had my own company called Transparency Fair."}, {"response": 32, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Dec  3, 1998 (06:23)", "body": "yeah... this was written by ernest dowson... second and last verses are especially beautiful, i think... (and have had some occasion to appreciate the prescience of these words) (astonishingly enough) Flos Lunea I would not alter thy cold eyes, Nor trouble the calm fount of speech With aught of passion or surprise. The heart of thee I cannot reach: I would not alter thy cold eyes! I would not alter thy cold eyes; Nor have thee smile, nor make thee weep: Though all my life droops down and dies, Desiring thee, desiring sleep, I would not alter thy cold eyes. I would not alter thy cold eyes; I would not change thee if I might, To whom my prayers for incense rise, Daughter of dreams! my moon of night! I would not alter thy cold eyes. I would not alter thy cold eyes, With trouble of the human heart: Within their glance my spirit lies, A frozen thing, alone, apart; I would not alter thy cold eyes."}, {"response": 33, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (22:19)", "body": "once again, thanks for sharing, Nick"}, {"response": 34, "author": "PT", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (15:16)", "body": "That's really good."}, {"response": 35, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (02:45)", "body": "I love cummings, Dickinson, Whitman, Keats, Shelley, Byron, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Galway Kinnell, W.S. Merwin, Sylvia Plath, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Dorothy Parker, Nash (yes, wer...love his humor), W.B. Yeats, etc., but for beauty and power I would choose Wordsworth in his prime. He wrote little of consequence past age 35, in fact he wrote some real dogs (and published them) although he lived a long life and continued to write. He was given a cushy government job and got too comfortable, I'm afraid. He does tend to be long winded, but often it is worth it. Here's a snippet of my favorite poem of his (perhaps my favorite poem, period): What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. from William Wordsworth \"Ode: Intimations of Immortality\" stanza 10."}, {"response": 36, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (13:59)", "body": "Absolutely, Ogden Nash...Myh Dad loved to read him aloud, and he was my favorite from when I was almost too young to understand how clever and witty he really was."}, {"response": 37, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (16:48)", "body": "My favourite poet is Ringelnatz. I loved his poems as a child, because I thought them funny, when I grew up I noticed their thoughtfulness and sometimes even sadness that lies between the lines... I don't know if he is translated into english and if he's know in the anglo-phone world."}, {"response": 38, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:24)", "body": "Certainly not as well known as Goethe"}, {"response": 39, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:28)", "body": "Two Ogden Nash quickies: The trouble with kittens is that They grow up to be a cat. The cow is of the bovine ilk; One end is moo, the other, milk. and a humorous one from Emily Dickinson: Surgeons should be very careful When they take the knife-- Underneath their fine incisisions Stirs the culprit--Life!"}, {"response": 40, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:28)", "body": "Yes, I did misspell \"incisions.\" Sorry."}, {"response": 41, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:36)", "body": "Somehow I expected you to quote the warhorse Ogden Nash couplet Candy is dandy, But Liquor is quicker. The Lord in his wisdom Made the fly; And then forgot To tell us why."}, {"response": 42, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:37)", "body": "The shortest Nash of all: FLEAS Adam Had 'em"}, {"response": 43, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:37)", "body": "Candy is dandy But liquor is quicker You can drink all the liquor down in Costa Rica ain't nobody's business but your own. (Bluesman) Taj Mahal"}, {"response": 44, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:38)", "body": "Amy needs to read some Nash. She is living inside all this beautiful but bitter and uncheery stuff she posts."}, {"response": 45, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:41)", "body": "I think so...but she is submerged in Byron trying to finish her degree... I shall email her some Nashery to brighten her outlook! Thanks for pointing that out."}, {"response": 46, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:54)", "body": "Wolfie....may we have an Ogden Nash topic, please? Before I flood this one with his humorous little quips...thanks *hugs*"}, {"response": 47, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (22:00)", "body": "For John: I Wander Lonely As a Cloud William Wordsworth (1770 - 1850) ************************************************* I wander 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, beaneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched 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 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be happy, In such a jocund company: I gazed - and gazed but little thought What wealth the snow 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 in the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. *************************************************"}, {"response": 48, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (18:37)", "body": "you got it!"}, {"response": 49, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (19:32)", "body": "I can't say that Matthew Arnold is one of my favorite poets, but this poem brings back such memories for me! DOVER BEACH The sea is calm tonight. The tide is full, the moon lies fair Upon the straits--on the French coast the light Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand, Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay. Come to the window, sweet is the night air! Only, from the long line of spray Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land, Listen! You will hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin, With tremulous cadence slow, and bring The eternal note of sadness in. Sophocles long ago Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow Of human misery; we Find also in the sound a thought, Hearing it by this distant northern sea. The Sea of Faith Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled. But now I only hear Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar, Retreating, to the breath Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear And naked shingles of the world. Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night."}, {"response": 50, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (20:04)", "body": "I gathered a little bunch of pebbles from Dover Beach. Upon returning to Hawaii and High School for my son, the first poem they read was Dover Beach. He took my pebbles in for atmosphere! Thanks for posting this poem. Fraught with memories for me, too."}, {"response": 51, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:03)", "body": "Unfortunately, the Daffodils poem is the only Wordsworth in my sophomore English textbook. That means a lot of photocopying."}, {"response": 52, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:08)", "body": "...sorry...!"}, {"response": 53, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:16)", "body": "Comes with the territory. Just wish the book editors liked Wordsworth a little more."}, {"response": 54, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:21)", "body": "Ummm....we could work ourselves into a froth over text books and the lack of really good ones to choose from...but this is not the place. I agree with you, but then, I am also a romantic...*sigh*"}, {"response": 55, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:23)", "body": "I posted two atypical Ogden Nash poems for the first entries in his topic. I have more...He was certainly more than a quick laugh-getter, though he was splendid as that, as well!"}, {"response": 56, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (21:59)", "body": "He was a New York ad executive. It seems almost a shame that some of his prime writing time went to advertisements, but the pay is excellent and unfortunately, some of our best writers are stuck writing \"Ring Around the Collar,\" and \"Yo quiero Taco Bell!\""}, {"response": 57, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:44)", "body": "...and paid VERY WELL, indeed, for their efforts. That enables them to afford the luxury of writing true poetry...one would hope!"}, {"response": 58, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:46)", "body": "One can catch him from time to time on old kinescopes of very old game shows with Clifton Fadiman and Bennet Cerf and other bright lights of the New York Intellectual scene...!"}, {"response": 59, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:53)", "body": "I loved Bennett Cerf!"}, {"response": 60, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:55)", "body": "I think most ad writers become too comfortable to write good poetry. You don't see a lot of excellent poems from wealthy people."}, {"response": 61, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:08)", "body": "One must not be able to create great literature, great art nor great music...one must suffer for their art as has been oft said. How tragic that is! Bennet Cerf was a brilliant and quick wit - the master of the pun. He turned it into an art form. I also loved Bennet Cerf"}, {"response": 62, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:13)", "body": "There are exceptions. Wallace Stevens was president of Allstate Insurance. William Carlos Williams was a physician. Nash was wealthy (although his poetry is underrated, he is considered more of a humorist). Tennyson was wealthy. Byron, despite being landed, was not particularly wealthy--he wasn't poor as an adult, either. Wordsworth's work went downhill after he became recognized and was given a cushy government post. Blake was dirt poor and both a poetic and artistic genius. He was basically cons dered just a crazy coot while living. Keats was a stableboy with T.B. I guess it's all relative."}, {"response": 63, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:36)", "body": "(John) Byron, despite being landed, was not particularly wealthy--he wasn't poor as an adult, either Being the resident Byron scholar, allow me to comment on this. Byron, from the time he left school, was in a state of continual debt. His father wasted all of his son's inheritance on debauchery, leaving the infant Byron with nothing but debts. Byron himself borrowed heavily on his estate, nearly ending up in a debtor's prison when he reached his majority. Nevertheless, he threw money around as if he had plenty of it!"}, {"response": 64, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:48)", "body": "John has always been one of my most favorite poets...until this evening. He is now alone atop my Mt Olympus by virtue of posting his new poem in Vulcanism. It is WONDERFUL!!!"}, {"response": 65, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:07)", "body": "It seems that both Byron and Mozart had the same financial disease..."}, {"response": 66, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:18)", "body": "Daddy dipping into the till...? Mine was just the opposite, fortunately! (but who needs a cotillion these days?!)"}, {"response": 67, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:34)", "body": "No, Mozart's daddy wasn't a problem there, although he should have taught his son some social skills...but it appears that both Byron and Mozart were good at throwing around money they didn't really have. You would have loved a cotillion, Marcia. I'm sure the word \"debutante\" was coined for the somewhat more youthful you."}, {"response": 68, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:40)", "body": "I went through all of the preparations and the tea dances and the white gloves and the cotillions when I was the proper age...I just could not waste his money on a \"debut\"...I did not want to become like any of those phonies they were trying to make me into...Dahling! Oh, indeed, I did it all...but had my own Party! (can you believe it?!) I still have the long white gloves to prove it."}, {"response": 69, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:42)", "body": "*lol* you can bet it was a more youthful me...how ludicrous it would be out here to stick to those rules of etiquette when we usually end up sitting on the floor and leaving our shoes outside!"}, {"response": 70, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (02:17)", "body": "ah, Hawaii!"}, {"response": 71, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (12:54)", "body": "May I be so bold as to post a couple of my own poems here? I hardly ever write them, so this is kind of an oddity, but I am quite fond of these. THE ORNAMENT I am an ornament. I will be nothing but A very intelligent wife of A very intelligent husband Trained in the arts, Discourse (of course,) And rhetoric, and always Saying the right thing At a tasteful party. He will not worry, this man, I will keep up house And appearances Raise fine children Send them to Harvard Make them the things That I was not Wasting my education And feeling myself die. L'ORCHID\ufffdE I am an orchid in a box With a cellophane window My delicate petals white And blushing a little Held up by ribbons and Long pins in the back Protected from the wind Or a careless rough hand Noli me tangere! Shove me in the freezer For a frigid souvenir When I wilt a little From being next to a Rapidly beating heart Or crushed against a Man's chest while dancing So I will never lose My pristine purity. But how I would love To be a free dandelion Turn my chalky pale face Up to the harsh red sun To drink the cool water Of a torrential rainstorm Experience life outside My non-green greenhouse And be mown down."}, {"response": 72, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:18)", "body": "Amy, your first poem perfectly encapsulates my 25 year marriage to the University Professor. In fact, I had comments made to me thereafter that they did not realize how witty and clever I was...of course not! That would have been out of the little box into which I had been so carefully fitted. Thanks! I agree with the sentiment of the second one, as well. How terrible! How confining...and how true!"}, {"response": 73, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:21)", "body": "I'm glad you liked them--that's the life I could foresee for myself, too."}, {"response": 74, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:51)", "body": "You do have the soul of a poet. It is a compliment, but I'm not sure it is a good thing. So did Dickinson, Parker, and Millay. They were doomed to unhappiness and I sense maybe so are you. I so hope I am wrong about that."}, {"response": 75, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (16:41)", "body": "Well, at least you didn't say Plath!"}, {"response": 76, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (16:54)", "body": "Please don't go there! No heads in the oven!"}, {"response": 77, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Oct 27, 1999 (13:27)", "body": "*laugh* Sylvia and I go WAY back... I was a perpetual reader of 'The Bell Jar' for awhile... and Amy, the poems you posted are true and complete and the first quite powerfully stark... I really enjoyed them. Write like the great depressives, but please... live like the dandilion, di like the stars... poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 22, "subject": "Poems of Desire II", "response_count": 56, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (00:06)", "body": "(anyone home?)"}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug  1, 1998 (14:33)", "body": "Once, My Lover We met, by chance, upon a Spring morn Was it then, my lover you became? You keep near me, watch from afar And it is that which burns me still. If, upon a Summer's day, we meet again, Continue what we silenced that day? Your face still I see every moment. But the shame in me wasn't yours We belonged, it was those that looked. And, if you, if me, we would be lost To the stars we counted that night. Harbor no inhibitions, take me Again to that day. Shall we plan? Oh, I ache for your touch from Fleeting memories in my dreams. If we meet by chance, a Spring morn, Would you again my lover become?"}, {"response": 3, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (15:41)", "body": "In the storm he would take me. His lips and tongue explorers In a jungle filled with wild flowers. I cry out to him again and He feeds me nectar and creme. We fly with our bodies entwined Within the sweet web of surrender And he meets me over and over. His touch is warm and commanding I cannot ignore the demanding fire Within my womb. He is the master. His trade is my passion."}, {"response": 4, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (15:44)", "body": "Because I love; I wish to understand your heart. I want to feel your emptiness So I can fill it with kindness And mercy, because I love. But you steal it like a hungry child. Your voice is a hand on my skin. You have brought me grief, I come back like a fool to hear Your sound. Whisper in my ear. Because I love; I feed off the aura your words give. Encourage my voice so I may sing. Knowing how you hunger, truly, but you Are not ready for the feast prepared. And I want you. Speak to me in prose. Can I not be a Venus to anyone? You are so vain and pompous, yes. Love me like a hungry, greedy soul. So I give you kindness and mercy, Because I love."}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (15:46)", "body": "Would I give to you my soul? And what proof would you give That my self will be kept safe? Would I give it to the Angel Who stays with me everywhere? And could I trust it in those hands? Mortal beings cannot be held in That high esteem, nor the angels, Subject to temptations like we. But if you ask me, I would give you My love. That would be a gift I would never ask to be returned."}, {"response": 6, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (15:48)", "body": "Can I take myself a lover or two? Would they drown the sound of your name On my lips? With each love you take in your arms, Do they remove the wish for my kiss On your lips? And each time you hurt me, be my embrace, Would you want me then? Calling my name From your lips? Time and again I return to the fire for warmth And it blows out cold but again I call to you From my lips."}, {"response": 7, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (16:03)", "body": "(you oughta go off on biz trips more often...)"}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (17:19)", "body": "am tired of them, really, what? you tired of seeing me here? *wink*"}, {"response": 9, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (17:50)", "body": "nope, you just always seem to have a bunch of new poems to post for our perusal...what do you think of the current changes around here?"}, {"response": 10, "author": "paula", "date": "Sun, Aug  2, 1998 (20:17)", "body": "hey... mind if i put something of mine in here? (not like any of youd really stop me, i guess...) in a winter- a body left bare laying numb on words, warmed to his touch flesh wrote in verse and i felt, deliriously- each of his caresses so hes breathed me, that very day, and ive lived in him since no other love within me, nor inside him dwelled, only i was only he was truly purely mine dared to Dream- a maiden but, no airy voice would peirce the thick of our sighs no eyes, no imagined embraces would pale the furious, holy red that clothed us drowning in the sugar sweet syrup of delusions. quietly shunning truth, she would recall a never was. and the wide eyed girl squints; chokes- in the mist and fog of pastel visions. she hated pastels and couldnt bear that they refused to see the bold, dark colours of an us, a we, that stole- the imperial violet from twilight the cold blue of stares and the honest red of an august sun i cry- hear it, though- see the heavens break in my shreik, see them fall in every whisper and watch the stars wince sharp to my thoughts and i would think, strong, i would think in a green eyed afternoon, id think; sweetie... he never was your lover."}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug  3, 1998 (10:05)", "body": "you are more than welcome to post your work here paula, please do! wer: the stuff looks good. have been really tired so haven't done anymore work here myself (sorry y'all). and being away means i think too much so i write!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Aug  3, 1998 (23:11)", "body": "and to which stuff do you reference?"}, {"response": 13, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug  4, 1998 (08:41)", "body": "the bars at the top (did you do anything else i don't know about?)"}, {"response": 14, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Aug  4, 1998 (09:05)", "body": "not in here..."}, {"response": 15, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Aug  4, 1998 (09:06)", "body": "well, except center the full name/change it thing, but did that everywhere else, as well..."}, {"response": 16, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (19:54)", "body": "Check out the \"Song of Solomon\" in the Bible. ( in some translations, \"song of Songs\", or \"Canticles\")"}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (23:03)", "body": "been there done that. beautiful piece. even if you're not a believer, the Bible holds many wonderful writings and is an excellent source of history as well as common truths."}, {"response": 18, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (23:29)", "body": "Very true, not to mention, it's great literature! Ever heard the song,\"TURN, TURN, TURN\"?.........Ecclesiastes Ch 3 first 10 verses."}, {"response": 19, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (12:04)", "body": "indeed! a time for everything....."}, {"response": 20, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (14:11)", "body": "That is one of my favorite songs!!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (22:40)", "body": "wow, has it been nearly a year?"}, {"response": 22, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (18:41)", "body": "Here's another topic that looks like it needs some revitalizing, so here goes: THE VINE by Robert Herrick I dreamed this mortal part of mine Was metamorphosed to a vine; Which crawling one and every way, Enthralled my dainty Lucia. Me thought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise; Her belly, buttocks, and her waist By my soft nervelets were embraced: About her head I writhing hung, And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung: So that my Lucia seemed to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curls about her neck did crawl, And arms and hands they did enthrall; So that she could not freely stir, (All parts there made one prisoner.) But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts, which maids keep unespied, Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancy I awoke; And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a stock, than like a vine."}, {"response": 23, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (19:21)", "body": "Oooh, Good one!!! Lusty, indeed! Thanks!"}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (19:31)", "body": "Wolfie, I never read this Topic before. You write incredible stuff! (Some of the old topics I do not read for my own sanity!) Thanks for your poems and I now see how very much your muse is worth to this enterprise. How could it dare desert you?!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (20:13)", "body": "Here are some little excerpts from some poems by Aphra Behn, which unfortunately I don't have the titles for: In pity to our sex sure thou wert sent, That we might love, and yet be innocent: For sure no crime with thee we can commit; Or if we should--thy form excuses it. For who, that gathers fairest flowers believes A snake lies hid beneath the fragrant leaves. ***** Though 'tis a mighty power must move The soul to this degree of love, And though with virtue I the world perplex, Lysander finds the weakness of my sex, So Helen while from Theseus' arms she fled, To charming Paris yields her heart and bed."}, {"response": 26, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (20:02)", "body": "marcia *beam* thanks dearie! amy, thanks for posting some good stuff in this forlorn topic!"}, {"response": 27, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (20:49)", "body": "Hmm, how odd that a topic on poems of desire should be \"forlorn\"... THE LETTER by Amy Lowell Little cramped words scrawling all over the paper Like draggled fly's legs, What can you tell the flaring moon Through the oak leaves? Or of my uncurtained window and the bare floor Spattered with moonlight? Your silly quirks and twists have nothing in them Of blossoming hawthorns, And this paper is dull, crisp, smooth, virgin of loveliness Beneath my hand. I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Of squeezing it into little inkdrops, And posting it. And I scald alone, here, under the fire Of the great moon."}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:52)", "body": "I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Amy, could we write volumes on this very subject, even though mine was so long ago ? *big sigh*"}, {"response": 29, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (13:11)", "body": "KIDNAP POEM by Nikki Giovanni ever been kidnapped by a poet if i were a poet i'd kidnap you put you in my phrases and meter you to jones beach or maybe coney island or maybe just to my house lyric you in lilacs dash you in the rain blend into the beach to complement my see play the lyre for you ode you with my love song anything to win you wrap you in the red Black green show you off to mama yeah if i were a poet, i'd kid nap you (I love the line \"lyric you in lilacs\"--I use that phrase whenever I can!)"}, {"response": 30, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (13:20)", "body": "PIAZZA PIECE by John Crowe Ransom --I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small And listen to an old man not at all, They want the young men's whispering and sighing. But see the roses on your trellis dying And hear the spectral singing of the moon; For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying. --I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. But what grey man among the vines is this Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream! I am a lady young in beauty waiting."}, {"response": 31, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (14:22)", "body": "The first one is lovely even though I know Jones Beach and it isn't all that lyrical...but love the lilac line - my favorite flower fragrance from childhood. The second one is sad..."}, {"response": 32, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (06:10)", "body": "Thanks Amy. As ever, poems quite outside my experience, and fascinating. I am trying to work out if the lovely John Crowe Ransom sonnet is cryptic; although I might guess the \"gentleman in a dustcoat\" (a book) I can't assign the \"lady young in beauty\" to anything. Was it a subliminal pun to post a kidnap poem followed by a Ransom poem?"}, {"response": 33, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (13:35)", "body": "Ransome pun - Mark, how brilliant to note that! It had quite escaped me. The man is very clever and is readable on many levels."}, {"response": 34, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (22:39)", "body": "Good grief, I posted those and I didn't even think of that! I have a tendency to do that--I make puns when I don't intend to, and people think I'm much wittier than I really am!"}, {"response": 35, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (21:48)", "body": "*lol*"}, {"response": 36, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Nov 18, 1999 (14:13)", "body": "I know this is a incredibly common and over-anthologized poem, but I was thinking about it because someone is playing coy with me, and it made me think of this poem. TO HIS COY MISTRESS by Andrew Marvell Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the Conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze, Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest. And age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, Lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near, And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor in thy marble vault shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning glew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power. Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run."}, {"response": 37, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 18, 1999 (14:32)", "body": "Good poem...I have known the feeling, as well, but the guy in college lost me and I married another...!"}, {"response": 38, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Nov 18, 1999 (21:50)", "body": "His loss!"}, {"response": 39, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 19, 1999 (00:12)", "body": "So I was told. Why did it take so long to get over the hurt inside if that were the case? (Rhetorical question)"}, {"response": 40, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 19, 1999 (00:13)", "body": "Btw,...Thanks for the supporting thought! *hugs* Amy...you are ever there for me."}, {"response": 41, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Nov 19, 1999 (21:00)", "body": "...as you are for me! *hugs*"}, {"response": 42, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, May 14, 2000 (19:24)", "body": "this is brand new today: The Marble Halls of Light Dance with me, my Dreamer. Our footsteps fall like feathers. Your eyes a burning ember In the Marble Halls of Light. Your touch is my addiction Of moonlit Summer dreams, Of Spring and Fall and Winter In the Marble Halls of Light. To dance with you, My Dreamer, A wish to have come true. Our hearts follow the rhythm In the Marble Halls of Light. How my heart does yearn for Your heart to beat with mine. Meet me there, I pray you, In the Marble Halls of Light."}, {"response": 43, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, May 14, 2000 (19:36)", "body": "Oh Wolfie! You wrote my dream into your poem as well as others, I am sure. Viennese Waltzes in Marble halls with the tall handsome man who can do it in a straight line... Wow! Thank you!"}, {"response": 44, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, May 14, 2000 (19:38)", "body": "i knew you'd understand it and surely others have dreams of their own marble halls!"}, {"response": 45, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, May 14, 2000 (19:44)", "body": "Indeed! Mine has been since I was a little girl!"}, {"response": 46, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Tue, May 16, 2000 (18:42)", "body": "Too true! Thanks Wolfie."}, {"response": 47, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, May 19, 2000 (18:31)", "body": "wrote this last night: Temptation is questioned. Whose sin do we make, If you have the hunger And I've made the feast?"}, {"response": 48, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, May 19, 2000 (18:35)", "body": "Ummm! Yes, I know...!"}, {"response": 49, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, May 23, 2000 (20:25)", "body": "and this today: The piercing stare of your eyes Makes me weak in the knees And I'm made aware that I have your attention. The accidental touch Makes me draw in a breath And I'm made aware that It was no accident. The casual chatter Belies the agenda And I'm made aware that It's wrought with meaning. ******** Give a reason for my heart aflutter, For my weakness in standing, For the glow everyone sees. Validate the butterflies When you walk in the room and Whenever I think of you again. Let this not be for naught For wishful thinking, hopeful My affect be the same with you."}, {"response": 50, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, May 23, 2000 (20:44)", "body": "....*S I G H*..... Been there, done that; still there, doing that...."}, {"response": 51, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, May 23, 2000 (20:50)", "body": "How long till Monday? Or is it Saturday?"}, {"response": 52, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, May 23, 2000 (20:59)", "body": "*sigh* too long."}, {"response": 53, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, May 24, 2000 (19:01)", "body": "...I know...*hugs*"}, {"response": 54, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, May 24, 2000 (19:02)", "body": "(I'm beginnning to hate these \"FORGOT\" buttons. They are beginning to make me feel bad ...)"}, {"response": 55, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Mar  8, 2002 (22:13)", "body": "Translating amorous couplets A labour of love BY MARK DRAGOUMIS CREDIT should be given where credit is due. A Greek-American Professor, Mr Stylianos V Spyridakis, translated and Aristide D Caratzas published the Mantinades. Selected Love Distichs of Crete. So what? You may ask. So the translations respect both the fifteen syllable metre and the rhyme. That is what. Written mostly during the Venetian period (their name comes from the Italian mattinata, or morning song) in the Cretan vernacular, they blend so successfully old Greek poetic motifs with romantic love that they are still being created and sung at village festivals, weddings, baptisms and other joyful events in Crete. This publication deals only with the 'love distichs' or couplets. The pain and sorrow of unrequited love is vividly portrayed: \"\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd, \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd' \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd'\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd, \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd.\" (A lonely chapel on the hill, silent and forlorn resembles he who's in love, but from his love is torn.) Here the need to respect the rhyme damages ever so slightly the simplicity of the line about the quandary of the man 'who loves but is not loved'. Note also the assimilation of love with the practice of religion. The man whose love is shunned, is like an empty shell, a chapel on the hill where mass is never celebrated. In a clear reference to romantic love that pledges to last forever and does not even depend on frequent visual contact (this bit is somewhat lost in the translation) the Cretan lover identifies completely with his sweetheart. \"\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd' \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd' \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd.\" (Living apart, by no means, my love for you belies For I breathe with your breath and see with your eyes.) Interestingly, love is not portrayed only as the soul's tumult that sweeps everything on its path but also as the crowning of a long, close relationship that is more the mark of a successful marriage than the sudden explosion of a coup de foudre. The long, intimate relation between the sand and the sea on the seashore used here to portray a love relation of long standing is quite unusual in Greek folk poetry. \"O\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd' \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd' \ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd \ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd.\" (The seashore draws to its lap the sand day and night Without you I'm miserable, I miss you my delight.) One should not miss the delights of this book. Professor Spyridakis merits a prize of some sort. Is anyone reading this column in the ministry of culture? http://www.athensnews.gr/athweb/nathens.prnt_article?e=C&f=&t=04&m=A43&aa=5"}, {"response": 56, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Mar  8, 2002 (22:15)", "body": "Hmmm wonder why I hated the \"forget\" buttons? It has been a while since I had anything amorous come to my attention. I would love to have that book! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 23, "subject": "Emily Bronte Poetry", "response_count": 3, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (19:26)", "body": "Can you post a sample, wolfmiestress?"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul  6, 1998 (23:05)", "body": "love to, but we gotta ask riette. apparantly she knows a few of them. (i was one of the few who didn't know Emily had written poems)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "riette", "date": "Tue, Jul  7, 1998 (05:43)", "body": "Thank you, Wolf. Yes, Emily wrote fantastic poetry - well, in my opinion anyway, and I don't know that much poetry at all. But, though far from her best, here's one of my favourites - see if you like it too. It's called, 'Hope', and it moves me every time I read it: Hope was but a timid friend; She sat without the grated den, Watching how my fate would tend, Even as selfish-hearted men. She was cruel in her fear; Through the bars, one dreary day, I looked out to see her there, And she turned her face away! Like a false guard, false watch keeping, Still in strife, she whispered peace; She would sing while I was weeping; If I listened, she would cease. False she was, and unrelenting; When my last joys strewed the ground; Even Sorrow saw, repenting, Those sad relics scattered round; Hope, whose whisper would have given Balm to all my frenzied pain, Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven, Went, and ne'er returned again! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 24, "subject": "The Poetry of e. e. cummings", "response_count": 70, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (13:37)", "body": "Ah. Home at last. :) Thanks, Nick! Here is my personal favorite: You are tired, (I think) Of the always puzzle of living and doing; And so am I. Come with me, then, And we'll leave it far and far away-- (Only you and I, understand!) You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and-- Just tired. So am I. But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight And I knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart-- Open to me! For I will show you the places Nobody knows, And if you like, The perfect places of Sleep. Ah, come with me! I'll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon, That floats forever and a day; I'll sing you the jacinth song Of the probably stars; I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream, Until I find the Only Flower, Which shall keep (I think) your little heart While the moon comes out of the sea. - ee cummings"}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (17:01)", "body": "And he used upper and lower case!"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (17:02)", "body": "Yes, but not in a conventional manner. Thank god. :)"}, {"response": 4, "author": "paula", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (18:19)", "body": "(for you, and i and us) (july 9th 1998) i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling) i fear no fate(for you are fate, my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder thats keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart) - e.e cummings"}, {"response": 5, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (18:36)", "body": "damn paula jane... (damn) it is beautiful (that's not one of the hundred is it?) it is perfect... okay... give me a couple of minutes..."}, {"response": 6, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (18:44)", "body": "ummm... the same- (je, tu, nous) (july 9th 1998) stand with your lover on the ending earth- and while a(huge which by which huger than huge)whoing sea leaps to greenly hurl snow suppose we could not love,dear;imagine ourselves like living neither nor dead these (or many thousand hearts which don't and dream or many million minds which sleep and move) blind sands,at pitiless the mercy of time time time time time -how fortunate are you and i,whose home is timelessness:we who have wandered down from fragrant mountains of eternal now to frolic in such mysteries as birth and death a day(or maybe even less) - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 7, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (18:56)", "body": "(for the both of you) (days being immaterial and all) Thy fingers make early flowers of all things. thy hair mostly the hours love: a smoothness which sings,saying (though love be a day) do not fear,we will go amaying. thy whitest feet are crisply straying. Always thy moist eyes are at kisses playing, whose strangness much says;singing (though love be a day) for which girl art thou flowers bringing? To be thy lips is a sweet thing and small. Death,Thee i call rich beyond wishing if this thou catch, else missing. (though love be a day and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing)."}, {"response": 8, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (23:24)", "body": "stacey, thank you... that was beautiful, indeed..."}, {"response": 9, "author": "paula", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (00:01)", "body": "ooh, i like that one. beautiful poem. thank you, stacey, for posting it."}, {"response": 10, "author": "paula", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (00:08)", "body": "oh, nearly forgot to mention, the poem you posted, charlotte. i really like it. i havent read it before, its -and i say this so often, but know i mean it each time- beautiful. ive only just recently discovered cummings for myself and i really love him. thanks for posting it."}, {"response": 11, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Fri, Jul 10, 1998 (00:16)", "body": "here's the bit on keats i was telling you about earlier (thought i'd POSTED it earlier... must've screwed it up somehow... that may've been about the time i was reading your poem (YOUR poem) and spilling iced tea all over my frigging keyboard... anyway, it is excellent, and true... and chilling sort of (esp. considering how... well, you know... how special each of them is...to us... and to everyone that loves poetry, i guess)... god, how i do love them both... yeah anyway (stand forth, indeed, john keats)... FAME SPEAKS Stand forth,John Keats! On earth thou knew'st me not; Steadfast through all the storms of passion,thou, True to thy muse,and virgin to thy vow; Resigned,if name with ashes were forgot, So thou one arrow in the gold had'st shot! I never placed my laurel on thy brow, But on thy name I come to lay it now, When thy bones wither in the earthly plot. Fame is my name. I dwell among the clouds, Being immortal,and the wreath I bring Itself is Immortality. The sweets Of earth I know not,more the pains,but wing In mine own ether,with the crown\ufffdd crowds Born of the centuries.-Stand forth,John Keats! - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 12, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Jul 13, 1998 (03:58)", "body": "(for you, mystery girl) (seemed strangely appropriate) supposing i dreamed this) only imagine,when day has thrilled you are a house around which i am a wind- your walls will not reckon how strangely my life is curved since the best he can do is to peer through windows,unobserved -listen,for(out of all things)dream is noone's fool; if this wind who i am prowls carefully around this house of you love being such,or such, the normal corners of your heart will never guess how much my wonderful jealousy is dark if light should flower: or laughing sparkle from the shut house(around and around which a poor wind will roam - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 13, "author": "paula", "date": "Mon, Jul 13, 1998 (04:14)", "body": "(the poem above does sound... right. ive read it once before, but i just got it- you know, like really 'got it'- now. i really like it.) (um... the poem below... for you. to us) the great advantage of being alive (intead of undying)is not so much that mind no more can disprove than prove what heart may feel and soul may touch -the great(my darling)happens to be that love are in we, that love are in we and here is a secret they never will share for whom create is less than have or one times one than when times where- that we are in love,that we are in love: with us they've nothing times nothing to do (for love are in we am in i are in you) this world(as timorous itsters all to call their cowardice quiet agree) shall never discover our touch and feel -for love are in we are in love are in we; for you are and i am and we are(above and under all possible worlds)in love a billion brains may coax undeath from fancied fact and spaceful time- no heart can leap,no soul can breath but by the sizeless truth of a dream whose sleep is the sky and the earth and the sea For love are in you am in i are in we - e. e. cummings (...that we are in love,that we are in love)"}, {"response": 14, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Jul 13, 1998 (04:18)", "body": "damn i really really love that damn"}, {"response": 15, "author": "paula", "date": "Tue, Jul 14, 1998 (05:10)", "body": "(um... more cummings... i love this one too) voices to voices,lip to lip i swear(to noone everyone)constitutes undying;or whatever this and that petal confutes... to exist being a peculiar form of sleep what's beyond logic happens beneath will; nor can these moments be translated:i say that even after April by God there is no excuse for May -bring forth your flowers and machinery:sculpture and prose flowers guess and miss machinery is the more accurate, yes it delivers the goods,Heaven knows (yet are we mindful,though not as yet awake, of ourselves which shout and cling,being for a little while and which easily break in spite of the best overseeing) i mean that the blond abscence of any program except last and always and first to live makes unimportant what i and you believe; not for philosophy does this rose give a damn... bring on your fireworks,which are a mixed splendor of piston and of pistil;very well provided an instant may be fixed so that it will not rub,like any other pastel. (While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneyed son for a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with? each dream nascitur,is not made...) why then to Hell with that:the other;this, since the thing perhaps is to eat flower and not to be afraid. - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 16, "author": "paula", "date": "Tue, Jul 14, 1998 (05:30)", "body": "OF NICOLETTE dreaming in marble all the castle lay like some gigantic ghost-flower born of night blossoming in white towers to the moon, soft sighed the passionate darkness to the tune of tiny troubadours, and (phantom white) dumb-blooming boughs let fall their glorious snows, and the unearthly sweetness of a rose swam upward from the troubled heart of May; a Winged Passion woke and one by one there fell upon the night, like angel's tears, the syllables of that mysterious prayer, and as an opening lily drowsy-fair (when from her couch of poppy petals peers the sleepy morning) gently draws apart her curtains, and lays bare her trembling heart, with beads of dew made jewels by the sun, so one high shining tower (which as a glass turned light to flame and blazed with snowy fire) unfolding, gave the moon a nymphlike face, a form whose snowy symmetry of grace haunted the limbs as the music haunts the lyre, a creature of white hands, who letting fall a thread of lustre from the castle wall glided, a drop of radiance, to the grass- shunning the sudden moonbeam's treacherous snare she sought the harbouring dark, and (catching up her delicate silk) all white, with shining feet, went forth into the dew: right wildly beat her heart at every kiss of daisy-cup and from her cheek the beauteous colour went with every bough that reverently bent to touch the yellow wonder of her hair. - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 17, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Jul 25, 1998 (16:09)", "body": "is that last one from your Big Book? (never read it... it's beautiful)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "paula", "date": "Sat, Aug  1, 1998 (05:08)", "body": "uh huh, it is... and it is beautiful... its a shame this topics so... quiet..."}, {"response": 19, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sat, Aug  1, 1998 (17:44)", "body": "yup (indeed)"}, {"response": 20, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (20:45)", "body": "in spite of everything which breathes and moves, since Doom (with white longest hands neatening each crease) will smooth entirely our minds -before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were. e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 21, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (21:01)", "body": "I'm so happy there's a page here for cummings....he has been, is, and most likely will always be my favorite poet....I love to see others enjoying his every uncapitalized word and perfectly placed space as much as I do"}, {"response": 22, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (21:02)", "body": "in spite of everything which breathes and moves, since Doom (with white longest hands neatening each crease) will smooth entirely our minds -before leaving my room i turn, and (stooping through the morning) kiss this pillow, dear where our heads lived and were. e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 23, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (21:07)", "body": "hey!!! (what's up?)"}, {"response": 24, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (21:28)", "body": "(you're not mad at me too or you?)"}, {"response": 25, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (21:56)", "body": "oops...didn't mean to post that twice hey!!!! so much I'm not even going to begin mad?...me?....no....what makes you think so?"}, {"response": 26, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:15)", "body": "dunno... (natural sense of paranoia i suppose) you have my hotmail address? not even sure what my address is here... don't do much net stuff anymore...hold on... umm, it's ... i think... or ... either way, write me, okay? (um maybe you should use the hotmail address because i'm not even sure how to retrieve my mail here and i'll probably only be here another few weeks or something)"}, {"response": 27, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:18)", "body": "aye aye cap'n"}, {"response": 28, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:20)", "body": "shit put the address in brackets... didn't print... some kind of commie-computer-language thing... anyway, my hotmail address is pmnh@hotmail.com"}, {"response": 29, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:21)", "body": "unfortunately I'm having technical difficulties with my e-mail at the moment so...when I'm able to, I'll e-mail"}, {"response": 30, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:23)", "body": "I remembered"}, {"response": 31, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:25)", "body": "did you indeed?"}, {"response": 32, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:27)", "body": "I remembered"}, {"response": 33, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:28)", "body": "hmm....once again...oops"}, {"response": 34, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:29)", "body": "I did indeed no short term memory, but plenty of long term"}, {"response": 35, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:30)", "body": "for fear of secreted daggers (etc.), i shall refrain from comment..."}, {"response": 36, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:31)", "body": "I did indeed no short term memory, but plenty of long term"}, {"response": 37, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:32)", "body": "what's going on? echo"}, {"response": 38, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:33)", "body": "it didn't happen that time"}, {"response": 39, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:35)", "body": "refrain from comment? you? are you feeling ok?"}, {"response": 40, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:35)", "body": "still kickin' (et tu? tae kwon do-ing, i mean?)"}, {"response": 41, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:37)", "body": "(and that was just a little unkind... and you type too damn fast for me)"}, {"response": 42, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:43)", "body": "hey, gotta go for a bit... you wanta talk, be back in half hour or so... (i'll call, if you want)"}, {"response": 43, "author": "Flidais", "date": "Wed, Oct 21, 1998 (22:58)", "body": "no longer kicking....I broke my collar bone pretty badly this summer sparring with a black belt...the bones aren't going back together..I'm out of business for about eight months..I've got to run too...but I'll be back sometime in the next week...and no, I don't want you to call"}, {"response": 44, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Oct 22, 1998 (02:27)", "body": "damn melanie... really sorry to hear that... damn i mean damn that's awful... hope you're being a good patient (for once) (and i DO know how stubborn you can be when you've a mind to)... anyway, please do write, snail mail if nothing else (i'll send you my new address, my new texas address anyway... be living in vancouver (b.c.) fulltime, though, in a couple of weeks..."}, {"response": 45, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, May 21, 1999 (15:04)", "body": "rarely to return it seems, too..."}, {"response": 46, "author": "paula", "date": "Sun, Aug 22, 1999 (22:58)", "body": "a tribute to mr. cummings..... -SIR- sir i am indebt to you, humbled and i thank that you are and have that only and truly your own awe. would, if ever that you had been roused like lazarus and doubt you and grow stupid dumb tongue knotted to struck i fashion a verse to and only accidentally because it has been so easy to write as freely as you sir that your impeccable manners and you've been brought upright, as any man stands and can i stand, beside you poet, maybe i write stale the words breed sometimes parasitic to suck blood and blood less gray from day would say, to anyone who'd ever stop to listen that i crowned myself poet in a boldness learned only through the words i've so much fell in love and took to bed, dreaming in syrup. took to sheets beneath a lyric and sing it in sleep i am in love with words you know, sir, one day i dubbed myself night so dark, and selflessly outright selfish. self, self- my, mine and i i painted me a deep deep red like the red of rose, like the red of sky- when my cookie sun is bit by sky, i and now, a rush and it is (my own) sir your own. construct the line i, and i to over, brIck, brIck brIck... and wall I am the CasIle of my I sir orbIt, my and i see vermillion i see indigo, i see colours in swirls of oil glistentrickling as the bells of brooks when they peal over rocks and fingertip pebbles sir, and thank you sincerely. -Paula Jane A'Hannay-"}, {"response": 47, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Aug 22, 1999 (23:23)", "body": "wow the only response i can give is to whistle far and wee..."}, {"response": 48, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (10:16)", "body": "Ditto that whistle! Paula, that is simply magnificent. Stand beside hime...tall and proud."}, {"response": 49, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (10:17)", "body": "duh. see how flabbergasted you made me? of course I meant \"stand beside HIM\". sigh."}, {"response": 50, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (10:48)", "body": "again Paula... you've left us all stunned with impressions beyond words... or at least have seen to it that those words are beyond our grasp. thank you for posting. (and stick around awhile or make those 'in-betweens' with less in between)"}, {"response": 51, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (14:01)", "body": "and now paula's back! thanks for sharing *smile*"}, {"response": 52, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (20:36)", "body": "I'm surprised and shocked that no one has posted my cummings fave, so here goes: somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands --e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 53, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (21:46)", "body": "moving piece, john..."}, {"response": 54, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (21:51)", "body": "I can see why it is a favorite, but it is so beautiful and intimate, it is almost painful to read."}, {"response": 55, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (21:56)", "body": "it is very intimate. love the way he figured out a way to describe this in a way that is so eloquent. john, do you know who inspired this piece for him?"}, {"response": 56, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (22:40)", "body": "Wolf, I wish I knew the answer to that. Cummings was a very private man who did not like to discuss the less political, more intimate aspects of his poetry (I also love his antiwar poetry such as \"i sing of olaf...\"). Nor have I read his letters, if they exist. Must've been SOME muse! Funny you should mention painful, as well as intimate, Marcia. Tennessee Williams used the poem as his inspiration for Laura in \"The Glass Menagerie.\""}, {"response": 57, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (23:08)", "body": "Perhaps it spoke to me on a level more vulnerable than usual..."}, {"response": 58, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Aug 23, 1999 (23:18)", "body": "Marcia, you can deal with the world. Poor Laura. If anyone exists like her in real life, they have my complete pity."}, {"response": 59, "author": "paula", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (02:57)", "body": "ooh... i love that poem. so- delicate. like crystal. just... beautiful. and that word, intimate? is perfect. thank you very much for posting it, john. and i didnt know... about laura. ive just recently re-read the glass menagerie and its so cool to see how one poet has inspired the other (and yes, i consider tennesse williams as much a poet as playwright )"}, {"response": 60, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Aug 26, 1999 (05:10)", "body": "So do I...and you have a delightful way with words, yourself, Paula!"}, {"response": 61, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (20:24)", "body": "I'm surprised that no one has posted my favorite e.e. cummings poem: \"[ch\ufffdrie]\" ch\ufffdrie the very, picturesque, last Day (when all the clocks have lost their jobs and god sits up quickly to judge the Big Sinners) he will have something large and fluffy to say to me. All the pale grumbling wings of his greater angels will cease: as that curse bounds neat-ly from the angry wad of his forehead (then fiends with pitchforkthings will catch and toss me lovingly to and fro.) Last, should you look, you 'll find me prone upon a greatest flame, which seethes in a beautiful way upward; with someone by the name of Paolo passing the time of day."}, {"response": 62, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (02:19)", "body": "I love this one too, Amy... may i feel said he may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let's go said he not too far said she what's too far said he where you are said she) may i stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may i move said he is it love said she) if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she but it's life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don't stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome?said he ummm said she) you're divine!said he (you are Mine said she)"}, {"response": 63, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (14:10)", "body": "Oh my! I'm not even going to say a word..."}, {"response": 64, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:58)", "body": "Well, I shall...(fools rushing in and all that...!) I found that and circulated it via email...too bad I did not have the courage to post it. I like it!!!"}, {"response": 65, "author": "sprin5", "date": "Sat, Jan 20, 2001 (12:53)", "body": "somewhere i have neve travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skillfully,mysteriously)her first rose or if your wish be to close me,i and my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow everwhere carefully descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility:whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands e.e.cummings"}, {"response": 66, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Oct  3, 2001 (21:58)", "body": "plato told him:he couldn't believe it(jesus told him;he wouldn't believe it)lao tsze certainly told him,and general (yes mam) sherman; and even (believe it or not)you told him:i told him;we told him (he didn't believe it,no sir)it took a nipponized bit of the old sixth avenue el;in the top of his head:to tell him -- e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 67, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Oct  7, 2001 (04:28)", "body": "hmmm... never read this one before... must look it up. i wonder what he was talking about? (must also look up nipponized- there's a curious word)"}, {"response": 68, "author": "Centaur", "date": "Sun, Feb 17, 2002 (19:54)", "body": "I forgot my Flidais password, so I switched names, but it's the same Bat Person...Nick please e-mail me so we can catch up...it's been so long"}, {"response": 69, "author": "paula", "date": "Mon, May 20, 2002 (13:48)", "body": "'eh- this is paula- am at a schlotsky's at a temp internet booth. currently not online, but will be soon. i just ran over to the table and told him you wrote. i'm not sure his hotmail address is still working. (just tried to get into mine and the thing crashed). anyway- he's here... well, there really, reading the paper, but yeah.... anyway, i saw a business building named after him- nippon, something nippon. so, um. i guess i came on here to answer myself... sure he wants to talk. and will... someones waiting behind me... can't write straight... aaggh."}, {"response": 70, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, May 21, 2002 (06:54)", "body": "Welcome Paula. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 25, "subject": "William Shakespeare", "response_count": 7, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  9, 1998 (21:39)", "body": "here is one of my favs: My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like The Sun My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grown on her head. I have seen roses damaskt, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; my mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare."}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 13, 1998 (22:14)", "body": "Let Me Not Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments, love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove. O no! it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand'ring bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come, Love alters not wit his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom: If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved."}, {"response": 3, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 14, 1998 (22:26)", "body": "amen"}, {"response": 4, "author": "riette", "date": "Wed, Jul 15, 1998 (01:34)", "body": "Last night I listen to one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. It was 'Serenade to Music' by Vaughan Williams, one of my favourite composers, a 1938 historical recording. Because it's such an old recording one can't make out the words, but I know the music was set to a few lines by Shakespeare. Does anyone know what these few lines are? BEAUTIFUL stuff!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "riette", "date": "Sun, Aug  9, 1998 (13:10)", "body": "I have finally managed to find the text to 'Serenade to Music', and it is from 'The Merchant of Venice'. Read this: How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb that thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. Come, ho! and wake Diana with a hymn: With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. I find it so so beautiful."}, {"response": 6, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Aug  9, 1998 (14:22)", "body": "it is, thanks for posting it!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "riette", "date": "Mon, Aug 10, 1998 (08:22)", "body": "You're welcome. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 26, "subject": "Emily Dickenson", "response_count": 17, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug  8, 1998 (22:09)", "body": "Because I Could Not Stop For Death Because I could not stop for Death-- He kindly stopped for me-- The Carriage held but just Ourselves-- And Immortality-- We slowly drove--He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility-- We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess--in the Ring-- We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-- We passed the Setting Sun-- Or rather--He passed Us-- The Dews drew quivering and chill-- For only Gossamer, my Gown-- My Tipper--only Tulle-- We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground-- The Roof was scarcely visible-- The Cornice--in the Ground-- Since then--'tis Centuries--and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity--"}, {"response": 2, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Aug 21, 1998 (15:54)", "body": "sing it to the tune of the Yellow Rose of Texas (EVERYONE must defile poetry in this way once in their lives!!!)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (16:54)", "body": "Aren't there any Emily fans around here? How unfortunate! My copy of her complete poems is full of little page markers and written-in notes. What if I say I shall not wait! What if I burst the fleshly Gate-- And pass escaped--to thee! What if I file this Mortal--off-- See where it hurt me--That's enough-- And wade in Liberty! They cannot take me--any more! Dungeons can call--and Guns implore Unmeaning--now--to me-- As laughter--was--an hour ago-- Or Laces--or a Travelling Show-- Or who died--yesterday!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:04)", "body": "Amy, I love her, as does John. John is also on Hiatus (all the men I converse with have gone there lately!)...and I cannot bear to read poetry right now...(is that why you never go into Geo even to admire the jewelry or the photos of lava?!)"}, {"response": 5, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:23)", "body": "Is what the reason I never go into Geo? You should relish in a little \"melancolie douce\"--that's what I'm doing! You said that I was \"Great\"--one Day-- Then \"Great\" it be--if that please Thee-- Or Small--or any size at all-- Nay--I'm the size suit Thee-- Tall--like the Stag--would that? Or lower--like the Wren-- Or other heights of Other Ones I've seen? Tell which--it's dull to guess-- And I must be Rhinoceros Or Mouse At once--for Thee-- So say--if Queen it be-- Or Page--please Thee-- I'm that--or nought-- Or other thing--if other thing there be-- With just this Stipulus-- I suit Thee-- (My therapist would have a thing or two to say about this one!)"}, {"response": 6, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:51)", "body": "Time does go on-- I tell it gay to those who suffer now-- They shall survive-- There is a sun-- They don't believe it now--"}, {"response": 7, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:54)", "body": "Themself are all I have-- Myself a freckled--be-- I thought you'd choose a Velvet Cheek Or one of Ivory-- Would you--instead of Me?"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (18:56)", "body": "Too scanty 'twas to die for you, The merest Greek could that. The living, Sweet, is costlier-- I offer even that-- The Dying, is a trifle, past, But living, this include The dying multifold--without The Respite to be dead."}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (19:52)", "body": "Whose lovely bit of melancholia is that? Very nice, indeed. (I have no idea what I meant!)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (20:07)", "body": "Um, this is the Emily Dickinson topic...I took that to mean that all of the poems should be by her...(if that is in fact what you meant by \"whose lovely bit of melancholia is that? I'm kind of brain-dead tonight and things aren't making sense like they should.)"}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (20:14)", "body": "Oh yeah! Silly me... I told you I was asleep at the switch. I am sure to get flat-lined by an errant Volleyball this evening...it has just been one of those days!!! (I guess you could put poems about Emily Dickenson in here, also...)"}, {"response": 12, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:11)", "body": "i like emily but don't have books around to quote from. please keep posting them!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:17)", "body": "Heart! We will forget him! You and I--tonight! You may forget the warmth he gave-- I will forget the light! When you have done, pray tell me That I may straight begin! Haste! lest while you're lagging I remember him!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Nov  7, 1999 (13:29)", "body": "The only ghost I ever saw Was dressed in Mechlin--so-- He wore no sandal upon his foot-- And stepped like flakes of snow-- His Gait--was soundless, like the Bird-- But rapid--like the Roe-- His fashions, quaint, Mosaic-- Or haply, Mistletoe-- His conversation--seldom-- His laughter, like the Breeze-- That dies away in Dimples Among the pensive Trees-- Our interview--was transient-- Of me, himself was shy-- And God forbid I look behind-- Since that appalling Day!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Nov  7, 1999 (13:34)", "body": "That first Day, when you praised Me, Sweet, And said that I was strong-- And could be mighty, if I liked-- That Day--the Days among-- Glows Central--like a Jewel Between Diverging Golds-- The Minor One--that gleamed behind-- And Vaster--of the World's."}, {"response": 16, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Nov  7, 1999 (13:38)", "body": "These--saw Visions-- Latch them softly-- These--held Dimples-- Smooth them slow-- This--addressed departing accents-- Quick--Sweet Mouth--to miss thee so-- This--We stroked-- Unnumbered Satin-- These--we held among our own-- Fingers of the Slim Aurora-- Not so arrogant--this Noon-- These--adjust--that ran to meet us-- Pearl--for Stocking--Pearl for Shoe-- Paradise--the only Palace-- Fit for Her reception--now--"}, {"response": 17, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Nov  7, 1999 (13:46)", "body": "(This one has a particularly special meaning for me.) Each Scar I'll keep for Him Instead I'll say of Gem In His long Absence worn A Costlier one But every Tear I bore Were He to count them o'er His own would fall so more I'll mis sum them. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 27, "subject": "William Blake", "response_count": 28, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug  8, 1998 (22:02)", "body": "The Tyger Tyger, Tyger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, did He smile his work to see? Did He who made the lamb make thee? Tyger, Tyger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"}, {"response": 2, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Aug 21, 1998 (15:55)", "body": "always struggled to make sense of the word symm e TRY. *smirk* (apologies worlfie, feeling silly today)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Aug 21, 1998 (18:28)", "body": "stacey, so have i, actually! am glad you're in a good mood!!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Sep  9, 1998 (11:32)", "body": "come back, come back, happy Stacey! more, more, Wolf! Out, out, damned spot!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep  9, 1998 (12:00)", "body": "sorry, am uninspired here lately, but i'll see if i can find more blake! (which is probably what you meant)"}, {"response": 6, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Sep  9, 1998 (13:42)", "body": "I meant whatever I can get..."}, {"response": 7, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep  9, 1998 (15:12)", "body": "haha!"}, {"response": 8, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (19:45)", "body": "Reading, \"The Tyger\", brought back memories. When I was very little, my father used to recite that poem at bedtime. I've always liked it, but I thought it was something he made up."}, {"response": 9, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (22:04)", "body": "it was one i had to memorize for high school english. it's one of my faves...."}, {"response": 10, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (22:31)", "body": "I'm glad it is in print. Now I can get a copy."}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jul 14, 1999 (23:52)", "body": "Shall I post Jerusalem or does someone have it handy? (Gonna have to hunt for mind amidst the clutter.)"}, {"response": 12, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jul 14, 1999 (23:58)", "body": "I cannot find mine but will rifle the Episcopal hymnal for it. That was the hymn they singing at the end of \"Chariots of Fire\" It is mystical and magic and very Ennglish. I adore it!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (00:01)", "body": "Jerusalem (From 'The Preface' to 'Milton') (Notes:) And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark satanic mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold; Bring me my arrows of desire; Bring me my spear; O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand, Till we have built Jerusalem In England's green and pleasant land. These Hypertext pages are based on a Helpfile created by Richard Dover. HTMreaLisation and maintenance by Medwyn Jones This page last modified 05/04/95 http://io.newi.ac.uk/rdover/blake/jersalem.htm"}, {"response": 14, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (07:53)", "body": "cool!!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (10:38)", "body": "Blake is too good to be languishing un posted. I am trying to find his Stonehenge poem next - but I am on the laptop (W3.1) in the other room, so I will post it later. I wanted Jerusalam to be here this morning as a surprise for you."}, {"response": 16, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (12:40)", "body": "This is an important site for all Blake enthusiasts; it contains the text for all of this works - and some are pretty lengthy. http://virtual.park.uga.edu/nhilton/Blake/blaketxt1/"}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:43)", "body": "thanks for that url!"}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:47)", "body": "Which poetry topic needs my help next?"}, {"response": 19, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:52)", "body": "*grin* well, do you know any cures for writer's block? i seem to be stuck in one that just won't quit!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (14:29)", "body": "what do you usually use for inspiriation, Wolf?"}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (15:25)", "body": "Wer's right. I go into the woods or to the ocean or to the volcano for my inspiration. Others have gone to the bottle (not a good idea, I think!) Then you sometimes have to make yourself start writing...anything...throw it away and begin again. It will return!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (19:53)", "body": "no bottles for me....i have to find something that touches my soul, my heart....and lately, i've been stressed from work and stuff....but it'll come back, i know it will...."}, {"response": 23, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (21:30)", "body": "You are not only gifted, you are also wise. Less stress and distraction will indeed bring back your muse."}, {"response": 24, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (23:38)", "body": "plus, with the new action in here, maybe you can dance with someone's elses while you wait for yours..."}, {"response": 25, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (23:41)", "body": "Wolf, my muse, Rocky, is all yours for the duration!"}, {"response": 26, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (09:55)", "body": "haha!! thanks guys *hugs*"}, {"response": 27, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:08)", "body": "SONGS OF INNOCENCE By William Blake Introduction Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me: \"Pipe a song about a Lamb!\" So I piped with merry chear. \"Piper, pipe that song again\" So I piped, he wept to hear. \"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; Sing thy songs of happy chear- So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear. \"Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read.\" So he vanish'd from my sight, And I pluck'd a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear."}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:09)", "body": "I like William Blake...I think I shall post some more... The Sheperd How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follows his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise. For he hears the lamb's innocent call, And he hears the ewe's tender reply; He is watchful while they are in peace, For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. Infant Joy \"I have no name: I am but two days old.\" What shall I call thee:' \"I happy am, Joy is my name.\" Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee: Thou dost smile, I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 28, "subject": "Lord Byron", "response_count": 44, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug  8, 1998 (22:18)", "body": "She Walks In Beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!"}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (21:41)", "body": "i just love this piece!"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Sep 30, 1999 (18:22)", "body": "When We Two Parted 1. When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. 2. The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow-- It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows were all broken, And light is thy fame; I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. 3. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me-- Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well:-- Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. 4. In secret we met-- In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee!-- With silence and tears. This poem just spoke right to my heart the first time I read it, and I immediately fell in love with Byron's poetry. Now, I'm doing my graduate work in Byron and Gothic literature, so I'd be happy to discuss him with anyone!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Sep 30, 1999 (22:48)", "body": "I love both those pieces. There was a little Jerry Lee Lewis in Byron. He wrote \"She Walks in Beauty\" about his cousin. I also love both \"Childe Harold's Pilgrimage\" and \"Don Juan\" (Don Joo-en). If 'ol George Gordon were around now, he'd be writing lyrics for someone like the Moody Blues."}, {"response": 5, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (08:03)", "body": "Hmm, I hadn't thought of what Byron would be doing if he were alive today--maybe he'd be another Mick Jagger or Howard Stern (but poetic.) Whatever he would be doing, I'm sure it would be all over the Internet! For example, take his poem \"Versicles\": I read the \"Christabel;\" Very well: I read the \"Missionary;\" Pretty--very: I tried at \"Ilderim;\" Ahem! I read a sheet of \"Marg'ret of Anjou;\" Can you?; I turned a page of Webster's \"Waterloo;\" Pooh! Pooh! I looked at Wordsworth's milk-white \"Rylstone Doe;\" Hillo! I read \"Glenarvon,\" too, by Caro Lamb; God damn!"}, {"response": 6, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (08:14)", "body": "He certainly had command of impact and rhythm: The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Verse 1 from \"The Destruction of Sennacherib\""}, {"response": 7, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (08:25)", "body": "You can just flip through a book of Byron's works and come up with a gem by serendipity--I just opened up to a page of \"Don Juan\" and saw this at the top: And then she had recourse to nods, and signs, And smiles, and sparkles of the speaking eye, And read (the only book she could) the lines Of his fair face, and found, by sympathy, The answer eloquent, where the soul shines And darts in one quick glance a long reply; And thus in every look she saw exprest A world of words, and things at which she guess'd."}, {"response": 8, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (18:54)", "body": "oooh, that is sooo goood! Thanks!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (20:13)", "body": "thanks, guys and gals for posting those pieces. do keep it coming!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (20:44)", "body": "\"Stanzas for Music\" I speak not--I trace not--I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound--there were guilt in the fame; But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thought that dwells in that silence of heart. Too brief our passion, too long for our peace, Were those hours, can their joy or their bitterness cease? We repent--we abjure--we will break from our chain; We must part--we must fly to--unite it again. Oh! thine be the gladness and mine be the guilt, Forgive me adored one--forsake if thou wilt; But the heart which I bear shall expire undebased, And man shall not break it--whatever thou may'st. And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, My soul in its bitterest blackness shall be; And our days seem as swift--and our moments more sweet, With thee by my side--than the world at our feet. One sigh of thy sorrow--one look of thy love, Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; And the heartless may wonder at all we resign, Thy lip shall not reply to them--but to mine. (I am so glad I chose to study Byron for my graduate research!) Hey, has anyone read the new biography of him by Benita Eisler? I've started it, and I'd like to know what someone else thinks of it!"}, {"response": 11, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (21:49)", "body": "They Say That Hope is Happiness \"Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.\" Virgil (Happy is he who has been able to learn the causes of things.) 1. They say that Hope is happiness-- But genuine Love must prize the past; And Mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless: They rose the first--they set the last. 2. And all that mem'ry loves the most Was once our only hope to be: And all that hope adroed and lost Hath melted into memory. 3. Alas! it is delusion all-- The future cheats us from afar: Nor can we be what we recall, Nor dare we think on what we are."}, {"response": 12, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (21:51)", "body": "Mark, that is my Favorite Byron!!! It just rolls trippingly on my brain...have not tried to tougue it as yet..."}, {"response": 13, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (21:59)", "body": "I like that passage too, Mark. Anapestic tetrameter is a rare scansion and few poets have the skill to pull it off. Byron was a master!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:01)", "body": "This is a nice little poem, and one of Byron's most famous. \"So We'll Go No More A-Roving\" 1. So we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. 2. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Love itself have rest. 3. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon. (It is said that this poem is ironic--on the surface, it's about mortality, but Byron really wrote it about his hangover after Mardi Gras in Venice.)"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:04)", "body": "(I did not know that...funny! and interesting!) Amy!!! Howard Stern?! Byron could never be that crude!"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:08)", "body": "Okay, so maybe Howard Stern was a bad choice. I was just trying to think of someone popular, yet extremely controversial. And you're right--Byron was a tastefully debauched person!"}, {"response": 17, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:50)", "body": "I'm going to get blasted for saying this, but I wish there were women coming into my radio studio to show me their hooters like they do for Howard. I could deal with a bit of that debauchery."}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:51)", "body": "There you go! Tastefully debauched...I like that!!!"}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:52)", "body": "John!!!!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:00)", "body": "And not like Howard Stern is good looking or anything--he's skinny and he has a big nose! (I think Byron had a big nose, too--so what does that say?)"}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:03)", "body": "Um....that he is sensitive? Noble? He inherited it???!!! I would join a convent rather than ...well...HS turns me off, let's put it that way."}, {"response": 22, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:05)", "body": "Howard's rich and famous...and Byron was the most famous poet of his day and had a title, although I don't believe he was ever a fabulously wealthy man. He \"woke up famous\" after Childe Harold. He also had a club foot and fought a weight problem all his life, but he was the closest thing that England had to a rock star at that time."}, {"response": 23, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:08)", "body": "I'm being honese...like it or not. Just like Jesse V!"}, {"response": 24, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:08)", "body": "I'm being honest...like it or not. Just like Jesse V!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:18)", "body": "Oh please, could we refrain from talking about Jesse Ventura in the hallowed halls of Lord Byrondom? Byron would have found him an ill-bred clod. And I completely agree with you, Marcia--Howard Stern does NOTHING for me! What I was trying to say is that some women seem to be unusually attracted to men with big noses. Don't ask me why, but I will say that my old sweetheart had a nose that was just a bit too aquiline (or noble, like Byron's, if you prefer. It made him look very aristocratic and haughty.)"}, {"response": 26, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:24)", "body": "Sorry you find my honesty crude. I'll just refrain, period."}, {"response": 27, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:33)", "body": "Well, having a well-endowed nose, myself...it is easier from which to look down upon others with contempt than a little up-turned one...! (let's not discuss the proper use of English and my convoluted attempt not to end the sentence with a preposition...)"}, {"response": 28, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (23:02)", "body": "Stanzas for Music (not the same poem) 1. There's not a joy in the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. 2. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness, Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. 3. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. 4. Tho' wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreath, All green and wildly fresh without but worn and grey beneath. 5. Oh could I feel as I have felt,--or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene: As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me. (Isn't that terribly sad? It's beautifully melancholy.)"}, {"response": 29, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (23:26)", "body": "This is not a good day for me to read that, but how incredibly moving it is. Lump in the throat to prove it! So beautifully melancholy, indeed! *sob*"}, {"response": 30, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (23:29)", "body": "The French Romanticists called that \"la melancolie douce\"--sweet melancholy."}, {"response": 31, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (23:34)", "body": "The Irish just call for another round into which to cry!"}, {"response": 32, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct  3, 1999 (23:41)", "body": "You are exactly right about that! I saw a magnet once that said, \"An Irishman has an innate sense of tragedy to get him through momentary periods of joy.\" Ain't it the truth!"}, {"response": 33, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (00:00)", "body": "*lol* I guess, with your name, you would know about these things! Irish playwrights have played this theme over and over and it always rings true!"}, {"response": 34, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (02:18)", "body": "Great posting, Amy. I particularly love the \"I speak not\" poem, which I have never seen before. I haven't seen the biography, but I remember hearing that Byron kept a pet bear in his rooms while at Oxford. The (repeated) title of \"Stanzas for Music\" suggests that he was just dashing off these verses for a project or something - in which case maybe he didn't experience himself the depth of emotion he imparts to us! And just to continue the OT theme about tragedy/melancholy in Irish writing \"The great Gaels of Ireland Are the people God made mad, For all their wars are merry, And all their songs are sad.\""}, {"response": 35, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (22:48)", "body": "the byron was tremendous... cool to see there are people out there still reading (real) poetry"}, {"response": 36, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (23:00)", "body": "And researching and writing papers about it, too!"}, {"response": 37, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct  6, 1999 (23:06)", "body": "and, Nick...it is also cool to see people still writing (real)poetry. We miss yours...*sigh*"}, {"response": 38, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (16:19)", "body": "It's been a little while since I posted anything here, I think I'll start it up again. Stanzas to [Augusta] 1. Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in thee . 2. Then when nature around me is smiling The last smile which answers to mine, I do not believe it beguiling Because it reminds me of thine; And when winds are at war with the ocean, As the breasts I believed in with me, If their billows excite an emotion It is that they bear me from thee . 3. Though the rock of my last hope is shiver'd, And its fragments are sunk in the wave, Though I feel that my soul is deliver'd To pain--it shall not be its slave. There is many a pang to pursue me: They may crush, but they shall not contemn-- They may torture, but shall not subdue me-- 'Tis of thee that I think--not of them. 4. Though human, thou didst not deceive me, Though woman, thou didst not forsake, Though loved, thou forborest to grieve me, Though slander'd, thou never could'st shake,-- Though trusted, thou didst not betray me, Though parted, it was not to fly, Though watchful, 'twas not to defame me, Nor, mute, that the world might belie. 5. Yet I blame not the world, nor despise it, Nor the war of the many with one-- If my soul was not fitted to prize it 'Twas folly not sooner to shun: And if dearly that error hath cost me, And more than I once could foresee, I have found that, whatever it lost me, It could not deprive me of thee . 6. From the wreck of the past, which hath perish'd, Thus much I at least may recall, It hath taught me that what I most cherish'd Deserved to be dearest of all: In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there is still a tree, And a bird in solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee ."}, {"response": 39, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (16:59)", "body": "Byron! I LOVE his fantastic tales, which are a mix of Irish folk lore with - for me at least - Lovecraft-meets-Tolkien. Neat!"}, {"response": 40, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (17:29)", "body": "Oooh, Alexander - what a great way to state Byron's appeal...Lovecraft-meets-Tolkien. Absolutely! Lovely stuff."}, {"response": 41, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (17:43)", "body": "Hmm--Lovecraft meets Tolkien...I don't know that I can really see the connection. I consider both of them to be fantasy writers, and although Byron wrote some fantastic stuff too, nothing to the level of those two gentlemen. Anyone care to bicker with me?"}, {"response": 42, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (18:09)", "body": "Not to bicker with either of you... I think perhaps his themes reminded him of the themes of Lovecraft and Tolkien - that is how I interpreted it. Alexander, are you donning your boxing...er...bickering gloves...?"}, {"response": 43, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (18:55)", "body": "I'm going to play English professor for a moment and say, \"Do you have any textual evidence?\" I'm willing to believe you if you can give me an example of what you mean."}, {"response": 44, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (19:15)", "body": "No - just the feeling I get on occasion which make me see what I saw when I was reading Tolkien. Alexander is the one you really want to talk to and it is the middle of the night for him...! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 29, "subject": "Poetic Caricatures", "response_count": 60, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (18:18)", "body": "Marie She was a tall willowy woman With stringy straw hair to match. Alone she would come and go. Her face carried a sadness deep Within her bark colored eyes. This pain was her shield against Further attack but didn't expect The way it made her appear--as A weak, manipulating soul. No pity or mercy was bestowed. And this tall willowy woman With stringy straw hair would Come and go by herself. Alone."}, {"response": 2, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (18:51)", "body": "A Friend is Phil A friend is one with whom I'd like to be While listening to my favorite symphony, Someone who takes my hand and silently Walks with me through new worlds of melody, Where notes collide in friendly harmony, And strangeness is an unknown entity. A friend is one who understands the thrill Of unleashed timpani---a friend is Phil. A friend is one I like to be beside Upon a rock that overlooks the tide, To stand and watch the seagulls take a ride Upon the wind---how silently they glide! Someone who takes my silent tears in stride, And makes me feel all singing-warm inside. A friend is one who understands the thrill Of racing each new wave---a friend is Phil. A friend is one who knows the gentle pain Of hearing some too beautiful refrain, Or watching waves rebel against the rain, Or wondering why the snowflakes can't remain, Or when I need too much, and can't explain, A friend will know, and dry my tears again. A friend is one with whom my heart is still, And love is not required---a friend is Phil."}, {"response": 3, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (20:21)", "body": "what a nice tribute, Charlotte....do come back again (and again)"}, {"response": 4, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (20:34)", "body": "Whisper Willow bent to rinse her leafy hair Henna'd by the sunset's chic salon In the mirror lake, she checked the shade, and Sighed her disappointment in the hue. \"Perhaps a gentle silver's more your style\", Enticed the twilight moon. \"Oh yes!\", Willow Replied. \"But shhhhhhh....don't tell the sun.\""}, {"response": 5, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (20:57)", "body": "Special Friends Some friends will take your garbage out, Some friends will mind your mail. Some friends will take your one phone call And bail you out of jail. Some friends will turn your sprinklers on, And some will mow your grass. Some friends will drink your Zinfandel And neatly wash their glass. Some friends will baby-sit your kids--- The angels and the brats--- But only very *special* friends Will mind your seven cats!!"}, {"response": 6, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (21:04)", "body": "luv them! keep em coming!!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (21:09)", "body": "Well...since you insist. :) THE BALLAD OF MARTHA'S GOAL The score was tied at seven, The Dragons ached...a lot. It was halfway through third period, Will the Psychlones win it? NOT! The Captain eyed her teammates; Snowman skated toward the net; A signal passed between them: \"This game ain't over yet!\" The Psychlones eyed their goalie; \"It's over now, relax.\" And while they were relaxing Martha sneaked behind their backs. The Snowman's shot was dead on, But it met their goalie's stick, And bounced back, straight to Martha, Who just slapped it in...so slick! The tie was finally broken, And the fans were on their feet; Then Frithie sealed the victory With his fifth goal. It was sweet! So next time you see Martha, Say you've heard of her team's fame, And make her tell the story Of the goal that won the game."}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (21:13)", "body": "oh, i insist!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (21:19)", "body": "Ok. One more, then I'll let someone else have the microphone. :) The Waterboy He slithered in so silently, With neither scream nor squeal, That there were some who didn't even Think that he was real. He wore his suave down-under charm Like a cloak against the chill, And none who met him could resist The urge to do his will. Though each of us would rather read, Or play monopoly, He dragged us out, from bar to bar, Until we could not see. He made us play this crazy game Where sticks and pucks collide; We never got a minute's peace With this guy at our side. But now that he's about to leave, We find, to our surprise, That life will be much emptier When we've said our goodbyes. His name is Rohan Fuhrman, And he's an Aussie swank, But he'll not soon forget the ones Who let him be a Yank!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Aug 11, 1998 (21:23)", "body": "girl! you are talented.....the mike is always open so come back anytime (please do, don't make this wolfie beg)"}, {"response": 11, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (02:24)", "body": "*applause*"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (13:11)", "body": "*bow*"}, {"response": 13, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Aug 21, 1998 (15:57)", "body": "loved 'em Charlotte! MORE MORE MORE!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (16:52)", "body": "The Millenium Bug (original author unknown, rewritten/edited by John Burnett) T'was the eve of Two Thousand, And all through the nation We awaited The Bug, The Y2K sensation. The chips were replaced In computers with care, In hopes that ol' Bugsy just might not stop there. While some people thought They were snug in their beds There were others with visions Of dread in their heads. My Ma with her PC, And I with my Mac Had just logged on the Net and kicked back with a snack. When over the server, arose such a clatter I called Mister Gates To see what was the matter. But he was away, So I flew like a flash To my bank's ATM To withdraw all my cash. When what with my wondering eyes should I see? My trusty old Mac looking sickly to me. The hack of all hackers Was looking so smug, I knew that he must be The Y2K Bug! His image downloaded in less than a flash, He whistled and shouted, Let all systems crash! Go Intel! Go Gateway! Now HP! Big Blue! Celeron, K6 and Pentium, too! All processors big, and all processors small, Crash away! Crash away! Crash away all! Air traffic control and all airplanes in flight All microwaves, railroads, and all traffic lights. As slowly I inhaled and turned back around, then out through the modem, He came with a bound. He was covered with fur, and slung over his back Was a sack full of viruses, set for attack. His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples--how merry! As midnight approached, though things soon became scary. He had a broad face and a round little belly, And his bag filled with viruses quivered like jelly. He was chubby and plump, and perpetually grinning, and he seemed overjoyed as my hard drive stopped spinning. With a wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, I started to know the true meaning of dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, He changed all the clocks, and then turned with a jerk. With a twitch of his nose, and a quick little wink, all things electronic soon went on the blink. He zoomed from my system, to others online. He caused such disruption, could this be a sign? Then I heard him exclaim, with a loud, hearty scream, \"Happy Y2K all!\" As I woke from my dream."}, {"response": 15, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (08:24)", "body": "Today is the day That paranoids dread The day when computers Get sick in their head. It's the Ninth of September Of the Ninety Ninth Year. Horror and panic, unspeakable fear All programs will exit Of this we are clear. My code is not happy My code is not neat What else can I do But Control-Alt-Delete?"}, {"response": 16, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (15:18)", "body": "Bravo, Barry, and *lol* Apparently things went swimmingly (at least according to CNN - but they just tell what we \"need\" to hear, huh?!"}, {"response": 17, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (16:11)", "body": ""}, {"response": 18, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (23:13)", "body": ""}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (23:41)", "body": ""}, {"response": 20, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (23:45)", "body": "That's not your fault. Weird Walt was not romantically partial to the female of the species. But he sure wrote beautiful poetry, and little of it was specifically homoerotically worded. Nowadays, that would change."}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:04)", "body": "....ah, but then it would not be Walt Whitman. He was a creature of his time, I think!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:21)", "body": "No, He'd be Weird Walt, Weird Al's gay cousin!!!"}, {"response": 23, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:22)", "body": "Damn, I meant to bold, not italicize. Now I got to close this disgusting HTML tag. I may never get this right."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:25)", "body": "You only need bold for screwed's wild wallpaper and for shouting elsewhere. Bad form otherwise! You were right, after all!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:30)", "body": "Maybe, then, I need glasses."}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (00:52)", "body": "At least for reading. Presbyopia begins almost alike clockwork around age 40."}, {"response": 27, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (01:04)", "body": "What is that? Seeing Presbyterians??!!!!"}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (01:06)", "body": ""}, {"response": 29, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (02:45)", "body": ""}, {"response": 30, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Sep 10, 1999 (18:09)", "body": "The Star Trek Logo said it quite clear: To Boldly Go whilst drinking a beer. But I am not bold.. What can I say? So I'll just revert to plaintext today."}, {"response": 31, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sat, Sep 11, 1999 (16:46)", "body": "How clever, Barry."}, {"response": 32, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (18:39)", "body": "In the Company of Boys 7/17/98 In the midst of the group smile lies the razor teeth of suppressed anger lurking inside the Medusa like hugs of greeting. Cardboard coffins presented lovingly in endless nights of camaraderie, High Life toxic waste festering like coral snakes wreathing... lovely to the blind eye while poison seeps out of rancid hearts. Immune to their own decay spewing it out on gentle souls as they fillet their rhetoric and garnish it with laughter to make it palatable to their own ears. Hopelessness, the main course sauteed in bitter herbs marinated in cheep beer, and pinup mentality. There is no truce invited to this gluttony of Narcissistic monologues which replays endlessly as white doves flail their wings in agony,Angles By Debra Tenney"}, {"response": 33, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:50)", "body": "For John: Deteriorata Go placidly amid the noise and waste, And remember what comfort there may be in owning a piece thereof. Avoid quiet and passive persons, unless you are in need of sleep. Rotate your tires. Speak glowingly of those greater than yourself, And heed well their advice, even though they be turkeys. Know what to kiss, and when. Consider that two wrongs never make a right, but that three do. Wherever possible, put people on hold. Be comforted that in the face of all aridity and disillusionment, and despite the changing fortunes of time, There is always a big future in computer maintenance. Remember The Pueblo. Strive at all times to bend, fold, spindle, and mutilate. Know yourself. If you need help, call the FBI. Exercise caution in your daily affairs, Especially with those persons closest to you - That lemon on your left, for instance. Be assured that a walk through the ocean of most souls Would scarcely get your feet wet. Fall not in love therefore. It will stick to your face. Gracefully surrender the things of youth: birds, clean air, tuna, Taiwan. And let not the sands of time get in your lunch. Hire people with hooks. For a good time, call 606-4311. Ask for Ken. Take heart in the deepening gloom That your dog is finally getting enough cheese. And reflect that whatever fortune may be your lot, It could only be worse in Milwaukee. You are a fluke of the universe. You have no right to be here. And whether you can hear it or not, The universe is laughing behind your back. Therefore, make peace with your god, Whatever you perceive him to be - hairy thunderer, or cosmic muffin. With all its hopes, dreams, promises, and urban renewal, The world continues to deteriorate. Give up! copyright 1975, National Lampoon"}, {"response": 34, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:53)", "body": "Thank you. If you remember, I sent that to you a few months ago and I see you posted it in your own topic. I love it, although I hardly consider them words to live by."}, {"response": 35, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:59)", "body": "I've redone the Frost parody (even the title). I may try to resubmit it to some journal that likes humor for publishing. Stealing Words on a Frosty Evening by John Burnett (with apologies to Robert Frost) copyright 1999 Whose words these are I think I know His poems are on my bookshelf though; He will not see me typing here To steal his poem of woods and snow. The publisher must think me queer. I plagiarize without a fear. I purloin meter, pilfer rhyme, Take what I want and type it here. Don't care if I get caught this time Though plagiarism is a crime I'd write my own stuff if I could Instead of being thieving slime. This poem is awful, stiff as wood. I'll put it back; I think I should. And look to steal one twice as good. And look to steal one twice as good."}, {"response": 36, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:25)", "body": "The original one was great. This one is even better... Surely it will be appreciated by Frostians all over the internet!"}, {"response": 37, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (06:27)", "body": "Nice edit, John! Good to see the original rhyme-scheme restored. I still prefer burgle to purloin though; I'll always take a certain scan over a neat alliteration. Line 2 could say: \"He's buried in the graveyard though\" ?? Just an idea."}, {"response": 38, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (13:01)", "body": "You're a good editor."}, {"response": 39, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (00:04)", "body": ""}, {"response": 40, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (00:06)", "body": "Now I am looking for it parody, The Ballad of Yukon Jake which my Dad used to recite to me in his more pixillated moments..."}, {"response": 41, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (01:56)", "body": "THE BALLAD OF YUKON JAKE Begging Robert W. Service's Pardon OH THE NoRTH COUNTREE is a hard countree That mothers a bloody brood; And its icy arms hold hidden charms For the greedy, the sinful and lewd. And strong men rust, from the gold and the lust That sears the Northland soul, But the wickedest horn, from the Pole to the Horn, Is the Hermit of Shark-Tooth Shoal. Now Jacob Kaime was the Hermit's name In the days of his pious youth, Ere he cast a smirch on the Baptist Church By betraying a girl named Ruth. But now men quake at \"Yukon Jake,\" The Hermit of Shark-Tooth Shoal, For that is the name that Jacob Kaime Is known by from Nome to the Pole. He was lust a boy and the parson's joy (Ere he fell for the gold and the muck), And had learned to pray, with the hogs and the hay On a farm near Keokuk. But a Service tale of illicit kale, And whisky and women wild, Drained the morals clean as a soup tureen From this poor but honest child. He longed for the bite of a Yukon night And the Northern Light's weird flicker, Or a game of stud in the frozen mud, And the taste of raw red licker. He wanted to mush along in the slush, With a team of husky hounds, And to fire his gat at a beaver hat And knock it out of bounds. So he left his home for the hell-town Nome, On Alaska's ice-ribbed shores, And he learned to curse and to drink, and worse, Till the rum dripped from his pores, When the boys on a spree were drinking it free In a Malamute saloon And Dan Megrew and his dangerous crew Shot craps with the piebald coon; When the Kid on his stool banged away like a fool At a jag.time melody, And the barkeep vowed, to the hard-boiled crowd, That he'd cree-mate Sam McGee- Then Jacob Kaime, who had taken the name Of Yukon Jake, the Killer, Would rake the dive with his forty-five Till the atmosphere grew chiller. With a sharp command he'd make 'em stand And deliver their hard-earned dust, Then drink the bar dry of rum and rye, As a Klondike bully must. Without coming to blows he would tweak the nose Of Dangerous Dan Megrew, And, becoming bolder, throw over his shoulder The lady that's known as Lou. Oh, tough as a steak was Yukon Jake- Hard-boiled as a picnic egg. He washed his shirt in the KIondike dirt, And drank his rum by the keg. In fear of their lives (or because of their wives) He was shunned by the best of his pals, An outcast he, from the comradery Of all but wild animals. So he bought him the whole of Shark-Tooth Shoal, A reef in the Bering Sea, And he lived by himself on a sea lion's shelf In lonely iniquity. But, miles away, in Keokuk, Ia., Did a ruined maiden fight To remove the smirch from the Baptist Church By bringing the heathen Light; And the Elders declared that all would be spared If she carried the holy words From her Keokuk home to the hell-town Nome To save those sinful birds. So, two weeks later, she took a freighter, For the gold-cursed land near the Pole, But Heaven ain't made for a lass that's betrayed- She was wrecked on Shark-Tooth Shoal! All hands were tossed in the Sea, and lost- All but the maiden Ruth, Who swam to the edge of the sea lion's ledge Where abode the love of her youth. He was hunting a seal for his evening meal (He handled a mean harpoon) When he saw at his feet, not something to eat, But a girl in a frozen swoon, Whom he dragged to his lair by her dripping hair, And he rubbed her knees with gin. To his great surprise, she opened her eyes And revealed-his Original Sin! His eight-months beard grew stiff and weird, And it felt like a chestnut burr, And he swore by his gizzard, and the Arctic blizzard That he'd do right by her. But the cold sweat froze on the end of her nose Till it gleamed like a Tecla pearl, While her bright hair fell, like a flame from hell, Down the back of the grateful girl. But a hopeless rake was Yukon Jake, The hermit of Shark-Tooth Shoal! And the dizzy maid he rebetrayed And wrecked her immortal soul! . Then he rowed her ashore, with a broken oar, And he sold her to Dan Megrew For a husky dog and some hot eggnog, As rascals are wont to do. Now ruthless Ruth is a maid uncouth With scarlet cheeks and lips, And she sings rough songs to the drunken throngs That come from the sealing ships. For a rouge-stained kiss from this infamous miss They will give a seal's sleek fur, Or perhaps a sable, if they are able; It's much the same to her. Oh, the North Countree is a rough countree, That mothers a bloody brood; And its icy arms hold hidden charms For the greedy, the sinful and lewd. And strong men rust, from the gold and the lust That sears the Northland soul, But the wickedest born from the Pole to the Horn Was the Hermit of Shark-Tooth Shoal! EDWARD H. PARAMORE, JR."}, {"response": 42, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (02:09)", "body": "Two mistypings from place I pasted it: First stanza, line 7 should read \"But the wickedest born, from the Pole to the Horn\" second stanza line 9 should read \"He was just a boy and the parson's joy\""}, {"response": 43, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (02:13)", "body": "If there is a poem known to the Internet (and 4 search engines came up empty on Yukon Jake) try this URL http://www.zoomnet.net/~petecol/poemlist.html"}, {"response": 44, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (21:33)", "body": "Two see two of my lighter poems published in _Poetry_Now_ e-zine, click on URL http://www.poetrynow.org/Volume%20II%20poetry.htm"}, {"response": 45, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (21:44)", "body": "You love pretzels almost as much as I do, apparently. Bravo! (I know a published poet!!! Yippee!!!)"}, {"response": 46, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (21:45)", "body": "...and anyone reading them will immediatley think you gay. Do you ever get feedback from that web site on what you publish?"}, {"response": 47, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (21:51)", "body": "So what. Nobody there (or here even, except you) knows me."}, {"response": 48, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (22:01)", "body": "You brought it up the first time you let me read your poem...and I KNOW you are NOT gay!!! Gadzooks! That you can put in the bank and count on for your old age."}, {"response": 49, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (22:30)", "body": "Does not your being published qualify as a media appearance of a Springeur? It needs to be posted on Porch Conference!"}, {"response": 50, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (23:09)", "body": "Suppose so."}, {"response": 51, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (23:11)", "body": "I'm not worried about what anyone who doesn't know me thinks. What those who do know me think, however, is sometimes more important."}, {"response": 52, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (23:28)", "body": "Shall I paste your post from above or shall you? Terry would like it on Media Appearances...and I am your Ichiban fan...I will be honored to do it for you... (I am pretty sure I know you know what I think of you *benevolent smile*)"}, {"response": 53, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (23:42)", "body": "Of course, thank you."}, {"response": 54, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:17)", "body": "oh, i got the hint so i'll go right way and create a service topic!"}, {"response": 55, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:31)", "body": "Did you like the Ballad of Yukon Jake? I could not believe it when I found it on the 'Net. Now I know there is a God in Heaven and all is well with the world! (You have been busy in this conference tonight! That is so good to see! *hugs*)"}, {"response": 56, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:33)", "body": "thanks *blush* actually, will go back to read, but while doing my hosting duties, i scan and pick up stuff and then go back *grin*"}, {"response": 57, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:36)", "body": "...and I must to volleyball...*sigh* (I'll miss y'all...!)"}, {"response": 58, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:40)", "body": "have fun, dear!"}, {"response": 59, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (14:51)", "body": "Oh, I did. Did not much enjoy the game, but afterward John and I exchanged hugs, and you cannot believe what a great hugger he is. Not only that, he is solid muscle under that shirt. Very nice, indeed! *grin*"}, {"response": 60, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Apr  6, 2000 (17:33)", "body": "*sob* it has been a long time since I was hugged by John - or posted here... The lost Dr. Seuss Book: I Love My Job. I love my job, I love the pay. I love it more and more each day. I love my boss; he is the best. I love his boss and all the rest. I love my office and its location. I hate to have to go on vacation. I love my furniture, drab and gray, and the paper that piles up every day. I love my chair in my padded cell. There's nothing else I love so well. I love to work among my peers. I love their leers and jeers and sneers. I love my computer and its software; I hug it often though it don't care. I love each program and every file, I try to understand once in a while. I'm happy to be here, I am, I am; I'm the happiest slave of my Uncle Sam. I love this work; I love these chores. I love the meetings with deadly bores. I love my job -- I'll say it again. I even love these friendly men, these men who've come to visit today In lovely white coats to take me away. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 3, "subject": "What poetry I am reading right now", "response_count": 18, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Grace", "date": "Thu, Jan 30, 1997 (11:54)", "body": "Cheryl (of 'Ooooh Baby,Ooooh Baby' fame in the Austen conference), you expressed an interest in the poems of Robert Herrick so I will leave this one as a little gift. You must, dear friend, let me know if it rates one or more 'oooh babys'!! The Vine I dreamed this mortal part of mine Was metamorphosed to a vine, Which, crawling one and every way, Enthralled my dainty Lucia. Methought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise: Her belley, buttocks, and her waist By my soft nervelets were embraced About her head I writhing hung And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung, So that my Lucia seemed to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curls about her neck did crawl, And arms and hands they did enthrall, So that she could not freely stir (All parts there made one prisoner). But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts which maids keep unespied, Such fleeting pleasures there I took That with the fancy I awoke, And found (ah me!)this flesh of mine More like a stock than like a vine."}, {"response": 2, "author": "Cheryl", "date": "Fri, Jan 31, 1997 (02:15)", "body": "LOL Grace! Boy those Renaissance poets were a lusty lot! I rate this one three Ooh baby's! ;-)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "aubrey", "date": "Fri, Apr 18, 1997 (08:46)", "body": "I have a really sad computer so I can't split the lines where they should; I'll just slash away. BETWEEN ANGELS Between angels, on this earth/absurdly between angels, I/try to navigate//in the bluesy middle ground/of desire and withdrawal,/in the industrial air,/among the bittersweet//efforts of people to connect,/make sense, endure./The angels out there,/what are they?//Old helpers, half-believed,/or dazzling better selves,/imagined./that I turn away from/as if I preferred/all the ordinary, dispirit ng/tasks at hand?//I shop in the cold/neon aisles/thinking of pleasure,/I kiss my paycheck//a mournful kiss goodbye/thinking of pleasure,/in the evening replenish//my drink, make a choice/to read or love or watch,/and increasingly I watch./I do not/ mind living//like this. I cannot bear/living like this./Oh, everything's true/at different times//in the capacious day,/just as I don't forget/and always forget//half the people in the world/are dispossesd./Here chestnut oaks/and tenements//make their unequal claims./Someone thinks of betrayal./A child spills her milk./I'm on my knees cleaning it up-//sponge, squeeze, I change nothing,/just move it around./The inconsequential floor /is beginning to shine."}, {"response": 4, "author": "aubrey", "date": "Fri, Apr 18, 1997 (08:48)", "body": "That was a lot longer than it looks on my page! It's by Stephen Dunn. I know angels have been done to death (!) but I just connect with the old helpers half-believed or dazzling better selves imagined---see Wings of Desire. I'll pick shorter poems and a better computer in future."}, {"response": 5, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Apr 19, 1997 (00:56)", "body": "Cool."}, {"response": 6, "author": "aubrey", "date": "Mon, Apr 21, 1997 (13:31)", "body": "You know, terry, you are an enigmatic little fellow...one never knows whether cool refers to the fine if stilted poetry splashed about, or the idea of picking shorter poems. Keep up the fine obfuscation!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "aubrey", "date": "Mon, Apr 21, 1997 (13:31)", "body": "And your response MUST be: \"fine\""}, {"response": 8, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Apr 22, 1997 (23:30)", "body": "OK. Fine."}, {"response": 9, "author": "hummie", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (16:22)", "body": "louise gluck federico garcia lorca rafael jimenez adolfo becquer robert desnos"}, {"response": 10, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Jan 28, 1998 (15:52)", "body": "reading tennyson today (and wordsworth last night... i MUST be getting musty, 'cause i couldn't stand these guys not so very long ago)... anyway, this is tennyson's \"crossing the bar\", which i find unutterably beautiful (so i shant, uh, utter more about it): Sunset and evening star, and one clear call for me. And may there be no moaning of the bar, when I put out to sea, but such tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam, when that which drew from out the boundless deep turns home again. Twilight and evening bell, and after that the dark. And may there be no sadness of farewell, when I embark; for though from out our bourne of Time and Place the tide may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crossed the bar."}, {"response": 11, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:34)", "body": "wordsworth... \"a slumber did my spirit seal; i had no human fears: she seemed a thing that could not feel the touch of earthly years. no motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; wrapped 'round in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees...\""}, {"response": 12, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:36)", "body": "speaking of reading poetry-where did you post that bit yesterday?"}, {"response": 13, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:39)", "body": "what? (the tennyson?)"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:40)", "body": "yes, yes....where did you put it?"}, {"response": 15, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:43)", "body": "uhhhh... yer sitting on it (here...resp.#10, i think...)"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:47)", "body": "*blush*"}, {"response": 17, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:48)", "body": "ahh, yes."}, {"response": 18, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jan 29, 1998 (21:52)", "body": "yup poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 30, "subject": "Sir Richard Burton", "response_count": 6, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (15:08)", "body": "I. The poet-explorer Robert Burton reminds me of my youth - walking tall in my smiles and swaggering between the terms \"faggot\" and \"bastard\". Captain Burton is the Eye in the Masonic Pyramid, the tip of the cock, the sharp voice of a castrado."}, {"response": 2, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (17:59)", "body": "II. Last night, I dreamed Burton never left India. He stayed on, turning within the circuit of the Idea of the Orient, of brothels, and of military pomp. He stayed on, looking for an unreported village to put down his pack and rest his soldier's head. This morning, after I woke up, the captain came home to Victorian England and bought a first-class seat out to the twentieth century. His departure was accompanied by the braying of a hundred camels, and the clouds marched along the horizon like a merchant's caravan heading S.E."}, {"response": 3, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (22:30)", "body": "III. And growing up was always like trying to pin down someone's identity my identity which was always impossible and still is so that people who they are and what they are and what they could be was/is always sliding together and slipping across surfaces and things get confused and always will even now pinning down my own identity is hard like trying to open an envelope in the dark with mittens on and even if you manage to get the envelope open you still won't be able to read what's inside not that it matters because only a dumb-fuck or an asshole would even try opening a letter in the dark with mittens on."}, {"response": 4, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Aug 12, 1998 (22:35)", "body": "IV. Burton is seen thru pop-art windows and barely concelaing blinds that bend open to the touch of advertizing images. He's glued behind a cigarette wrapper, resting in an oasis near a pyramid, while his camel poses for the camera. He is T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia) played by Peter O'Toole and imitated by little boys wrapped in white sheets. He is wrapped in colonial dreams, colonial nightmares. He's Kipling with a soul, Joan of Arc (the consummate outsider coming inside) with a dick, Jesus translating the Pentateuch for Pilate, and a Utah Mormon surrounded by his hundred wives posed for the sepia-tinted photo. His meaning flows away, like sand in a windstorm."}, {"response": 5, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 13, 1998 (15:23)", "body": "V. The idea is to see your everyday surroundings as if you are a visitor from far away, a tourist in your own life, a pioneer on colony earth. A rainy day following an up-all-night can become a scene in a tropical New World drama. You're an explorer, a character in a Conrad novel set in your own home town. The real drama is waiting for you. Morning and the world is coming awake: restless natives, a longing for a far away (in time and space), horniness, mental fatigue in a strange environment- It's not easy being a colonist, is it?"}, {"response": 6, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 13, 1998 (15:34)", "body": "VI. (After a poem by A.C. Swinburne) Night or light is it now, wherein I feel away the hours, toss, turn, and cavil for a second chance. Sleep were sweet for a while But now I'm awake, listening to a train passing in the distance. A living soul that had the strength to quell rises inside me, weak now, tired, without enough sleep. Life, the shadow of wide-winged time, seems filled with openings and small chances and yesterday's smiles. But not for us is the past a dream. It's true. We can taste it now. Now we are what we were and what we only thought we were. Faith, whose ,eyes in the last low ray of evening passed a glance my way and is now hours gone- faith still sleeps while I turn within the circuit of memory. As trees that stand in the storm-wind fast, my memories never let go of the roots they've put down, although the wind shakes and threatens to cleave the branches. Night, she knows, may in no way cling to what is dead behind us but picks the times that still live to prick us awake and push insomnia's buttons. Souls there are that for soul's affright would tremble, shake and convulse away these memories. But I'm too tired to fight. Him I've hailed from afar or near, a friend I've only read of, a wider soul than the world is wide, I compare my life to his... But we that yearn for a true friend's face should put aside our books and our nostalgia, our old maps and drawings, and sleep until the day brings real friends and better hours. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 31, "subject": "National Poetry Slam 98", "response_count": 4, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Aug 16, 1998 (19:42)", "body": "Slam Week Events compiled by Kim Mellen VENUES Book People Sixth and Lamar, 472-5050 Borders 10225 Research Blvd, 795-9553 Electric Lounge: 302 Bowie, 476-FUSE Alamo Drafthouse Cinema: 409 Colorado, 867-1839. Blondies: 510 Rio Grande, 472-7343 Fringeware 2716 Guadalupe, 494-9273 La Zona Rosa: 612 W. Fourth, 472-2293 La Quinta Inn Capitol 300 E. 11th, 476-1166 Mojo's Daily Grind, 2714 Guadalupe, 477-6656 Paramount Theater 703 Congress, 472-5411 Public Domain 807 Congress, 474-6202 Ritz Upstairs: 320 E. Sixth, 474-2270 Ruta Maya: Fourth and Lavaca, 472-9637 Twist: 505 Neches, 320-TWST Tickets for the Friday finals are available through Star Tickets (469-SHOW) and Paramount Box Office (472-5470). A limited number of half-price tickets are available through AUSTIX's The Box Office (454-TIXS, 201 W. Second). Q-Passes ($10, good for all Wed-Fri events) are available through AUSTIX's The Box Office and at all bout venues. Bouts are $3 per venue per night without a Q-Pass. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- WEBSITE http://slam.home.texas.net -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- SCHEDULE Pre-Slam events begin on Saturday, August 15, at the Electric Lounge when the 1998 National Poetry Slam Organizing Committee hosts their Cage Match and Silent Auction Preview Party. This year's Austin Slam Team will go up against The Ghosts of Christmas Past (former Austin Slam Team members Mike Henry, Hilary Thomas, Wammo, and Phil West) in a head-to-head poetry duel. Silent auction tables, heaped with goods and services from numerous local businesses, will be available for perusal. Admission is $4. 9pm. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- TUESDAY NIGHT OPEN MIKE with hosts Mark Maslow and Sara Wynn. Ruta Maya, sign up before 6pm THE ALAMO DRAFTHOUSE EXTRAVAGANZA Slam-related movies, including SlamNation, Slam (featuring Saul Williams from the '96 New York team, Beau Sia from the '96 New York team, and the '97 Mouth Almighty team), Wammo's video for \"There Is Too Much Light In This Bar,\" and the '98 Nationals PSA, \"which promises to be 30 of the greatest seconds of your life.\" Marc Smith will also be there to give a reading and the pre-Nationals invocation, $2. Alamo Drafthouse, 8pm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- WEDNESDAY OPENING CEREMONIES Competing teams and individuals meet here and will be introduced. Electric Lounge,1-3pm MASTERPIECE THEATER Slam Hall-of-Famers deliver the poems that made slam great. Mojo's,4:30-6pm INCOMMUNICADO PRESS BOOK PARTY A reading with authors Steve Abee and Jimmy Jazz. Fringeware, 4:30-6pm PRELIMINARY BOUTS Slam teams from all over the country compete for their spot in the finals. See schedule. Rounds begin at 7, 8:30, and 10pm MUTANT DISCO KARAOKE POETRY EXTRAVAGANZA Sing or read to the karaoke machine or the live band. Electric Lounge, approx. 11:30pm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- THURSDAY POETS LIVING ROOM Taos-style round-robin open mike. Book People, noon-2pm GRAMMAR RODEO AND SPELLING BEE Not for the faint of heart, thrills and spills guaranteed. Mojo's, 1-2:30pm MARC SMITH A reading with the father of the slam, Chicago poet Marc Smith. Book People, 2-3pm POETICALLY INCORRECT Poet talk show discussing the state of contemporary poetry. Mojo's, 2:30-3pm NIGHT OF THE CHIHUAHUA All Latino poetry with Kenn Rodriguez (Albuquerque), Danny Solis (Albuquerque), Marta Sanchez (Seattle), Guy Gonzales (New York), Trinidad Sanchez (San Antonio), and many more. Mojo's, 3-4:30pm JUSTIN CHIN, JEFF MCDANIEL, AND TARIN TOWERS Fringeware, 3:30-4:30pm PROP SLAM Mojo's, 4:30-6pm MANIC D PRESS BOOK PARTY Hosted by Juliette Torrez (San Francisco), Bruce Jackson (San Francisco) and Jeff McDaniel (Los Angeles). Fringeware, 4:30-6pm WRITERS CORP CYBER SLAM Borders, 6pm PRELIMINARY BOUTS Slam teams from all over the country compete for their spot in the finals. See schedule. Rounds begin at 7, 8:30, and 10pm CHEF'S SURPRISE Could be a Bad Poetry Slam, freestyle rapping, or beat-boxing, Tag Team Challenges - only one way to find out. Electric Lounge, about 11:30pm -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FRIDAY THE ANNUAL EAST VS. WEST SOFTBALL GAME Danny Solis said in SlamNation, \"In poet softball, you have about 12 people in the infield and 50 people in the outfield, and the object is to be as clumsy as possible so people can laugh at you.\" Barbecue, beer at second base, and Shappy and Wammo giving their play-by-play from the pressbox. Sunken Gardens softball fields on Robert E. Lee Street, across from Umlauf Sculpture Garden, 11am POETS LIVING ROOM Book People, noon-2pm THE TRUTH ABOUT SUPERHEROES A gay and lesbian showcase with Douglas A. Martin (Athens), Ken Hunt (Madison), Lyska Janacek (Fargo), Justin Chin (San Francisco), Scott Klein (Detroit"}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Aug 16, 1998 (19:46)", "body": "So what is a poetry slam? you ask. From teh http://slam.home.texas.net website: At a Poetry Slam participants are given three minutes to step up to the mic and perform a poem of their own construction. No props. No costumes. No musical accompaniment. After the poet finishes, he or she is scored by a panel of 5 judges who have been selected from the audience. Scale of 0.0 to 10.0 . . . just like the Olympics. Judges give scores based on both content and performance. The high and low scores are dropped - the remaining three are added together - and the poem has a score. As the night progresses, poet after poet will take the stage, each attempting to impact the audience (and the judges) just a little more deeply than the last person did. The audience is encouraged to respond to the poet (and the judges) in whatever way they see fit-- cheering, booing, laughing, heckling. Anything is fair game. There's an MC that keeps the show moving and in the end someone wins a little cash, some bragging rights, and the rare and tangible proof that they connected with the audience. An audience that just got to see a lot of great poetry and have a heck of a lot of fun . . . that's what the Slam is all about. Brainchild of Chicagoan Marc Smith, the Slam has evolved over the last decade on the strength of its precepts; involving the audience, taking away the safety net, and making poetry readings real, visceral experiences instead of the overly polite, staid events that many poetry readings had become. The Slam has become the flagship of the resurgence of the spoken word craze. It's the sport of spoken word. And each year, poetry slammers converge on a previously agreed upon city to circle the wagons for four days of knock-down, drag-out poetic battle called the National Poetry Slam. This August, Austin, Texas will proudly play host to teams of poets representing 45 cities, a system that inserts team dynamics, multi-voice performances and group strategy in to the usually singular art of performing poetry. Six venues will host the first two nights of tournament competition. The field will slim to 18 teams for the semi-final night and then culminate in a final four-team bout which will take place in the majestic Paramount Theater in a high-stakes battle for thousands of dollars and immeasurable amounts of pride. During the week of Nationals, Austin not only gets the best of the best in competition, but also in a variety of daytime showcases and competitions, not to mention witnessing first hand the intense reunion of the National Poetry Slam family as they celebrate their art, their passion, and each other."}, {"response": 3, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Aug 21, 1998 (16:08)", "body": "so jealous!!!! Did you go to some of the events?!?!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, Aug 30, 1998 (08:37)", "body": "I didn't... poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 32, "subject": "rumi", "response_count": 37, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Nov 11, 1998 (08:43)", "body": "Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi (1207 -1273) is one of the world's greatest mystic poets. While a Sufi (and FOUNDER of the Mevlevi order of Sufi Dervishes, imaged in the West as \"whirling dervishes\") he was renowned and respected among people of all faiths. His path is one of Loving, Devotion, Longing and Union."}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Nov 11, 1998 (08:43)", "body": "The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they're given wings. --Rumi, from \"Birdsong\", p. 13"}, {"response": 3, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Nov 11, 1998 (08:45)", "body": "It appears that most of the selections being proffered here are from the recent Harper San Francisco publication of THE ESSENTIAL RUMI, translated by Coleman Barks with John Moyne (ISBN 0-06-250958-6; hardcopy; $18), the first definitive one-volume collection of the enduring popular spiritual poetry by this extraordinary thirteenth-century Sufi mystic. Until the age of thirty-seven, Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273) was a brilliant scholar and popular teacher, but his life changed forever when he met the powerful wandering dervish, Shams of Tabriz -- of whom Rumi said, \"What I had thought of before as God, I met today in a human being.\" From this mysterious and ecstatic friendship came a new plateau of spiritual enlightment -- an encounter with the inner Friend, the soul, the Beloved. Rumi expressed this potent experience through an enormous outpouring of spectacular ecstatic poetry. Translator Coleman Barks has published several books of Rumi's writings over the past twelve years. He teaches poetry at the University of Georgia and lives in Athens, Georgia. But just for the sake of variety, I thought I'd offer Rumi's \"The Name\" translated by Robert Bly for his anthology NEWS OF THE UNIVERSE: POEMS OF TWOFOLD CONSCIOUSNESS (1980:268): You should try to hear the name the Holy One has for things. There is something in the phrase: \"The Holy One has taught him names.\" We name every thing according to the number of legs it has; the other one names it according to what it has inside. Moses waved his stick; he thought it was a \"rod,\" but inside its name was \"dragonish snake.\" We thought the name of Blake was \"agitator against priests,\" but in eternity his name is \"the one who believes.\" No one knows our name until our last breath goes out."}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Nov 11, 1998 (08:47)", "body": "Whoever is loved is beautiful and the converse not necessarily true Lovableness is the root principle from which beauty grew. 'There are girls more beautiful than Layla', they told Majnoon 'But I don't love Layla for her form' responded Majnoon 'Layla in my hand is like a cup 'It is the wine within I am in love with 'You have eyes for the beaker, 'Of the wine within you are unaware', said Majnoon 'A golden goblet studded with precious stones Containing vinegar 'Or something else other than wine Would be of no use to me 'An old broken gourd of wine Is superior to such a golden goblet And hundreds like it, said Majnoon For a man to tell the wine from the beaker He must be moved with passion and yearning Take two men, one hungry the other full The man suffering from hunger Perceives a living nourishing soul in a piece of bread The man full of food merely conceives the shape of the bread."}, {"response": 5, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, Nov 11, 1998 (08:48)", "body": "a new documentary being screened at the KPFA Holiday Crafts Fair, S.F. Concourse Exhibition Center: Sunday, Dec. 13 noon: Rumi: Poet of the Heart (56m) - A luminous portrait of the astonishing 13th century Sufi mystic and poet, with Coleman Barks, Robert Bly, Simone Fattal, Hamza el Din, Jai Uttal, and others. Narrated by Debra Winger. Directed by Haydn Reiss - 30 min discussion following, with the filmmaker"}, {"response": 6, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Nov 12, 1998 (10:07)", "body": "more, more, more!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Nov 12, 1998 (12:02)", "body": "here's another good one: The Question: One dervish to another, What was your vision of God's presence? I haven't seen anything. But for the sake of conversation, I'll tell you a story. God's presence is there in front of me, a fire on the left, a lovely stream on the right. One group walks toward the fire, into the fire, another toward the sweet flowing water. No one knows which are blessed and which not. Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly in the stream. A head goes under on the water surface, that head pokes out of the fire. Most people guard against going into the fire, and so end up in it. Those who love the water of pleasure and make it their devotion are cheated with this reversal. The trickery goes further. The voice of the fire tells the truth, saying I am not fire. I am fountainhead. Come into me and don't mind the sparks. If you are a friend of God, fire is your water. You should wish to have a hundred thousand sets of mothwings, so you could burn them away, one set a night. The moth sees light and goes into fire. You should see fire and go toward light. Fire is what of God is world-consuming. Water, world-protecting. Somehow each gives the appearance of the other. To these eyes you have now what looks like water burns. What looks like fire is a great relief to be inside. You've seen a magician make a bowl of rice seem a dish full of tiny, live worms. Before an assembly with one breath he made the floor swarm with scorpions that weren't there. How much more amazing God's tricks. Generation after generation lies down, defeated, they think, but they're like a woman underneath a man, circling him. One molecule-mote-second thinking of God's reversal of comfort and pain is better than any attending ritual. That splinter of intelligence is substance. The fire and water themselves: Accidental, done with mirrors. Rumi"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Moon", "date": "Thu, Nov 12, 1998 (13:14)", "body": "Terry, I could not believe my eyes when I read your Rumi Topic, I am such a big fan of Rumi!!! Persian poetry is wonderful and so wise! Don't you just love Mula Nasrudin's tales?"}, {"response": 9, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Nov 12, 1998 (20:42)", "body": "I love them."}, {"response": 10, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (12:17)", "body": "Fascinating. All I know about dervishes is that the practice of their religion was banned for a long time and only recently allowed again."}, {"response": 11, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, May 21, 1999 (15:06)", "body": "I'd like to second Stacey's response in #6, \"more, more, more!\""}, {"response": 12, "author": "Moon", "date": "Fri, May 21, 1999 (19:53)", "body": "It is hard for me to see Rumi and not participate. Even though you tie a hundred knots--the string remains one. (Rumi) Love, Love alone can kill what seemed dead, The frozen snake of passion. Love alone By tearful prayers and fiery longing fed, Reveals a knowledge schools have never known. (Rumi)"}, {"response": 13, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, May 21, 1999 (21:15)", "body": "thank you for that piece, moon dreams! please come back again and again...."}, {"response": 14, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Sat, May 22, 1999 (16:47)", "body": "In the windows of the ICE Reflections of my town. Somewhere else Something has happened."}, {"response": 15, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, May 22, 1999 (17:10)", "body": "alex, you rumi?"}, {"response": 16, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Sat, May 29, 1999 (06:03)", "body": "Me Alexander."}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, May 29, 1999 (11:01)", "body": "*grin*"}, {"response": 18, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Sat, May 29, 1999 (12:56)", "body": "*smirk*"}, {"response": 19, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sun, May 30, 1999 (14:00)", "body": "I thought that the 'splain Alexander topic was in screwed..."}, {"response": 20, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Mon, May 31, 1999 (04:08)", "body": "(Oh my, Wolf, help me! Wer's onto my case these days!) Yo, Wonderboy, since we got that job we've gotten mighty cheeky! Well, suits me fine, to be honest... Rather see us two shadowfencing than you shredding your nerves..."}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jan 12, 2000 (20:12)", "body": "Rumi is incredible. I had never heard of him until I posted Moon Dreams' condolences to Terry...and asked her what a Rumi was. She told me and I came here to find out more. Incredible! I am off on a journey to heal my soul... Thanks, Moon!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (13:02)", "body": "Are you looking for me? I am in the next seat. My shoulder is against yours. you will not find me in the stupas, not in Indian shrine rooms, nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals: not in masses, nor kirtans, not in legs winding around your own neck, nor ineating nothing but vegetables. When you really look for me, you will see me instantly -- you will find me in the tiniest house of time. Kabir says: Student, tell me, what is God? He is the breath inside the breath."}, {"response": 23, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (13:21)", "body": "That is wonderful for this morning fraught with concern and loss. Thanks, Nan. We need to know that and to be reminded every so often. *hugs* How are you doing?"}, {"response": 24, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (15:22)", "body": "I'm better than yesterday, thanks, Marcia. The sun came out briefly this morning; now it's raining again. This high desert's nearly as lush as a rainforest after our wet weekend -- I'll need to get some goats in to graze my backyard before I can push a lawnmower through it."}, {"response": 25, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (15:32)", "body": "Watch out for the tigers in that tall grass! I have been noticing you have been having some really wet weather! Days will be up and down - I miss my Dad, and he died nearly 15 years ago... *hugs*"}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (15:34)", "body": "Get sheep...they smell less terrible and do a nicer job on your lawn. Goats will eat the grass roots and all! Besides, Wool sweaters are nice *grin*"}, {"response": 27, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (16:06)", "body": "Really? I married into a cattle ranching family that considered sheep \"range maggots\" -- but gave goats an OK. Guess they liked cheese more than wool? ;)"}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (16:54)", "body": "Oh... Yes, I've heard about the problems, and OKLAHOMA! (the musical) addressed the subject, too. Cheese will keep your insides alive as you freeze to death for lack of sweaters. (I've had goat jerkey from feral goats here - not great!"}, {"response": 29, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (18:31)", "body": "Oh, good points. ;) Not to mention the goats would prolly eat my picnic table."}, {"response": 30, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (18:49)", "body": "...and eat your flowers and anything you might like to line-dry or air fluff not on the power grid... They are the ultimate browsers - anything is edible and ALL of whatever it is. They have been responsible for more than a little damage to native plants and the disappearance of some entirely due to their voracious and all-inclusive appetites. They are NOT my friend!"}, {"response": 31, "author": "Moon", "date": "Mon, May  8, 2000 (20:22)", "body": "Rumi... where are you? ;-) Mula Nasrudin are you following this?"}, {"response": 32, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, May  9, 2000 (01:38)", "body": "On the Deathbed Go, rest your head on a pillow, leave me alone; leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night, writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn. Either stay and be forgiving, or, if you like, be cruel and leave. Flee from me, away from trouble; take the path of safety, far from this danger. We have crept into this corner of grief, turning the water wheel with a flow of tears. While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays, and no one says, \"Prepare to pay the blood money.\" Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times, but be faithful now and endure, pale lover. No cure exists for this pain but to die, So why should I say, \"Cure this pain\"? In a dream last night I saw an ancient one in the garden of love, beckoning with his hand, saying, \"Come here.\" On this path, Love is the emerald, the beautiful green that wards off dragonsnough, I am losing myself. If you are a man of learning, read something classic, a history of the human struggle and don't settle for mediocre verse. Kulliyat-i-Shams 2039"}, {"response": 33, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, May 10, 2000 (23:18)", "body": "* s i g h *"}, {"response": 34, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Aug 19, 2000 (19:49)", "body": "Rumi Festival 2000. September 27- October 1 Chapel Hill, NC. A celebration of Love, Peace and Harmony expressed through Music, Poetry and Dance honoring the birth of the great mystic poet Mevlana Jelaluddin Rumi. This year we celebrate women as spiritual teachers. Come and spend 5 wonderful days with incredible sheiks and sheikas from around the world all gathered at Camp New Hope, near Chapel Hill, NC. There will be evening performances by Mercan Dede, Latif Bolat , Amir Koushkani and Thomas Raincrow and the Boat Rockers to name a few. For detailed information please go to our web site www.Rumifest.org or call Demir Williford 919-929-2744, 919-274-0433. (thanks for sending this info to me, marcia, sorry it took so long to post it)"}, {"response": 35, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Aug 20, 2000 (14:24)", "body": "Rumi suddenly has gotten to be a hot topic. He was even the subject of a Jeopardy question the other night!"}, {"response": 36, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 21, 2002 (14:05)", "body": "\"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase each other doesn't make any sense.\" Rumi's \"field\""}, {"response": 37, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 21, 2002 (14:05)", "body": "The Way of Love The way of love is not a subtle argument. The door there is devastation. Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom. How do they learn it? They fall, and falling, they're given wings. - Rumi poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 33, "subject": "Haiku", "response_count": 19, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Nov 13, 1998 (08:57)", "body": "Really? I had never heard haiku defined as having rhyme. I've always been taught that it's 17 syllables, 5-7-5, three lines, and it should be an encapsulation of a moment in nature. My alltime favorite haiku, by Bashi, I think: blink and stare and blink a mute exchange of wonder the owl and the child Here's one of mine: flying toward summer far above marshmallow seas oh, for a campfire! and here's another. This one's been published: two glorious words: aurora borealis can't hold the glory"}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Nov 13, 1998 (09:22)", "body": "those are nice and you are absolutely correct, charlotte, haiku doesn't rhyme. sorry for the confusion! *smile*"}, {"response": 3, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (19:55)", "body": "I liked the one about the aurora borealis. I'ts so right. 2 million words cannot adequately describe it. It is one of those things where you have to be there."}, {"response": 4, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (22:05)", "body": "have never been there and would like to see it at least once in my lifetime. i don't believe the pictures i've seen do it justice."}, {"response": 5, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 22, 1998 (22:35)", "body": "Not even a TV camera with a wide angle lens! But you have to go in the dark of the moon. Mid december to mid february. I'm warning you though, all fireworks displays pale by comparison."}, {"response": 6, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (11:09)", "body": "i always thought God's fireworks were way better!"}, {"response": 7, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 23, 1998 (13:12)", "body": "By far!!! Not even in the same universe!!"}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 18, 2000 (19:32)", "body": "this just in from marcia: Dog Haiku I lie belly-up In the sunshine, happier than You will ever be. Today I sniffed Many dog behinds -- I celebrate By kissing your face. I sound the alarm! Paper boy -- come to kill us all Look! Look! Look! Look! Look! I sound the alarm! Garbage man -- come to kill us all Look! Look! Look! Look! Look! How do I love thee? The ways are as numberless as My hairs on the rug."}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 18, 2000 (19:38)", "body": "Yay Wolfie!!! You found the perfect place for this bit of (sorry!) doggerel..."}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  6, 2000 (13:59)", "body": "From a dear gentleman: \"Night Rain\" An early cricket chirps And then is silent. The dying lamp goes out, Then flares again. Outside the window I know there is rain In the night. From banana leaves First comes the sound. Bai Jyu-Yi Tang Dynasty Approx. 800 AD"}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  6, 2000 (14:00)", "body": ""}, {"response": 12, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  6, 2000 (14:01)", "body": "The large initial drops of a tropical squall do indeed announce themselves on banana leaves. Mine do!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Tue, Nov  7, 2000 (16:20)", "body": "Tang poetry. I do know that the Tang Dynasty was the great era for Chinese bronze casting. However, I don't know much about the poetry of the time. Thanks Marcia."}, {"response": 14, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov  7, 2000 (21:23)", "body": "This probably should be in its own topic but another lovely one was sent by the same gentleman - much to my pleasure: QUIET NIGHT THOUGHTS Before my bed there is bright moonlight So that it seems like frost on the ground: Lifting my head I watch the bright moon, Lowering my head I dream that I'm home. --Li Po"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov  8, 2000 (16:30)", "body": "And, yet another. I need to know what this exquisite Chinese poetry is called so we can make a topic for it... AN INVITATION TO MY FRIEND LYOU \"Green Ant\" New wine. Red Clay Little warming-stove. It is late And about to snow. Could you drink A cup with me? Bai Jyu-Yi Tang Dynasty 817 AD."}, {"response": 16, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov 15, 2000 (18:36)", "body": "RED-NECK HAIKU BEAUTY Naked in repose Silvery silhouette girls Adorn my mudflaps REMORSE A painful sadness Cain't fit big screen TV through Double-wide's front door OPTIONS Unemployment's out. Hey, maybe I can git on Disability MOTHER AND CHILD Crusted in boogers Stained with Kool-Aid, baby has face Only Mama loves BLAZE Distant siren screams Dumb-ass Verne's been mowing with Gasoline again A NEW MOON Flashlights pierce darkness No nightcrawlers to be found Guess we'll gig some frogs EXUBERANCE Joyous, playful, bright Trailer park girl rolls in puddle Of old motor oil ALONE Seeking solitude Carl's ex-wife Tammy files fer Restraining order DESIRE Damn, in that tube-top You make me almost fergit That you're my cousin HATRED I curse the rainbow Emblazoned upon his hood Goddamn Jeff Gordon OFFERINGS Tonight we hunger Grandma sent grocery money To Robert Tilton DRAMA Set the VCR Dukes of Hazard Marathon Starts at 9 O'Clock DEPRIVED In WalMart toy aisle Wailing boy wants rasslin' doll Mama whups his ass NO SIGNAL White noise, buzzing static Call Earl; the satellite dish Needs new descrambler IMPOUNDED Sixty-five dollars And cyclone fence keeps me from My El Camino GATHERING In early morning mist Mama searches Circle K for Moon Pies and Red Man PRIDE Grinning, he displays The nine hundred beer cans that Fill his pick-up bed"}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Nov 15, 2000 (19:46)", "body": "*laugh*"}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Nov 15, 2000 (19:55)", "body": "back down to earth, huh?!"}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (23:45)", "body": "oh...and for those of you who did not get enough: lonely and depressed all of my cousins are guys back to the chat room --Bubba poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 34, "subject": "Limerick", "response_count": 10, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (13:49)", "body": "There once was a man from Boston who drove around in an Austin There was room for his ass and a gallon of gas but his balls hung out and he lost 'em"}, {"response": 2, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (13:52)", "body": "I'll leave it for someone else to post the one about the man from Nantucket."}, {"response": 3, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (16:28)", "body": "LOL!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "TIM", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (18:45)", "body": "A remnant of my days in the fraternity. One of the cleaner limericks we used."}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 15, 1998 (21:34)", "body": "i can only imagine *grin*"}, {"response": 6, "author": "TIM", "date": "Mon, Nov 16, 1998 (08:13)", "body": "The songs were a lot cleaner, left more to the imagination."}, {"response": 7, "author": "osceola", "date": "Mon, Nov 16, 1998 (12:38)", "body": "Lewinsky and Clinton have shown What Kaczinski must surely have known That a blow job is better Than a bomb in a letter Given the choice of how to be blown"}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 16, 1998 (12:44)", "body": "LOL!!!!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Jan 13, 1999 (22:16)", "body": "seems you forgot to mention that most limericks are somewhat bawdy, as well..."}, {"response": 10, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Jan 14, 1999 (11:39)", "body": "At least somewhat........ poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 35, "subject": "Children's Poetry", "response_count": 19, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (12:23)", "body": "(seuss rules) You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus, You're as charming as an eel. Mr. Grinch. You're a bad banana With a greasy black peel. You're a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders, You've got garlic in your soul. Mr. Grinch. I wouldn't touch you, with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole. You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch. You have termites in your smile. You have all the tender sweetness Of a seasick crocodile. Mr. Grinch. Given the choice between the two of you I'd take the seasick crockodile. You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch. You're a nasty, wasty skunk. Your heart is full of unwashed socks Your soul is full of gunk. Mr. Grinch. The three words that best describe you, are, and I quote: \"Stink. Stank. Stunk.\" You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch. You're the king of sinful sots. Your heart's a dead tomato splot With moldy purple spots, Mr. Grinch. Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, Mangled up in tangled up knots. You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch. With a nauseaus super-naus. You're a crooked jerky jockey And you drive a crooked horse. Mr. Grinch. You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool sandwich With arsenic sauce. Copyright \ufffd 1957, Dr. Seuss."}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (13:34)", "body": "and don't we all still love dr suess?"}, {"response": 3, "author": "PT", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (11:33)", "body": "I have always liked Dr. Suess."}, {"response": 4, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (06:04)", "body": "(the incomparable lewis carroll) I have a fairy by my side Which says I must not sleep, When once in pain I loudly cried It said \"You must not weep\" If, full of mirth, I smile and grin, It says \"You must not laugh\" When once I wished to drink some gin It said \"You must not quaff\". When once a meal I wished to taste It said \"You must not bite\" When to the wars I went in haste It said \"You must not fight\". \"What may I do?\" at length I cried, Tired of the painful task. The fairy quietly replied, And said \"You must not ask\". Moral: \"You mustn't.\""}, {"response": 5, "author": "PT", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (12:32)", "body": "Kind of looks at life from a child's perspective, doesn't it?"}, {"response": 6, "author": "pampaliny", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (15:04)", "body": "tak nazd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffd\ufffdrek v\ufffdichni."}, {"response": 7, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (17:48)", "body": "okay..."}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (18:22)", "body": "i think it means \"hi\". welcome pampaliny."}, {"response": 9, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (17:46)", "body": "wolf, you are so good at decoding!!! HI Pampaliny!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (18:21)", "body": "*smile*"}, {"response": 11, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 17, 1998 (12:58)", "body": "Wolf, are you a linguist?"}, {"response": 12, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Dec 18, 1998 (08:47)", "body": "no. dabble with german (as i have relatives). lemme guess, you are?"}, {"response": 13, "author": "PT", "date": "Fri, Dec 18, 1998 (12:24)", "body": "Somewhat. More of a dabbler in languages than a serious student. I am only fluent in three: English, Russian, French. I can read and understand three more: Greek, Spanish, Italian. I can understand a native speaker in: Spanish, Sicilian, Polish, and Czech. And I know just a touch of Arabic, Hebrew, Gaelic, Korean, Japaneese, Chineese, German, and Farsi."}, {"response": 14, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Dec 18, 1998 (13:53)", "body": "well, i can't say any of that. when i read german or hear it, i get the gist of what's being said but can't answer to save my life nor translate for anyone else!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "PT", "date": "Sat, Dec 19, 1998 (11:44)", "body": "That is pretty much what I mean when I say that I can understand a native speaker, except that I can translate for someone else. I speak to Mexican nationals on a fairly regular basis. They can generally understand English well enough that I can get through to them. I can understand their Spanish well enough to know if I'm being clear enough to them. It is the same way with a Czech or a Pole. I can understand them well enough in their native tongue, and make myself understood to them in Russian. The languages are verbally very similar, but written totally differently."}, {"response": 16, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Dec 19, 1998 (18:58)", "body": "yes, like spanish, french and italian (same basic language family) completely different from the germanic family...in your line of work (the truck driving stuff) i bet you speak to a lot of hispanics (esp. in austin) via the radio? when i lived in kansas, my father had a scanner for emergencies should something happen on a trip, and we could pick up spanish radio on it. was real weird!"}, {"response": 17, "author": "PT", "date": "Sun, Dec 20, 1998 (17:07)", "body": "That is true. But most of what I say on the radio to spanish speakers, would not be repeated in polite conversation. They tend to get a little free with vulgarity, thinking that nobody understands them."}, {"response": 18, "author": "PT", "date": "Sun, Dec 20, 1998 (17:08)", "body": "There is a time and place for everything, and kids listen to the CB."}, {"response": 19, "author": "sociolingo", "date": "Fri, Apr 14, 2000 (07:48)", "body": "Wolfie, I've been sorting out my books, and of course, have had to sit a while wallowing in old memories of stories read, poems told and so forth. I shall have fun deciding where to post some of my old favourites that I have newly re-discovered! Here is a poem my kids loved when they were little, which also speaks of the difficulties of writing (anything!!) when you have kids around. It's by Thomas Hood TO MY SON AGED THREE Thou happy, happy elf! (but stop - first let me kiss away that tear) Thou timy image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) thou merry, laughing sprite! With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin (Good heavens! The child is swallowing a pin!) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air (The door! The door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why Jane, he'll set his pinafore on fire!) thou imp of mirth and joy! in love's dear chain so strong and bright a link. Thou idol of thy parents (Drat the boy! There goes my ink!) Thou chrub - but of earth: Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tale!) Thou human honey-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows; Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny (Another tumble - that's his precious nose!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint (Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that jug off with another shove!) Dear nursling of the hymenial nest (Are those torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life (He's got a knife!) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing; Play on, Play on, My elfin John! Toss the light ball, bestride the stick (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk With many a lamblike frisk. (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother child, and wipe your nose!) Balmy and breathing music like the south (He really brings my heart into my mouth!) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove (I'll tell you what, my love: I cannot write unless he's sent above!) poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 36, "subject": "Raccontino", "response_count": 34, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 24, 1998 (20:55)", "body": "Thanks to Charlotte for introducing this form of poetry to us in fave poets."}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 24, 1998 (20:59)", "body": "and she posted this piece there and so i copy it here so you get the idea....*laugh* that probably didn't make any sense, but you know what i mean! For John Gillespie McGee, Jr. .... All through my poet's life I've held aloft Your sonnet, like a torch against the night. It led me on, through darkened tunnels where I questioned my ability to write. They ask me who you are, and I say: He, A pilot-poet, died before my birth; His single sonnet, wordlit flame, belongs To all who write for joy of 'tumbling mirth'. (John Gillespie McGee, Jr. ... aloft where he belongs.)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (00:45)", "body": "sneaky, wolf! :) I could only locate one more. I wrote this for a friend whose first child was stillborn. In the Fortress of the Heart A heart attacked by pain will, over time, Construct a fortress that cannot be shaken; A place to shield the courage and the will To carry on with living when forsaken, And tend the crippling wounds that never heal. A parent, friend, or child that death has taken Will live forever here; and one day this Will be the place where joy will re-awaken."}, {"response": 4, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (10:18)", "body": "oh how sad, Charlotte. and yes, time will heal this......"}, {"response": 5, "author": "TIM", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (13:30)", "body": "That's good Charlotte, Really good!!!"}, {"response": 6, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, Nov 25, 1998 (16:09)", "body": "Good thing I'm not a blusher, Tim. Thank you."}, {"response": 7, "author": "TIM", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (01:07)", "body": "Charlotte, are you published, somewhere? If so where?"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (09:39)", "body": "Ok. Maybe I *am* a blusher. :) Nowhere that it matters, Tim. Had a poem published in the sci-fi magazine Aboriginal , and five or six poems printed in various small, unknown poetry journals. But no...just here, mostly. And my website. I think that counts as being published, don't you? Even if you publish yourself. :)"}, {"response": 9, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (11:43)", "body": "of course it does!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "TIM", "date": "Thu, Nov 26, 1998 (21:17)", "body": "Here Counts, But I was hoping that there existed a collection of your works somewhere."}, {"response": 11, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (18:09)", "body": "Charlotte, I've not wandered in here for awhile but I really appreciate your posts. The poems (Italian as it were in style) were beautiful"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (08:46)", "body": "Thank you, Stacey! It's nice to see you again."}, {"response": 13, "author": "PT", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (11:38)", "body": "I'm looking forward to your next one, Charlotte."}, {"response": 14, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (15:48)", "body": "Hi, Patrick! (Related to Frank, perchance?) I doubt if I'll be writing any new raccontinos. I rarely write any poetry anymore, and certainly not difficult poetry, like this form. :) I'm not sure why the well is dry...perhaps writing is a habit. Or perhaps my need to say things has lessened. Looking back, it seems nearly all of my poems were efforts to conquer a new form or idea, just to show myself (and anyone who was interested) that I could do it. It took me nearly 20 years to find the courage to tackle a sestina , another year to write one. And that was the last poem I ever wrote."}, {"response": 15, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (16:39)", "body": "I usually write in periods of great change, stress or turmoil. Makes for some dark reading but I work things out well in my head when I write them out on paper. Funny you mentioned the Frank affiliation. That was my first thought when I read his name. Have you read Angela's Ashes?"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (18:01)", "body": "Yes, of course. :) Did you know they are making a film of Angela's Ashes ? And did you know that Frank McCourt was criticized for making Ireland look bad? The protestors said it wasn't really that bad. Personally, I'm on Frank's side. And I agree, Stacey. The greatest volume of my poetry was written during turbulent times in my life. Things are placid now, thank heavens, so I feel no great urge to write."}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (20:34)", "body": "i write during some type of emotional awareness. when i feel something strongly, i guess is what i mean."}, {"response": 18, "author": "jgross", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (22:59)", "body": "I Can Only Write When My Cat Wants To I write when my cat wants to sit on my forehead, eyes and nose I put his right front paw on my hand to see how it goes letters are formed into words as my worst fears come true and when Jah gets off my face I get off on it too"}, {"response": 19, "author": "PT", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (00:58)", "body": "To answer your question, Charlotte: Although McCourt is not my legal surname, I am related to anyone named McCourt. I am also related to anyone surnamed Sitter."}, {"response": 20, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (08:52)", "body": "Oh, I hear a story there , Patrick! My instincts also tell me that you are a writer. You dot your I's, and cross your T's. Tell us what you write?"}, {"response": 21, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (08:53)", "body": "Oh, and that was way good, Jim! Not precisely a raccontino, but are we purists? :) I cat will eventually exceed 18 pounds. Right now he's around 11 and looks like a giant tribble. If he ever sat on my face, you folks would never hear from me again. :)"}, {"response": 22, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (10:25)", "body": "lol!!"}, {"response": 23, "author": "PT", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (11:06)", "body": "Charlotte, you are a wonder. I have never written anything to be published. However, I have done extensive work on my family's geneology. I am currently working on a history of the Texas Navy. My main problem with this is that every time I think I'm finished, something else pops up."}, {"response": 24, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (11:46)", "body": "That's always the trouble with writing history, Patrick! History is constantly changing. What I am writing this instant will be history in a few minutes. You have to think of it in terms of chapters . Complete one chapter, then another, while yet another is unfolding before your eyes. (Apologies for my earlier typo. I meant to say that my cat is expected to exceed 18 pounds and currently weighs around 11 pounds. My fault for trying to think before coffee.)"}, {"response": 25, "author": "PT", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (13:41)", "body": "The problem with the Texas Navy is that it was largely ignored by historians. I keep coming up with new sources of material. The Navy was formed in 1836 and disbanded in 1845."}, {"response": 26, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (18:41)", "body": "I wrote a poem in that form several years ago, although I didn't realize there was a name for it. I thought I was just too slow to finish a sonnet. To Milton John Milton, through your blindness you did see more of the world than most will ever know, and with your sonnets you have touched my heart in ways that I have not the strength to show. The beauty of your words has long survived to comfort those who still must deal with fate, and bring some peace to us when we recall \"They also serve who only stand and wait.\""}, {"response": 27, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (19:00)", "body": "Aloha John! Thanks for joining Spring and may I be the first to welcome someone I actually know in real life! You will find me various places throughout (check Babes and Screwed)...I am absolutely delighted to see you here!"}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (19:02)", "body": "BTW, beautiful piece of Raccontino. This is a side of JB I never knew existed!"}, {"response": 29, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (19:18)", "body": "Thank you! I like that a lot."}, {"response": 30, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sat, Aug 14, 1999 (10:11)", "body": "I don't think it's really a raccontino, John. The key ingredient in a raccontino is that a phrase is formed from the title and the last words of the odd numbered lines that summarizes the poem. To milton, see heart survived recall. Still, it is a lovely poem, no matter what you call it."}, {"response": 31, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sat, Aug 14, 1999 (21:21)", "body": "In the immortal words of Jim Carrey, \"Alrighty, then.\""}, {"response": 32, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Aug 14, 1999 (23:43)", "body": "Welcome, John! Hope to see you wandering around the rest of the Spring... okay, well maybe another conference or two then..."}, {"response": 33, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Aug 15, 1999 (01:10)", "body": "Wer (sorry I got your name wrong in the Geo conference). Thanks for the welcome, and Ms. Wolf, thank you for the terrific poetry from you and other contributors. This is a pretty cool site and I have Marcia to thank. I don't have the time to spend on it that she does, but I find it interesting and the people intelligent and stimulating."}, {"response": 34, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (21:28)", "body": "*blush* why, you're so welcome mr chips, er, john, or, jb...alright, which is it? nice tribute to milton, no matter what it's called! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 37, "subject": "The Chaisse Lounge", "response_count": 257, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:01)", "body": "i'm the first one on the couch!! hahahahahaha...."}, {"response": 2, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:04)", "body": "be that as it may, I'm the first one on it naked!!!"}, {"response": 3, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:07)", "body": "oh wer! you shoulda waited for me to put the plastic on it!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:13)", "body": "especially since I hope that it is a crayon that I feel beneath me..."}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:23)", "body": "it has to be, i'm no where's near you. me or any of my doglike appendages (i.e. tail)"}, {"response": 6, "author": "autumn", "date": "Wed, Dec  9, 1998 (20:52)", "body": "Ugh! Slipcovers??"}, {"response": 7, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (01:34)", "body": "Instead what would you rather have?"}, {"response": 8, "author": "jgross", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (06:30)", "body": "just slips or what're they called? oh yeah.....negligees or body veils or ya know how it is when a movie is being projected on your body veil and the scenes of the movie go through the veil and make contact with yer skin? ya know, huh, ya know? well, the whole story of the movie enters into you and but don't depend on it, don't use it, don't count on it okay? huh? okay?"}, {"response": 9, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (07:59)", "body": "alright, no slip covers, just a heavy application of stain preventer (the name of the stuff slips my mind-hehe)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (09:24)", "body": "Scotchguard, perhaps?"}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (09:29)", "body": "yes! thank you much."}, {"response": 12, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (12:41)", "body": "Sometimes stains tell stories. They sort of chronicle the history of a piece."}, {"response": 13, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (17:01)", "body": "i don't know that i want to be associated with any stains in this place. anyway, we need to keep from spreading communicable diseases anyway!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (18:11)", "body": "I like the idea of negligees all around or maybe a teddy (correct spelling for the intended meaning?)"}, {"response": 15, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Dec 10, 1998 (23:14)", "body": "lacy+body hair=not good"}, {"response": 16, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (09:31)", "body": "is it leather that goes better with body hair?"}, {"response": 17, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (09:34)", "body": "yessum..."}, {"response": 18, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (09:37)", "body": "then again, silk does as well, but silk goes with everything!"}, {"response": 19, "author": "stacey", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (09:51)", "body": "raw or that extra shiny stuf?"}, {"response": 20, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (09:53)", "body": "raw is good..."}, {"response": 21, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (10:36)", "body": "yeah, raw is good (imagine that coming from a wolf *grin*)"}, {"response": 22, "author": "PT", "date": "Fri, Dec 11, 1998 (11:36)", "body": "Very appropriate."}, {"response": 23, "author": "autumn", "date": "Sat, Dec 12, 1998 (19:59)", "body": "OK, so we're on the raw silk. Now what?"}, {"response": 24, "author": "PT", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (00:01)", "body": "Now, we get comfortable."}, {"response": 25, "author": "PT", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (00:02)", "body": "And read some poetry."}, {"response": 26, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (12:33)", "body": "(hope y'all don't mind ee christening y'all's couch) (and this is legitimately a couch-time poem) may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let's go said he not too far said she what's too far said he where you are said she) may i stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may i move said he is it love said she) if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she but it's life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don't stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome?said he ummm said she) you're divine!said he (you are Mine said she) - e. e. cummings"}, {"response": 27, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Dec 13, 1998 (13:39)", "body": "whoa baby!"}, {"response": 28, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (00:05)", "body": "definately apropriate for our couches..."}, {"response": 29, "author": "PT", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (11:34)", "body": "Good choice!!"}, {"response": 30, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Dec 14, 1998 (23:39)", "body": "um, Madame Host, when can the debauchery begin?"}, {"response": 31, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (05:19)", "body": "maybe you should consider an extra coat of scotchguard (or two)"}, {"response": 32, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (08:47)", "body": "consider it done!"}, {"response": 33, "author": "PT", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (12:02)", "body": "The way things were going, I was thinking something more like a plastic sheet."}, {"response": 34, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (17:49)", "body": "but that wouldn't be as comfy"}, {"response": 35, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (18:23)", "body": "besides, we can all chip in for the drycleaning!"}, {"response": 36, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (18:42)", "body": "that's what I'm talkin'bout!"}, {"response": 37, "author": "jgross", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (20:45)", "body": "a teensie little toe be runnin' up my thigh if it goes any higher, I might cry... ...cry out that it has now begun and you can look where you might for your part of any of the fun it'll touch you where you least expected it though nobody's really perfected it"}, {"response": 38, "author": "jgross", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (20:52)", "body": "I think I got a gander from the holy ghost I never felt so much in a single post worries are fleeing and the laugh is sweet you're off your rocker and I'm off my feet"}, {"response": 39, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Dec 15, 1998 (22:17)", "body": "from up above and atop this cloud of those on this couch I am the most proud my friends, my foes, my lifelong desires, pass 'round the marshmallows and light the fires tell a good joke, scribble some verse of all the bad things our silence is worse respond as you like, as you will, as you might for while I go wander to you all a grand night!"}, {"response": 40, "author": "PT", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (15:19)", "body": "That is the best \"good night\", I've ever heard."}, {"response": 41, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Wed, Dec 16, 1998 (18:25)", "body": "so, what's for breakfast, Big Boy?"}, {"response": 42, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 17, 1998 (13:03)", "body": "I've always been partial to a 20oz T-Bone steak, a half dozen eggs over easy, and three large pancakes."}, {"response": 43, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Dec 17, 1998 (14:23)", "body": "sounds like it's time for an oil change... the viscosity is bound to kill ya!"}, {"response": 44, "author": "PT", "date": "Thu, Dec 17, 1998 (19:48)", "body": "It probably would, if I still ate like that. I'm partial to eating like that, but I'm also partial to staying alive, so I seldom do anymore."}, {"response": 45, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Apr  1, 1999 (15:47)", "body": "anyone mind if I stretch out and take a nap?"}, {"response": 46, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Apr  1, 1999 (17:53)", "body": "i certainly don't! take as long as you need, since it's been so quiet!"}, {"response": 47, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Apr  1, 1999 (20:34)", "body": "nudge me if I start snoring too loud"}, {"response": 48, "author": "SusanA", "date": "Fri, Apr  2, 1999 (16:39)", "body": "Hi, I think I'm in the wrong place. Sorry"}, {"response": 49, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Apr  2, 1999 (18:29)", "body": "no, stay!"}, {"response": 50, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Apr  3, 1999 (00:55)", "body": "oh, puh-lease come back! we can behave...really, we can!"}, {"response": 51, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (07:12)", "body": "A Boston Poet named Kort Lounged upon the Davenport Upon a Thyme He transmitted a Rhyme Which arrived in Austin with a wicked Snort"}, {"response": 52, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (07:55)", "body": "hey, i think he's got it!!"}, {"response": 53, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (13:41)", "body": "it's possible..."}, {"response": 54, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:35)", "body": "Can I use here to get proper formating?"}, {"response": 55, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:36)", "body": "Ooh. It works. There. I closed it. :)"}, {"response": 56, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (16:40)", "body": "It's interesting to note that unbalanced HTML formatting tags stay in effect across posts. I used the <PRE> tag in 54 and closed it in 55. I imagine that would also apply to font and color changes, too. Dunno if that's a bug or a feature. :)"}, {"response": 57, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (17:37)", "body": "depends on your intent..."}, {"response": 58, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (18:22)", "body": "It's both, I guess. We do have the ability to allow or disallow particular tags."}, {"response": 59, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (18:27)", "body": "Tags? Did someone find my tags? Bless you now maybe I can rememer who I am."}, {"response": 60, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (22:00)", "body": "I have just discovered the man of many talents is also a poet. I should have known all along!"}, {"response": 61, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (22:02)", "body": "But, I did not know that he snores till just now..."}, {"response": 62, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (23:40)", "body": "depends on how tired I am..."}, {"response": 63, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 15, 1999 (23:43)", "body": "*ooch* *ooch* is there room on this thing for me, too?"}, {"response": 64, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Jul 16, 1999 (02:50)", "body": "sure!"}, {"response": 65, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (02:42)", "body": "squasy moto....make room fer me too!"}, {"response": 66, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (10:15)", "body": "Moulton scootches over to make room."}, {"response": 67, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (18:29)", "body": "don't mind my tail...."}, {"response": 68, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Jul 19, 1999 (20:29)", "body": "...'tis a good thing I am skinny...I think I am next onto the floor...wer? catch me if one more gets on, please!"}, {"response": 69, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (02:41)", "body": "Dawnis gives Moulton a big hug! Let's all dance! You put your left foot in come on join in!"}, {"response": 70, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (13:06)", "body": "you put your left foot out...."}, {"response": 71, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (13:45)", "body": "It's Hokey Pokey time....!"}, {"response": 72, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:03)", "body": "it's about time we finished breaking in your lounge, Wolf!!!"}, {"response": 73, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:04)", "body": "(I wonder if any of them will make it to the screwed bidet...)"}, {"response": 74, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:08)", "body": "Bailing out right now!!!"}, {"response": 75, "author": "moulton", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:32)", "body": "Come join me, come join me, Come join me, in my dance!"}, {"response": 76, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (16:54)", "body": "well Barry... now that you've let your hair down... and my my my what LONG hair it is! no, stop it everyone. \\Shirts stay ONE in the poetry corner (right Wolfie?) If you wanna take the clothes off go over to screwed... follow Marcia!"}, {"response": 77, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (17:22)", "body": "Marcia is going out rock hounding with hiking boots plus all sorts of unglamourous clothing on, but it will be interesting and you will learn something and with a little luck find something interesting to bring back. Too much indoor inactivity is getting to me. Anyone care to join? Hawaii has opals! Peridot-sand beaches...!"}, {"response": 78, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (17:26)", "body": "but if you have to dance in screwed (naked or not), try and do so on Laughing Sky's Cloud, as it helps keep the dust off between her visits..."}, {"response": 79, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (17:30)", "body": "I wanna go with Marcia! (understand about the activity bit... I had to sneek in a lunch time hike today!)"}, {"response": 80, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (17:35)", "body": "Oh good!!! I'll bring the fruit to snack on while we hike and some other tasty things too. Fun hike today!!!"}, {"response": 81, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (20:09)", "body": "wait for me, i gotta get out!"}, {"response": 82, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 20, 1999 (20:20)", "body": "Circling back for Wolfie! Any other takers? If not today - I do this a lot, so name your day and hike: volcano caldera? Jungle waterfalls? Remote beaches? Ancient Hawaiian sites? Snow skiing?"}, {"response": 83, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (00:29)", "body": "I just got a full body massage...think I'll curl up here. (Contented grin on her face)"}, {"response": 84, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (07:53)", "body": "I'll have a Medium Massage, Over Easy. Hold the Eggplant."}, {"response": 85, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (12:35)", "body": "* sitting quietly on a chair, munching an eggplant sandwich *"}, {"response": 86, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (19:59)", "body": "Harrumpty Dumpty sat on a chair Harrumpty Dumpty munched on a pear All the Springs's courses and all the Spring's ken Couldn't feed Harrumpty Dumpty an Eggplant again"}, {"response": 87, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (20:39)", "body": "who brought the chairs in?"}, {"response": 88, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (21:33)", "body": "The Chairman of the Bored?"}, {"response": 89, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (21:37)", "body": "Do we have to bring our own sandwiches or is this room catered? (Good one, Barry!)"}, {"response": 90, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (21:48)", "body": "I hear there is a surfeit of eggplant sandwiches."}, {"response": 91, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jul 21, 1999 (22:14)", "body": "I was hoping to avoid them - though I have never even seen one on offer...Are they good? (Then why is there a surfeit?!) *lol*"}, {"response": 92, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (00:43)", "body": "* taking her chair and leaving quietly *"}, {"response": 93, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (03:30)", "body": "Uh oh."}, {"response": 94, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (11:09)", "body": "(((((((Moonbeam))))))))))) Dang it, I went out and bought a couple of chairs, color coordinated with yours, so people could sit off in the corner and chat quietly. The mason's are on their way to add a fireplace......Plllllleeeeeeasse come back? Yeh once an egg plant plants its little pear shaped body in your life, there is always a surfeit...they are like rabbits they just keep multiplying. (giggle)"}, {"response": 95, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (20:47)", "body": "well, thanks for planting some chairs and eggplants in here... nan, come back!!"}, {"response": 96, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (21:02)", "body": "Please come back!!! We Neeeeeeeeeeeeed you!"}, {"response": 97, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (23:06)", "body": "OK, but only if I can sit on one end of the couch and have an extra pillow. ;) I'm sorry to be such a big baby this week. It's the shits here in Real Life. Good thing I like eggplant sandwiches..."}, {"response": 98, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (23:42)", "body": "Other that flouring and saute'ing them, what do you add to your eggplant sandwiches? Most curious! (here...allow me to fluff your extra pillows)"}, {"response": 99, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 22, 1999 (23:51)", "body": "Here is a footstool too. (Dawnis grins) I guess you didn't read my silly eggplant poem Marcia. We just kinda took off with it....I guess you could put anything you wanted to on it. (chuckle) Here, I have some bubble gum wanna try that?"}, {"response": 100, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (00:32)", "body": "Ok - but lets have some fresh mango first...just located some early ripened ones. Then the bubble gum...(hunting back through files for eggplant poem for inspiration..)"}, {"response": 101, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (01:00)", "body": "Mmmm Mango too! Yum!"}, {"response": 102, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (01:03)", "body": "Opps! I Guess the egplant poem is in the poetry section. (Blush)"}, {"response": 103, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (01:34)", "body": "No wonder I did not find it...tomorrow I shall get out net and camera and do some Snark Hunting..."}, {"response": 104, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (11:38)", "body": "Yum, lunch!! * fresh tomato-and-parmesan sauce drips from the eggplant sandwiches *"}, {"response": 105, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (17:00)", "body": "You mind if I lay at your feet?"}, {"response": 106, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (17:17)", "body": "(...sounds delicious, but I think they'd like to be alone...*sneaking out in search of an eggplant parmesan and tomato sandwich*)"}, {"response": 107, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (18:12)", "body": "Today this stranger is my friend. Had I not taken the time to say hello, or return a smile, or shake a hand, or listen, I would not have known this person. Yesterday would have turned into today and our chance meeting would be gone. Yesterday I hugged someone very dear to me. Today they are gone... and tomorrow will not bring them back. Wouldn't it be nice if we all knew tomorrow would be here? But this is not to be, so take the time TODAY to give a hug, a smile, an \"I love you.\" JUST FOR TODAY, ...smile at a stranger ...listen to someone's heart ...drop a coin where a child can find it ...learn something new, then teach it to someone ...tell someone you're thinking of them ...hug a loved one ...don't hold a grudge ...don't be afraid to say \"I'm sorry\" ...look a child in the eye and tell them how great they are ...look beyond the face of a person into their heart ...make a promise, and keep it ...call someone, for no other reason than to just say \"hi\" ...show kindness to an animal ...stand up for what you believe in ...smell the rain, feel the breeze, listen to the wind ...use all your senses to their fullest ...cherish all your TODAY'S"}, {"response": 108, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (18:21)", "body": "thanks, debra, for that lovely reminder of how to find ABUNDANCE. (((((dawnis))))) today is ALL we've got. and it's more than enough. ;)"}, {"response": 109, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (18:29)", "body": "so true!"}, {"response": 110, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (19:03)", "body": "The funeral was today Moonbeam. The only beauty in the whole thing was hearing everyone talk about how Arron had touched their lives with his generosity and big heart. Now he is gone...but the gift of himself, which he gave to everyone he met, will last forever. I had known him for years and was deeply moved to see the huge turnout and to see that he had done so much for so many."}, {"response": 111, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (21:08)", "body": "OK! Time to lighten up again! information has come to light about the tragic sinking of the Titanic. Not many people know that Hellman's Mayonaise was manufactured in England at the time of the Titanic's sailing. The mayonaise (considered at new exotic condiment at the time) was being shipped to Vera Cruz Mexico, which was to be the next port of Call for the Titanic after docking in New York. Well, when the Mexican people found out that the Titanic had gone down....and her exotic condiment cargo with her, there was great mourning. So much sorrow in fact...that they still remember that fateful day in Mexico. ..... (wait for it......) ............ .................. ......................... Sinko de Mayo. ___________________________________"}, {"response": 112, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Jul 23, 1999 (21:25)", "body": "*GROAN.....*"}, {"response": 113, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (01:37)", "body": "Marcia The eggplant poem On Awakening By Debra Tenney Hot Java early morning crisis caught between sunny side up, and scrambled egg imperatives. Yesterday's burnt toast dressed in lumpy oatmeal has found its way into a trash can, over-full with coupon madness, milk cartons, unpaid bills and Tuesday's moldy eggplant on a suicide mission. The tube chants Regis and Cathy Lee mantras, garbage disposal humor grinding its way through the early morning chill. Pop Tart commercials and Barry Manalow render their greatest hits, assaulting the mind like a Waring Blender set on puree. As from the trash Tuesday's egg plant, finds new meaning to life, slithering to the floor as if to change its ways. In the laundry room, the washing machine kick boxes it1s way past boxes of classic Tee shirts, posters espousing 19701s rhetoric, and Tuesday's egg plant spills out its soul on the kitchen floor with soap opera abandon. In flip flops and oversized sweatshirt cracking eggs onto a cast iron skillet... I flip the eggplant back into the trash, flip the last egg, and flip off the tube... shooting a raspberry at the harmonic duo as they pixelate back to Never-Never Land delivering morning's manna to a bleary eyed brood. With eggplant resolve, pour myself another cup of hot Java midmorning mania ------------------------------------------------------------------------"}, {"response": 114, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (08:38)", "body": "Now if we can just get Terry to do a round of \"I am the Eggplant, I am the Walrus, cu-cu-ca-chooo...\""}, {"response": 115, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (12:32)", "body": "Waiting with bated breath.....Terry?"}, {"response": 116, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (12:40)", "body": "You go back that far, do you? I thought, in interest of Terry's elevated status in the Cyberworld, he would rather forget it all ever happened. However, I am sure there are those around who would be delighted to remind him. (I have selective amnesia and have removed myself from the project.)"}, {"response": 117, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 24, 1999 (13:20)", "body": "Selective amnesia is a useful tool, unless you forget you intended to forget something. (giggle)"}, {"response": 118, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (07:08)", "body": "There is cultural amnesia, too. The Official Name for it is Agosimnesia. It means the culture has forgotten some long lost cultural knowledge. The opposite of Agnosimnesia, of course, is Gnosimnesia -- recovering or rediscovering long lost cultural knowledge. The method I use to get to a state of Gnosimnesia is called The Method of Mimnetic Mirroring. It's basically a meditative and research technique to reach back into the cultural mists to decode old stories, songs and myths, and to decipher their long lost meanings. It's another application of Semiotics, using Wild Mind Associations, also known as Nostalgic Free Association or (in literary circles) Poetry. The Crone Clones are rilly rilly good at the Method of Mimnetic Mirroring. Some good Gnosimnesia there!"}, {"response": 119, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (15:59)", "body": "This was just too rich not to share it here...get your giggle boxes out..... Computer Joke: A language instructor was explaining to her class that French nouns, unlike their English counterparts, are grammatically designated as masculine or feminine. Things like 'chalk' or 'pencil,' she described, would have a gender association although in English these words were neutral. Puzzled, one student raised his hand and asked, \"What gender is a computer?\" The teacher wasn't certain which it was, and so divided the class into two groups and asked them to decide if a computer should be masculine or feminine. One group was comprised of the women in the class, and the other, of men. Both groups were asked to give four reasons for their recommendation. The group of women concluded that computers should be referred to in the masculine gender because: 1. In order to get their attention, you have to turn them on. 2. They have a lot of data but are still clueless. 3. They are supposed to help you solve your problems, but half the time they ARE the problem. 4. As soon as you commit to one, you realize that, if you had waited a little longer, you could have had a better model. The men, on the other hand, decided that computers should definitely be referred to in the feminine gender because: 1. No one but their creator understands their internal logic. 2. The native language they use to communicate with other computers is incomprehensible to everyone else. 3. Even your smallest mistakes are stored in long-term memory for later retrival. 4. As soon as you make a commitment to one, you find yourself spending half your paycheck on accessories for it. \ufffd"}, {"response": 120, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (17:32)", "body": "LOL!!!!!"}, {"response": 121, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (18:23)", "body": "That computer story is great...it would fit right in on the Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus topic! *lol* Thanks for sharing."}, {"response": 122, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (20:41)", "body": "Computers are critters with Silicon Beast Implants."}, {"response": 123, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sun, Jul 25, 1999 (22:57)", "body": "* GROAN!! *"}, {"response": 124, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Jul 26, 1999 (07:46)", "body": "Ah. I feel better already. :)"}, {"response": 125, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Mon, Jul 26, 1999 (13:27)", "body": "OK guys please grin and bear with us ladies with this next joke. (Dawnis grins wickedly) *** Why Women Are Superior**** We got off the Titanic first. We can scare male bosses with mysterious gynecological disorder excuses. When we buy a vibrator it is glamorous. When men buy a blow up doll it's pathetic. Men's clothes make women look elfin and gorgeous. Men look like complete idiots in women's clothes. We can be groupies. Male 'groupies' are stalkers. We've never lusted after a cartoon character or the central figure in a computer game. Taxis stop for us. Men die earlier, so we get to cash in on the life insurance. We don't look like a frog in a blender when dancing. We know the Truth about whether or not size matters. If we're not making enough money we can blame it on the glass ceiling. It's possible to live our whole lives without ever taking a group shower. No fashion faux pas we make could ever rival the male's Speedo. We don't have to fart to amuse ourselves. We never have to wonder if his orgasm was real. If we forget to shave, no one has to know. We can congratulate our teammate without ever grabbing her ass. If we have a zit, we know how to conceal it. We never have to reach down every so often to make sure our privates are still there. We don't have to memorize Caddyshack or Fletch to fit in. We have the ability to dress ourselves. Our friends won't think we're weird if we ask whether there's spinach in our teeth. We know that there are times when chocolate really can solve all of your problems. Gay waiters don't make us uncomfortable. We'll never regret piercing our ears. We can fully assess a person just by looking at their shoes. We can talk to people of the opposite sex without having to picture them naked."}, {"response": 126, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Jul 26, 1999 (20:35)", "body": "sing it sister! *grin*"}, {"response": 127, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (04:12)", "body": "I don't regret piercing my ears..."}, {"response": 128, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (11:28)", "body": "OK gender clarification (giggle) Who and what is the KitchenManager? The bio area is missing from this format."}, {"response": 129, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (14:48)", "body": "predominately male...ask around for more specifics on the who and what...you'll probably get better answers..."}, {"response": 130, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (14:58)", "body": "yes, I'd agree you are predominately male...*smile*"}, {"response": 131, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (16:59)", "body": "Nope that was enough information. A male kitchenmanager eh? Does that apply to real life too? I could use one of those (chuckle)"}, {"response": 132, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (17:13)", "body": "that has been my occupation for the several years now, yes..."}, {"response": 133, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (20:21)", "body": "you'll also see a pic of him in the spring gallery, if you can stomach it *grin* wer: *hugs*"}, {"response": 134, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (20:40)", "body": "so that is how it is, huh?"}, {"response": 135, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Jul 27, 1999 (23:36)", "body": "Somehow I found something of great value in there."}, {"response": 136, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Jul 28, 1999 (01:21)", "body": "All kinds of treasures fall down into a chaise ... but I couldn't find the photo album no matter how much I poked around. A clue, please? ;)"}, {"response": 137, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Jul 28, 1999 (09:12)", "body": "Welcome to The Paper Chaise. Did you know the original (and technically correct) name is Chaise Longue? Yep. Long Chair. No one knows who decided to Americanize it into Chaise Lounge. Prolly cuz it wasn't a \"decision\" but a misreading. Or maybe some manufacturer of lawn furniture did make a conscious decision. Mebbe it was Paddy O'Furniture."}, {"response": 138, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Wed, Jul 28, 1999 (13:27)", "body": "Heh. I was just thinking of the origins of chaise LONGUE last night -- aye, verily! We must be cohabiting the same brain again."}, {"response": 139, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (02:36)", "body": "i made it back my computer did it's thing AGAIN!!!!! Grrr."}, {"response": 140, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (10:14)", "body": "One of the things I learned from computers was that their temperamental idiosyncracies were subject to the laws of nature, the laws of logic, some of which I evidently didn't fully understand. Their behavior was clearly a function of the complement of software I had installed on them, for better or for worse, but their malfunctions were not undertaken to spite me. Rather they had the effect of educating me. Slowly. Very slowly. Discovering patterns and making sense of them is slow and arduous. Just ask Copernicus."}, {"response": 141, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (11:22)", "body": "I don't wanna think about Copernicus... it's too damn hot. I just wanna lie on the chaise here and snooze... Got iced tea?"}, {"response": 142, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (12:37)", "body": "Moonbeam: Here is a pitcher with lemon and mint...and a sweet little cloud to mist you and blow a gentle breeze..........Feeling better? Moulton: Yes I am learning s....l......o......w......l.......y about my computer. Sometimes I think as soon as I get the moeny I will replace it and then I realize... that I will have to s.......l......o.....w.....l.....y learn all about it and it's special needs, but that I will have to start a square one again. I still get frustrated when I have to try and figure out why it won't stay up with the new OS. I really thought it would make my life easier once it was in...and the bells it has does do that...only it won't stay up. I have left only the basics of my old OS on, like Apple told me to do...and I am missing something somewhere. New Joke: This one reminds me of how my computer makes me feel. (grin) INSTRUCTIONS FOR GIVING YOUR CAT A PILL 1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow. 2) Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process. 3) Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw away soggy pill. 4) Take new pill from foil wrap. Cradle cat in left arm, holding rear = paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of 10. 5) Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden. 6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees,hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously. 7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered Doulton figures from hearth and set to one side for gluing later. 8) Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil, and blow down drinking straw. 9) Check label to make sure pill is not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap. 10) Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck, leaving its head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with plastic band. 11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus jab. Throw T-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom. 12) Ring fire brigade to retrieve cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil-wrap. 13) Tie cat's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed, and force cat's mouth open with small spanner. Push pill into mouth, followed by large piece of fillet steak. Hold head vertically and pour pint of water down throat to wash pill down. 14) Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table. 15) Arrange for SPCA to collect cat, and ring local pet shop to see if it has any hamsters."}, {"response": 143, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (14:03)", "body": "I dunno about cats, but for dogs, hiding the pill inside a dollop of peanut butter and letting the dog lick the peanut butter off your fingers works beautifully."}, {"response": 144, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (15:53)", "body": "*LOL* about pilling a cat!! Note to Barry: Cats are not the same as dogs. Dogs come when you call them. Cats take a message and may or may not get back to you... * sipping Debra's tea, gratefully * Oh yes, and now that this oppressive heat is fading from my senses, I'm reminded that I've long meant to say thanks to Wolf (I'm guessing) for providing this beautiful cool mint green background for Poetry and chasing loungers. Blessings!"}, {"response": 145, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Jul 29, 1999 (16:16)", "body": "The Taco Bell Chihuahua, a Doberman and a Bulldog are in a doggie-bar having a drink when a Collie bitch comes in and says, \"Whoever can use liver and cheese in a sentence can have me.\" The Doberman says, \"I love liver and cheese.\" The Collie says, \"Not good enough.\" The Bulldog says, \"I hate liver and cheese.\" She says, \"Not creative.\" The Chihuahua says, \"Liver alone......cheese mine.\""}, {"response": 146, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Jul 30, 1999 (07:54)", "body": "Ah. Chaise Lounge. Sweet Land of Liver Tea. What a friend we have in Cheeses."}, {"response": 147, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 30, 1999 (11:06)", "body": "Cheese you would think he liked Chiasing liverating concepts.. de-liver me from mine crazy friends."}, {"response": 148, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Jul 30, 1999 (11:38)", "body": "Recipe for Chopped Liver . Sorry, no deliveries."}, {"response": 149, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Jul 30, 1999 (13:11)", "body": "Grandma says liver hand crank grinder alone. Opps! I put the egg shells in with the meat. Now what?"}, {"response": 150, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Jul 30, 1999 (21:12)", "body": "The calcium is good for you. Just label it \"Fortified.\""}, {"response": 151, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Feb  7, 2036 (01:30)", "body": "For a couple years I've been blaming it on lack of sleep and too much pressure from my job, but now I found out the real reason: I'm tired because I'm overworked. The population of this country is 237 million. 104 million are retired. That leaves 133 million to do the work. There are 85 million in school, which leaves 48 million to do the work. Of this there are 29 million employed by the federal government, leaving 19 million to do the work. 2.8 million are in the Armed Forces, which leaves 16.2 million to do the work. Take from the total the 14,800,000 people who work for State and City Governments and that leaves 1.4 million to do the work. At any given time there are 188,000 people in hospitals, leaving 1,212,000 to do the work. Now, there are 1,211,998 people in prisons. That leaves just two people to do the work. You and me. And you're sitting at your computer reading jokes!"}, {"response": 152, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Thu, Feb  7, 2036 (03:58)", "body": "Not anymore! ;) * off to play at an arts festival *"}, {"response": 153, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sat, Jul 31, 1999 (20:00)", "body": "To hell with work. I'm gonna invent plork."}, {"response": 154, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Jul 31, 1999 (23:04)", "body": "but please don't do it on the furniture...it might stain! (even with the pre-treatment...)"}, {"response": 155, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sat, Jul 31, 1999 (23:54)", "body": "If you figure out how to invent plork...let me know...I wanna write and take walks in the mountains and play with my daughter and grow things and read and play my guitar and sing...and play at the radio station and paint pictures and talk with friends and have lots of mirth and.....well you get the picture."}, {"response": 156, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Aug  1, 1999 (10:59)", "body": "Just do it. Damn everything but the circus. Let's plork."}, {"response": 157, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Aug  1, 1999 (12:27)", "body": "Only in America...do we use the word \"politics\" to describe the process so well: \"Poli\" in Latin meaning \"many\" and \"tics\" meaning \"bloodsucking creatures\"... Sorry, I just had to share this."}, {"response": 158, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sun, Aug  1, 1999 (14:43)", "body": "The biggest single cause of criminal behavior is legislation."}, {"response": 159, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Sun, Aug  1, 1999 (15:46)", "body": "No doubt."}, {"response": 160, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Mon, Aug  2, 1999 (00:53)", "body": "the biggest single definer of behavior called criminal is legislation, true..."}, {"response": 161, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Aug  2, 1999 (01:00)", "body": "Even truer!"}, {"response": 162, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Aug  2, 1999 (04:51)", "body": "There are now enough laws on the books that almost anyone can be put away for some infraction. Whoever wields power will be scrutinized. Linda Tripp is indicted for taping her phone calls, and Master Li is wanted on charges of spreading superstitious beliefs."}, {"response": 163, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, Aug  2, 1999 (19:06)", "body": "I Shall Be Released They say everything can be replaced But, every distance is not near So, I remember every face Of every man who put me here I see my light come shinin' From the west unto the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released They say every man must need protection They say that every man must fall Yet, I swear I see my reflection Someplace so high above this wall I see my light come shinin' From the west unto the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released Down here next to me in this lonely crowd Stands a man who swears he's not to blame All day long I hear him cry so loud Calling out that he's been framed I see my light come shinin' From the west unto the east Any day now, any day now I shall be released Any day now, any day now I shall be released... Copyright 1971, Bob Dylan"}, {"response": 164, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Mon, Aug  9, 1999 (11:28)", "body": "Words of Wisdom Schizophrenia beats being alone. If at first you don't succeed, redefine success. You have the capacity to learn from your mistakes. You will learn a lot today. A thing not worth doing isn't worth doing well. HECK IS WHERE PEOPLE GO WHO DON'T BELIEVE IN GOSH Hard work never killed anyone, but why chance it? All true wisdom is found on T-shirts. I don't have a solution; but I do admire the problem. I think sex is better than logic, but I can't prove it. A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS but it uses up a thousand times the memory. The Meek shall inherit the earth.. ...after we're through with it. If a thing is worth doing, it would have been done already. Two can live as cheaply as one... for half as long. Lord, If I can't be skinny, please let all my friends be fat. Good Health is merely the slowest possible rate at which one can die. THE BUCK DOESN'T EVEN SLOW DOWN HERE So keep on going. Confession is good for the soul, but bad for your career. How much can I get away with and still go to heaven? Sometimes too much to drink isn't enough. It's hard to make a comeback when you haven't been anywhere. A closed mouth gathers no foot. The trouble with life is there's no background music. I was only looking at your name tag, honest! When blondes have more fun do they know it? Money isn't everything, but it sure keeps the kids in touch. What happens if you get scared half to death twice? We have enough youth. How about a fountain of \"Smart\"? MY WILD OATS HAVE TURNED TO SHREDDED WHEAT! Is reading in the bathroom considered Multi-Tasking?"}, {"response": 165, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (13:25)", "body": "we've thought about that first item, Debra, and all of I would have to agree..."}, {"response": 166, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (20:54)", "body": "Are you talking to her or me?"}, {"response": 167, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (22:58)", "body": "Everyboth of us..."}, {"response": 168, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (23:06)", "body": "Life is so confusing when one is full of a surfeit of Eggplant concoctions. Time to spread the Spam around."}, {"response": 169, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (23:36)", "body": "Eggplant, eggplant where hast thou gone? My heart has been stolen by Spamplant parmesan. Yuk!"}, {"response": 170, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Aug 10, 1999 (23:40)", "body": "*lol* dear! You said it all. And, what a fun way to end a very long day at Spring. Thank you!"}, {"response": 171, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Aug 11, 1999 (04:20)", "body": "It was a one-yolk, one-plant giant purple eater, people."}, {"response": 172, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Wed, Aug 11, 1999 (09:11)", "body": "(((((((Barry)))))) Are you feeling better? I Relish you company. Lettuce break bread together."}, {"response": 173, "author": "moulton", "date": "Wed, Aug 11, 1999 (16:45)", "body": "I'm still clenching my teeth. But I got a chance to yell at a Trustee today."}, {"response": 174, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Aug 11, 1999 (17:24)", "body": "Bravo, Barry. Nothing like righteous indignation to stir the blood. Now, if we can just pry your jaws apart before you powder those molars..."}, {"response": 175, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (04:08)", "body": "I continued yelling at the walls for a while afterwards, too."}, {"response": 176, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (09:29)", "body": "Yahoo!!!!! Barry is finding his power! Walls are great things to yell at because they can't yell back. I have to move by the end of the month. They sold the house. I am holding firm on not letting the landlord screw me. Firm but not angry...anger is distructive, if you allow it to take over. You have to keep a cool head and firmly repeat your message until it is heard."}, {"response": 177, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (10:24)", "body": "then shoot those unwilling to listen..."}, {"response": 178, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (10:29)", "body": "Right, shoot their ears off. That'll teach 'em to listen."}, {"response": 179, "author": "wer", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (10:36)", "body": "Now you're preaching!"}, {"response": 180, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:22)", "body": "And if that doesn't work, we'll shoot their brains out. That'll teach 'em to think."}, {"response": 181, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:28)", "body": "Go Barry! And if that doesn't work we will shoot off their legs...that will teach them to get out of the way."}, {"response": 182, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:30)", "body": "Hey after we have finally crippled them...why should we care if the cost of caring for them the rest of their lives raise our taxes...we have made our point."}, {"response": 183, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:38)", "body": "exactly...that's why we should allow the crippled to die at birth..."}, {"response": 184, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:39)", "body": "or shortly thereafter..."}, {"response": 185, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:42)", "body": "I thought we had permanent employment for the mentally handicapped in government bureacracies."}, {"response": 186, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:46)", "body": "The Romans used to expose unwanted infants on the hillsides and let the wolves eat them. Waste not, want not!"}, {"response": 187, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (11:49)", "body": "Do I think this funny? Gonna think about it... Aw, too bad - I'm not into thinking, remember, so I gotta shoot from the hip and say: NO!"}, {"response": 188, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (12:54)", "body": "Dawnis takes a bow...point well taken. Set Point?"}, {"response": 189, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (12:55)", "body": "Take a Bow Moulton....and post the model again. (Grin) Poinsetta?"}, {"response": 190, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (12:56)", "body": "Dawnis takes a bow...point well taken. Set Point?"}, {"response": 191, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (13:00)", "body": "My latest poem...not quite eggplant...or political....just a reflection of New Mexico weather lately. Summer's Promise. A portrait of contrasts, stiff courtesy and wild abandon, the valence framing filigree curtains reduces sunlight to Byzantine mercy, as afternoon1s heat beats its way through the eastern adobe wall. The desert listens breathless. A quarter moon, broken saucer spilling it1s cream into the middle of an artist1s palette forming kaleidoscopic thunderclouds, sorting rain and lightening, as the wind swells the earth's sigh, seeking twilight's song."}, {"response": 192, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (14:59)", "body": "I posted the model on CNN's discussion board. It seems to have stopped the show."}, {"response": 193, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (18:26)", "body": "should have posted one of the Victoria's Secret's models..."}, {"response": 194, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (18:53)", "body": "Hmmmm....So are you saying it created Post Tramatic Stress disorder? Take KM's advice next time post it with a half naked model. (giggle) Just spoke to Moonbeam...she wanted to meet in Santa Fe Tommorow....just couldn't make it up there...with the move and all. Got to count those pennies at this point."}, {"response": 195, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Aug 12, 1999 (19:32)", "body": "I should be so lucky to have a half-naked model."}, {"response": 196, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (02:15)", "body": "* pondering what a half-naked model of Girard's theory might LOOK like *"}, {"response": 197, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (09:28)", "body": "hmmm...... Oh never mind....my hormones are out to pasture....my mind can barely function at the written level...but graphics...and titilating graphics? Welcome back Moonbeam. I am going to forward an e-mail I just sent to Barry to you. I'm ready to start a revolution. \"You say you want a revolution weeeell you know we all wanna change the world....\""}, {"response": 198, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (10:18)", "body": "* pondering what a half-naked model of Girard's theory might LOOK like * I suppose it depends on which half you look at. Models are supposed to be revelatory, don'tcha know."}, {"response": 199, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (10:22)", "body": "Well if the Model was half baked it would have just the *bare* essentials in it....like skipping every third word with fill in the blanks...(grin)"}, {"response": 200, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (10:59)", "body": "Oh Barry! Things are worse than I thought if you have to ponder which half to visualize on a half-naked model...(assuming it is gender preference positive.) Velvet glove rub-down time!!!"}, {"response": 201, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (13:16)", "body": "Um... Is the rubdown for the model or for me?"}, {"response": 202, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (13:25)", "body": "For you, of course...the model can fend for herself!"}, {"response": 203, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (13:43)", "body": "Apparently, I've got nothing else to do...where did she go?"}, {"response": 204, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (13:53)", "body": "She is over here with me getting lessons on how to massage Barry with the velvet glove. I don't want to embarrass him when she does it, so wait up for me."}, {"response": 205, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (16:29)", "body": "She wore bluuue velvet oh oh...."}, {"response": 206, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (17:58)", "body": "From a long-time friend of mine, an extraordinary individual I am privileged to have known for many years: I Don't Remember I don't remember Shakespeare I don't remember Milton I don't remember Coolidge Or even Conrad Hilton. I don't remember FDR The New Deal's just old news I had to learn that Memphis Was the birthplace of the blues. I don't remember Henry Ford Unless you mean the third. My lexicon lists \"dodo\" As a ninny, not a bird. To me, old Jimmy Stewart Was an actor, not a king. From history's perspective I don't know a goddamn thing. --by John Burnett"}, {"response": 207, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Aug 13, 1999 (18:03)", "body": "...and I met him a whole bunch of years ago, too."}, {"response": 208, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (21:31)", "body": "and that goes for me, as well, john! thanks for posting it marcia!!"}, {"response": 209, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (21:48)", "body": "Wolfie, he sent me the above poem in Email and I fired one back asking for permission to put it here. He agreed and I sent back the URL where he could find it. The rest is history. He is a most welcome addition to our group."}, {"response": 210, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Aug 16, 1999 (22:00)", "body": "indeed!"}, {"response": 211, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Aug 19, 1999 (01:32)", "body": "Thanks for the nice welcome, folks!"}, {"response": 212, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Aug 31, 1999 (20:45)", "body": "Here's a rather clever piece of cowboy doggerel sent to me by my uncle Lee (which I've edited for content and meter) The sky was dark, the moon was high and all alone was she and I. Her lines so soft, her eyes so brown her hair as smooth as eider down, her skin just right, her legs so fine I ran my fingers down her spine. I didn't know how but tried my best, I placed my hands upon her breast. I felt my fear, my beating heart, but slowly she spread her legs apart I had just overcome my shame when all at once the white stuff came. And that's the end, it's over now, the first time that I've milked a cow."}, {"response": 213, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Aug 31, 1999 (20:48)", "body": "Ahhhh...only the finest kine for the Poetry conference...*grin*"}, {"response": 214, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Aug 31, 1999 (20:52)", "body": "*LOL*"}, {"response": 215, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Aug 31, 1999 (20:52)", "body": ""}, {"response": 216, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Aug 31, 1999 (22:43)", "body": "Whooooopee! ;)"}, {"response": 217, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Sep  1, 1999 (20:36)", "body": "i loved it!!!!"}, {"response": 218, "author": "moulton", "date": "Thu, Sep  9, 1999 (08:27)", "body": "You guys sure know how to milk this stuff for all it's worth."}, {"response": 219, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sat, Sep 11, 1999 (13:47)", "body": "Have an Oreo, Barry?"}, {"response": 220, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sat, Sep 11, 1999 (16:55)", "body": "In case you missed it elsewhere, my \"Whitman Sampler\" Poem Parody A Well-Made Man By \"Weird Walt\" with apologies to W.W., (John Burnett, 1999) O God, I feel the rhythm of the concrete jungle from the clickety-clack clatter of the jackhammer and I observe its bone-weary operator his profusely perspiring person of gnarl'd, callous'd massive hands and sensual sinews that bridge the span of his inviting neckline from the resolute set of his mandibular muscles to the sloping scoops of his breastbone as he breathes with shoulders shuddering and the poignant pulsating pounding of his pectorals prominently puffing through the open window of unbutton'd plaid. O God, I am drawn as the unsuspecting moth to the proverbial flame of the candle as I drizzle slowly, deliberately, the melted waste of wax on the tableau of abdominals. I visualize the taste of the molten mix of perspiration and paraffin, the residue of saline lingering on my still-longing lips. O God, Adonis in button-fly five-oh-fives, I am but human and cannot but admire the curve of hard, lean buttocks, stretching and straining and yearning to be set free from the constraints of cotton, faded denim accentuating the musculature of well-made manhood. O God, I hear the mighty massive moan of the whistle steam streaming as the sound of blessed rest and relief bestows solace upon the mass'd minions of the construction site: the truckers of girders and rows of riveters, pourers of concrete and bearers of blueprints, the weary of welding and the jack of the hammers all live for the seventeenth hour. En masse, they move as if drawn by gravitational pull to a nearby tavern, where they fondle the serving wenches and regale the besotted barstool'd denizens with tales of unioniz'd derring-do financ'd in hourly increments by double-breasted Brooks Brother'd investment bankers. And I, O God, surreptitiously sip my Curacao from a custom pewter stein and await the alley door exodus of a well-made man."}, {"response": 221, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Mon, Sep 13, 1999 (15:37)", "body": "*** APPLAUSE! *** that was lip-smackin' wonderful, john!"}, {"response": 222, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Sep 13, 1999 (23:10)", "body": "Thank you, Moon. Maybe it should be in \"Drool.\" *SMILE*"}, {"response": 223, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Sep 14, 1999 (18:22)", "body": "Moon who is in Drool is Moon Dreams. She was the original. Nan, I think is just mooning you for the occasion *grin*"}, {"response": 224, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Sep 14, 1999 (22:42)", "body": "* blushing *"}, {"response": 225, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Sep 14, 1999 (22:49)", "body": "...Oooh, she is...and how becoming it is. Enjoy! (The other Moon is stuck in a hurricane bunker tonight riding out the storm with her laptop in tow. What a place to entertain oneself...Spring!"}, {"response": 226, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Sep 14, 1999 (22:59)", "body": "Spring all year round..."}, {"response": 227, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (13:58)", "body": "Nostalgolagnia I lounge in the old chaise and pine for the old days when my pain was a pleasure as best I could measure."}, {"response": 228, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (14:02)", "body": "He's a poet and he don't know it.....(grin)"}, {"response": 229, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (14:10)", "body": "Fame How do we touch the sky? With game shows and fast action news reported on laugh-in prize winning television, late night shows, a gift from coffee cup gurus driving sleek cars fueled by royality seeking five minute famers rescued from anonynity by cable TV."}, {"response": 230, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (18:55)", "body": "I suggest you search for the off button or unplug the thing...! (being facetious here...)"}, {"response": 231, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (19:02)", "body": "was that in relation to my poem? I do not have cable TV. It was just a social commentary. GRIN"}, {"response": 232, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (19:44)", "body": "Yes, it was, and I enjoyed your commentary...*smile*"}, {"response": 233, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:08)", "body": "Thanks Marcia!"}, {"response": 234, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:21)", "body": "You are quite welcome! *smile*"}, {"response": 235, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:23)", "body": "Sorry about Barry's pain, though...I know the feeling...! Have any suggestions for easing your suffering?"}, {"response": 236, "author": "moulton", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:46)", "body": "I hear that in the tiny country of Butan, the government has set a goal of maximizing emotional well-being instead of wealth."}, {"response": 237, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (22:55)", "body": "Let's all run for the border... But, if we do, we shall surely ruin it for the very people it was meant to help. I'd love to know how they will go about accomplishing this task...!"}, {"response": 238, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:13)", "body": "I don't know about Butan, but if Bill Clinton thinks he feels my pain, I'll put on the gloves with him and go three rounds. I guarantee you he'd feel my pain then!"}, {"response": 239, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:13)", "body": "Isn't it spelled Bhutan?"}, {"response": 240, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:20)", "body": "Since they write in \"squiggles\" (as a teacher of mine once said), it is hard to discern just how things are spelled in phonetic English...perhaps they have recreated the word for the kids now who cannot read and write, in any case?!"}, {"response": 241, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:21)", "body": "(BC has never felt anyone else's pain...! I'll hold him while you take your best shot!)"}, {"response": 242, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct  1, 1999 (23:37)", "body": "This seems as good a place as any to put this note: If you value Spring and the discussions herein (not to mention the venting going on), do you realize this is Terry's web site for which he pays all the bills? Please, it is time to help with any donation you can afford. He has some pretty big bills to pay and he needs your (and my) help to sustain all of the stuff we are posting. Think if he had to cut back and eliminate some of - or all of - the conferences?! Please! Send contributions to: Paul Terry Walhus The Spring 9011 Quail Creek Dr Austin, TX 78758"}, {"response": 243, "author": "moulton", "date": "Sat, Oct  2, 1999 (06:55)", "body": "I will offer to ease the load at the Spring by hosting some of the conferences on spare equipment at MuseNet. If this will help, I'll be glad to discuss which conferences or subcommunities we can accommodate."}, {"response": 244, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Oct  2, 1999 (18:43)", "body": "We need more conferences and more participants here, not less. But thanks anyway, Barry."}, {"response": 245, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct  2, 1999 (19:03)", "body": "Oh Dear!!! I hope my message was not interpreted this way everywhere I put it. I wanted to encourage people to help increase the traffic here and the donations for its upkeep. *sigh* I'll try again. We NEED all of these diverse conferences to keep us mentally stimulated. Please help keep us from an early decline of mental faculties by donating to the fund drive at the above address (see post 242 ) Thanks and Mahalo!"}, {"response": 246, "author": "moulton", "date": "Mon, Oct  4, 1999 (09:29)", "body": "If there is any way I can reduce your expenses by providing zero-cost resources, don't hesitate to ask."}, {"response": 247, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct  5, 1999 (18:46)", "body": "no - not that way...Terry wants increase of traffic, posts and thoughts AND revenue. There are communities which exact a monthly fee from partakers. The least we can to is to contribute to its upkeep!"}, {"response": 248, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (13:36)", "body": "* dusting off the ole chaise... where have all the snoozers gone? * Here's a sort of couchy poem I just wrote -- thought it might make itself comfortable here: ONE SATURDAY IN OCTOBER I asked the Salvation Army to haul off that old armchair its seat lumpy and stained, tweed upholstery rough where the cat had been clawing it for five years. It was an ugly thing, but I was fond of it -- our legs could and did entwine across its great shabby brown arms, we two lost in love long ago on a winter afternoon. If we kept furniture in our lives like we're supposed to keep people what do you think would be the outcome? Would it break all the rules if we didn't throw out lamps and dented pans, or cart them off to the thrift shop to catch the eye of some ex-convict with 10 bucks in his picket to start a new life? Life is a mystery, I think, sitting carefully on my brand new loveseat covered in perfect pale opal-colored velvet. The cat dwells outside now and will have to stay there. I bought an aquarium instead, and watch neon tetras flash teal and red behind the glass, silent and cold and elegant."}, {"response": 249, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (13:49)", "body": "Is there anyone out there this poem does not speak to? Looking around at the \"stuff\" we have accumulated in so many years, I know how lovely it would be to have the opal velvet love seat and a pristine fishbowl and orderliness...but the passion is missing - which is the point, I guess."}, {"response": 250, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (18:33)", "body": "You got out of it what I put into it... (and I see I typo'd \"picket\" where I meant \"pocket\") -- glad it spoke to you, Marcia. :)"}, {"response": 251, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:22)", "body": "thanks for that piece! i do believe we can all relate. where does sentimentality and practicality change over?"}, {"response": 252, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (22:09)", "body": "(Marcia, you're right -- the passion was missing earlier. It's here.) --- PLAY ME We wake to the drumming of raindrops. It's easiest to stay in bed on such dark mornings seeking each other's light - your fingers tingling hundreds of tiny hairs on my arm - catching - trembling - your mouth open wet on my neck - tasting salt - exploring unlocking revealing caves I never mapped before - Moving down - you have no peer, my persian lover - oh god! - your tongue turns my belly to hot marmalade lapping langorous honey - lower - ah - there! - just let me breathe our fragrance forever - this - yes! oh! - wily spinning tumbling freefall thumping heart, tonguing the easiest tune we play."}, {"response": 253, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jun  6, 2000 (19:14)", "body": "dang, it's been awhile. who left the kitchen utensils in here?"}, {"response": 254, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jun  6, 2000 (19:14)", "body": "don't mind the smell, it's the lysol i'm using."}, {"response": 255, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Jun  6, 2000 (19:15)", "body": "what is this? it looks like.....old eggplant!"}, {"response": 256, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jun 10, 2000 (15:14)", "body": "why, it's Ms Clean! (Opening the windows)... watch out for that old eggplant. *lol* last time I was in here I recall being ooched off the couch and landing on my knees...*grin*"}, {"response": 257, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Jun 10, 2000 (15:18)", "body": "Oh Nan....just found your poem. Passion?! It is incredible...and it not only spoke to me, it positively knew my name! Thank you for that...*hugs* poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 38, "subject": "Dorothy Parker", "response_count": 4, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (12:02)", "body": "THE SEARCHED SOUL When I consider, pro and con, What things my love is built upon- A curly mouth; a sinewed wrist; A questioning brow; a pretty twist Of words as old and tried as sin; A pointed ear; a cloven chin; Long, tapered limbs; and slanted eyes Not cold nor kind nor darkly wise- When so I ponder, here apart, What shallow boons suffice my heart, What dust-bound trivia capture me, I marvel at my normalcy. --Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)"}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (12:55)", "body": "i can relate, ms dorothy! thanks, john!!"}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (13:52)", "body": "Ballade of Unfortunate Mammals Love is sharper than stones or sticks; Lone as the sea, and deeper blue; Loud in the night as a clock that ticks; Longer-lived than the Wandering Jew. Show me a love was done and through, Tell me a kiss escaped its debt! Son, to your death you'll pay your due- Women and elephants never forget. Ever a man, alas, would mix, Ever a man, heigh-ho, must woo; So he's left in the world-old fix, Thus is furthered the sale of rue. Son, your chances are thin and few- Won't you ponder, before you're set? Shoot if you must, but hold in view Women and elephants never forget. Down from Caesar past Joynson-Hicks Echoes the warning, ever new: Though they're trained to amusing tricks, Gentler, they, than the pigeon's coo, Careful, son, of the curs'ed two- Either one is a dangerous pet; Natural history proves it true- Women and elephants never forget. L'ENVOI Prince, a precept I'd leave for you, Coined in Eden, existing yet: Skirt the parlor, and shun the zoo- Women and elephants never forget."}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (14:28)", "body": "Guinevere at Her Fireside A nobler king had never breath- I say it now, and said it then. Who weds with such is wed till death And wedded stays in Heaven. Amen. (And oh, the shirts of linen-lawn, And all the armor, tagged and tied, And church on Sundays, dusk and dawn. And bed a thing to kneel beside!) The bravest one stood tall above The rest, and watched me as a light. I heard and heard them talk of love; I'd naught to do but think, at night. The bravest man has littlest brains; That chalky fool from Astolat With all her dying and her pains!- Thank God, I helped him over that. I found him not unfair to see- I like a man with peppered hair! And thus it came about. Ah, me, Tristram was busied otherwhere.... A nobler king had never breath- I say it now, and said it then. Who weds with such is wed till death And wedded stays in Heaven. Amen. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 39, "subject": "Edna St Vincent Millay", "response_count": 31, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (10:11)", "body": "This poem has often been used as a toast, so it seems appropriate to christen the topic: First Fig My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-- It gives a lovely night. --Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)"}, {"response": 2, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (10:13)", "body": "And of course, count on me to screw it up. I took it from a website that got the last line wrong. Take two! First Fig My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-- It gives a lovely light."}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (12:04)", "body": "All I could see from where I stood Was three long mountains and a wood I turned and looked another way and saw three islands in a bay. These lines always pop into my head whenever anyone mentions Edna St. Vincent MIllay. They are the opening lines to her \"Renaissance\", which I had to memorize and recite for high school English class. I was never very impressed with the poem itself, only with the fact that I managed to memorize all 200+ lines of the dang thing. As poetry goes, I still am not too impressed with it. I do, however, very much like the candle poem."}, {"response": 4, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (12:56)", "body": "A small correction--Millay's poem is not \"Renaissance\" but \"Renascence.\" Wolf--thanks for creating this topic! *hugs*"}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (12:57)", "body": "why, you're quite welcome! *smile*"}, {"response": 6, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (13:09)", "body": "Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again; Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath, Nor clean the blood, nor set a fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death Even as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It well may be. I do not think I would."}, {"response": 7, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:33)", "body": "Amy, as lovely as that poem is, methinks you need to read some cheerier stuff."}, {"response": 8, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (07:10)", "body": "Oh, dear me! I guess I should be reading something other than ESVM then, since most of her poetry isn't very cheery! (I hate cheery poetry, in all honesty.)"}, {"response": 9, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (08:17)", "body": "Then you'd hate both Ogden Nash and John Burnett (like I should mention my name in the same sentence with his)."}, {"response": 10, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (09:20)", "body": "This may be a bit less than cheery, but it is certainly more optimistic then ESVM or DP"}, {"response": 11, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (12:11)", "body": "Oops...here it is. Sorry it's another (dead) poet, but I hope Millay doesn't mind. Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens - 1915 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and late Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair, And the green freedom of a cockatoo Upon a rug mingle to dissipate The holy hush of ancient sacrifice. She dreams a little, and she feels the dark Encroachment of that old catastrophe, As a calm darkens among water-lights. The pungent oranges and bright, green wings Seem things in some procession of the dead, Winding across wide water, without sound. The day is like wide water, without sound, Stilled for the passion of her dreaming feet Over the seas, to silent Palestine, Dominion of the blood and sepulchre. 2 Why should she give her bounty to the dead? What is divinity if it can come Only in silent shadows and in dreams? Shall she not find in the comforts of sun, In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else In any balm or beauty of the earth, Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven? Divinity must live within herself: Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow; Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued Elations when the forest blooms; gusty Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights; All pleasures and all pains, remembering The bough of summer and the winter branch. These are the measures destined for her soul. 3 Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth. No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind He moved among us, as a muttering king, Magnificent, would move among his hinds, Until our blood, commingling, virginal, With heaven, brought such requital to desire The very hinds discerned it, in a star. Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be The blood of paradise? And shall the earth Seem all of paradise that we shall know? The sky will be much friendlier then than now, A part of labor and a part of pain, And next in glory to enduring love, Not this dividing and indifferent blue. 4 She says, \"I am content when wakened birds, Before they fly, test the reality Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings; But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields Return no more, where, then, is paradise?\" There is not any haunt of prophecy, Nor any old chimera of the grave, Neither the golden underground, nor isle Melodious, where spirits gat them home, Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm Remote as heaven's hill, that has endured As April's green endures; or will endure Like her rememberance of awakened birds, Or her desire for June and evening, tipped By the consummation of the swallow's wings. 5 She says, \"But in contentment I still feel The need of some imperishable bliss.\" Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams And our desires. Although she strews the leaves Of sure obliteration on our paths, The path sick sorrow took, the many paths Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love Whispered a little out of tenderness, She makes the willow shiver in the sun For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet. She causes boys to pile new plums and pears On disregarded plate. The maidens taste And stray impassioned in the littering leaves. 6 Is there no change of death in paradise? Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs Hang always heavy in that perfect sky, Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth, With rivers like our own that seek for seas They never find, the same receeding shores That never touch with inarticulate pang? Why set the pear upon those river-banks Or spice the shores with odors of the plum? Alas, that they should wear our colors there, The silken weavings of our afternoons, And pick the strings of our insipid lutes! Death is the mother of beauty, mystical, Within whose burning bosom we devise Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly. 7 Supple and turbulent, a ring of men Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn Their boisterous devotion to the sun, Not as a god, but as a god might be, Naked among them, like a savage source. Their chant shall be a chant of paradise, Out of their blood, returning to the sky; And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice, The windy lake wherein their lord delights, The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills, That choir among themselves long afterward. They shall know well the heavenly fellowship Of men that perish and of summer morn. And whence they came and whither they shall go The dew upon their feet shall manifest. 8 She hears, upon that water without sound, A voice that cries, \"The tomb in Palestine Is not the porch of spirits lingering. It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.\" We live in an old chaos of the sun, Or old dependency of day and night, Or island solitude, unsponsered, free, Of that wide water, inescapable. Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail Whistle about us their spontaneous cries; Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness; And, in the isolation of the sky, At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make Abiguous undu"}, {"response": 12, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (12:36)", "body": "John - I put a special poem on Favorite Poets last night for you and either you read it and did not comment, or you have not yet gotten there. Do check!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "rlysr", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (11:15)", "body": "The True Encounter - ESVM \"Wolf!\" cried my cunning heart At every sheep it spied, And roused the countryside. \"Wolf! Wolf!\" - and up would start Good neighbors, bringing spade And pitchfork to my aid. At length my cry was known: Therein lay my release. I met the wolf alone And was devoured in peace."}, {"response": 14, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (11:46)", "body": "Aww, Wolf, have you been devouring sheep again? *giggle*"}, {"response": 15, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (11:59)", "body": "Hello Rlys/Robin, took you a while to get from Screwed to other places... So, besides thrillers you're into poetry?"}, {"response": 16, "author": "rlysr", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (12:03)", "body": "Busy with other things....Edna St.Vincent Millay is a favorite. One of my favorite gifts from my husband is a book of her poetry."}, {"response": 17, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (12:28)", "body": "Here lies, and none to mourn him but the sea, That falls incessant on the empty shore, Most various Man, cut down to spring no more; Before his prime, even in his infancy Cut down, and all the clamour that was he, Silenced; and all the riveted pride he wore, A rusted iron column whose tall core The rains have tunnelled like an aspen tree. Man, doughty Man, what power has brought you low, That heaven itself in arms could not persuade To lay aside the lever and the spade And be as dust among the dusts that blow? Whence, whence the broadside? whose heavy blade?... Strive not to speak, poor scattered mouth; I know. (Boy, she could write some beautiful sonnets, couldn't she?)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:00)", "body": "I guess so."}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:09)", "body": "Was Millay always going on about death? That is one unusual poem of hers Robin posted - or am I not \"up\" on my Millay (what else is new?!)...guess I'll have to seek her out and see for myself. Most peculiar. Ame, thanks for your sad poem...!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:10)", "body": "Of course, Amy was the poster child for that past piece...!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "rlysr", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:23)", "body": "Marcia - the book is Collected Poems, poem found on page 354. Millay's poetry is pretty dark a lot of the time & she did dwell on death......I took a wonderful college course where she was required reading. This is a pretty short poem, I like it because it reminds me of the story of the boy who cried wolf too often...has nothing to do with conf. adm. name...."}, {"response": 22, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:33)", "body": "So, our Wolf is off the hook! Phew, [wiping brows] thawas close! Wolfsie, where are ya?"}, {"response": 23, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:38)", "body": "Amy, the sonnet you posted is incredible. Actually, it has to be influenced by the Romantics. Looks and sounds much like W.W. I just love iambic pentameter, whether rhymed or blank verse."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:51)", "body": "Robin - that was my reaction to the poem - immediately! How interesting. If she had such dark thoughts frequently, I'm going to have to check on her life, as well as her poetry. This appears to be a \"black hole\" in my literary life. Thanks for making me aware of it! Alexander, our Wolfie is busy for a while but will post when and if she is able. She says Hi!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:57)", "body": "So do I!"}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (14:15)", "body": "Then I shall tell her *smile* You will brighten her day for certain!"}, {"response": 27, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Sat, Oct 23, 1999 (14:55)", "body": "Oh, if this is given to me, I then have not lived in vain! And when will she brighten mine again?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 23, 1999 (16:31)", "body": "She posted a little in SpringArk a few days ago, and she will be in and out for another week or so, then she will be back to brighten us all on a regular basis. (You did not know you brighten my day any time you post?! 'Tis true!)"}, {"response": 29, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:25)", "body": "hi folks! yup, the wolf evokes a lot of thoughts in people. this one, however, did not eat sheep. thanks for venturing into poetry robin/rizzer!"}, {"response": 30, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (12:47)", "body": "DIRGE WITHOUT MUSIC I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground. So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind: Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned. Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you. Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust. A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew, A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost. The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,-- They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve. More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world. Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave. I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."}, {"response": 31, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 13, 1999 (13:41)", "body": "Thanks, Amy - EStVM was a very dark and moody lady, Indeed. Robin, might you post more from that lovely book your throughtful husband gave you? I, for one, would appreciate it. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 4, "subject": "chat about the poetry scene", "response_count": 8, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (21:26)", "body": ""}, {"response": 2, "author": "stacey", "date": "Thu, Mar 19, 1998 (22:40)", "body": ""}, {"response": 3, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Fri, Mar 20, 1998 (00:04)", "body": ""}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Apr 19, 1998 (10:54)", "body": "A poem being passed out freely at several bookstores in SF: Lightweight One day, I will have to put her down and take up someone else -- my mother, formidable and happy from assorted potencies, her liver a colander. Despite her lack of stature she will crush your fleshy hand, pleased to meet you. Any thinner, and we could bury her in a saxophone case, lay her out in a long map drawer, fold her into a bird cage, safety deposit or cigar box, a hollowed-out book, pill case -- here she is: my mom. I carry her around; she comes along. - Linda Dyer And another one from Linda: prosepoem published in Marlboro Review, Fall, 1996: --> WELLSPRING \"After the eighth child, you just can't get your figure back\" she said, now up to 12 births and full-bellied, though not from food. So unfull, in fact, that when the family dog knocked over the butter churn, ruining the contents on the dirt floor, she took him by the collar and hung him in the live oak where he howled and died. No one spoke of it then, or until she was senile and arthritic, since the yellow dog was replaced with many other mutts, spoiled and hand-fed, sleeping with the children. Swift justice, the noose and dog cut down, but an end of rope still circling a tree in Nebraska, by way of Minnesota, the Netherlands, some old world of hunger and industry."}, {"response": 5, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Sun, Apr 19, 1998 (13:42)", "body": "i liked these... thanks for sharing them, terry..."}, {"response": 6, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Apr 20, 1998 (10:43)", "body": "from linda dyer: no, i wouldn't mind. as long as my name and e-mail were added (lin@well.com). and thanks. that's nice. [oh, you need to reprint the publishing info: Wellspring, published in The Marlboro Review, ____________ can't remember the date but it's in my plan file. Lightweight, published in celebration of National Poetry Month by Pegasus Books of Berkeley.] thanks. Login: lin Name: Linda Dyer Directory: /home/l/i/lin Shell: /usr/local/shell/picospan Last login Mon Apr 20 05:26 (PDT) on pts/15 from spain-29.ppp.hoo Plan: Registered: Tue May 13 12:32:17 1997 Where I Live: San Francisco I haven't been myself since the Cincinnati incident. Other than that: Poet, teacher, editor. M.F.A. in Creative Writing, Warren Wilson College. Poems recently published in: Mudfish, Marlboro Review, Sow's Ear Poetry Review, Forklift Ohio, Bombay Gin, and Denver Quarterly. My poetry manuscript is currently a finalist in the Four Way Books Intro Series. awards & 1995-97 Finalist, Four Way Books Intro Series in Poetry fellowships: 1995-96 Finalist, The Sow's Ear Poetry Contest 1995 First Place and Second Place Winner San Francisco Bay Guardian Poetry Contest 1994 Full Fellowship in Poetry Vermont Studio Center 1993-94 Fellowship in Humanities NeoData Endowment for the Humanities 1992-93 Creative Fellowship in Poetry Colorado Council on the Arts and Humanities prosepoem published in Marlboro Review, Fall, 1996: -->"}, {"response": 7, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Sat, Jan 16, 1999 (14:58)", "body": "ChannelP.com is the leading producer of arts related streaming media entertainment, designed specifically for \"netcast\" on the World Wide Web. Located in the heart of New York City ChannelP.com brings 'downtown art and culture' to a worldwide audience. ChannelP.com presents multidisciplinary programming, including visual art, literature, film, spoken word, theatre, dance, music and performance art. ChannelP.com also presents tangential programming on fashion, sports and the eclectic array of downtown culture. http://www.channelp.com/"}, {"response": 8, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Apr 18, 2002 (09:29)", "body": "\"Poetry is important, beautiful, silly, sexy, and sometimes dangerous. You can use it in your life. Find out how.\" http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0898157773/qid=1018986189/sr=1-3/ref=sr_1_3/102-6522950-7864163 poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 40, "subject": "Robert Frost", "response_count": 15, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (17:59)", "body": "the only poem that springs to mind immediately, concerning robert frost, is the road less travelled (or not taken). and i don't have a copy before me to post here! let's help isabel find the piece about the tree and winter. i'm clueless at the moment but will do some checking!"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (21:31)", "body": "That's what I posted in \"Poems of Loss\", maybe I'll find the novel where it'r cited: I remember something like an apple tree in winter (???), which should not bloom, otherwise it could froze...mmh, something like that. It was a bit sad...but expressed a feeling I had some time ago, when I lost somebody very close to me... That's why I want to find it."}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (22:04)", "body": "Isabel, I'm gonna do an altavista.com search for an anthology of Frost's works, and if I cannot sort through them enough to find your poem, I'll post the URL and you can look...in fact, I will post the URL in any case. I'm off hunting...."}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (22:06)", "body": "Isabel....this is the best one of all because it includes a poem search if you only know a few words or a line...go to it! http://redfrog.norconnect.no/~poems/poets/robert_frost.html"}, {"response": 5, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 11, 1999 (22:10)", "body": "I liked this one particularly: To the Thawing Wind by Robert Frost - 1913 Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snow-bank steam; Find the brown beneath the white; But whate'er you do to-night, Bathe my window, make it flow, Melt it as the ice will go; Melt the glass and leave the sticks Like a hermit's crucifix; Burst into my narrow stall; Swing the picture on the wall; Run the rattling pages o'er; Scatter poems on the floor; Turn the poet out of door."}, {"response": 6, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (02:44)", "body": "Wolf, this one's for you: The Road not Taken by Robert Frost - 1916 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."}, {"response": 7, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (13:26)", "body": "My dad used to recite this to me when I was quite young. Mending Wall by Robert Frost - 1914 Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun, And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the boulders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use a spell to make them balance: 'Stay where you are until our backs are turned!' We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of out-door game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only says, 'Good fences make good neighbors'. Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a notion in his head: 'Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down.' I could say 'Elves' to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness as it seems to me Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying, And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, \"Good fences make good neighbors.\""}, {"response": 8, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (17:26)", "body": "I did this while an undergrad. It's been published in the parody journal \"Poultry.\" Stopping by Words on a Stolen Evening (with apologies to Robert Frost) copyright 1993, John Burnett Whose words these are I think I know. He's sitting in his office, though. He's so preoccupied with self, I'll steal his words right off the shelf. The poetry prof must think me queer. I plagiarize without a fear. I burgle meter, pilfer rhyme, Take what I want and put it here. His words are lovely, much they say, That's why I'm taking them away. I'll turn them in and get an \"A.\" I'll turn them in and get an \"A.\""}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (17:44)", "body": "Oh Yes! I much prefer your little ode to RF with apologies. But, I think none are needed! You are so good at the feel and rhythm of poetry - you have the soul of one, too, you know! But, I knew that all along (and I am seldom wrong about these things, as well.)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:41)", "body": "thanks for the road not taken, john! and your parody is good...did you get an a?"}, {"response": 11, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (02:19)", "body": "Yes I did, wolfie...as well as a published poem after the class was through."}, {"response": 12, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (23:48)", "body": "*woohoo*"}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (02:07)", "body": "(John, aren't you the one who never got any grade other than an A ?!)"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (17:30)", "body": "Thanks for the link to the Frost-poems, Marcia! I haven't found it yet, but I won't give up!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (23:02)", "body": "Just click on this link, Isabel! http://redfrog.norconnect.no/~poems/poets/robert_frost.html poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 41, "subject": "Ogden Nash", "response_count": 38, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (19:11)", "body": "Thank you, Wolfie Dear! A Watched Example Never Boils The weather is so very mild That some would call it warm. Good gracious. aren't we lucky, child? Here comes a thunderstorm. The sky is now indelible ink, The branches reft asunder; But you and I we do not shrink; We love the lovely thunder. The garden is a raging sea, The hurricane is snarling; Oh, happy you and happy me! Isn't the lightning darling? Fear not the thunder, little one. It's weather, simply weather; It's friendly giants full of fun Clapping their hands together. I hope of lightning our supply Will never be exhausted; You know its lanterns in the sky For angels who are losted. We love the kindly wind and hail, The jolly thunderbolt, We watch in glee the fairy trail Of ampere, watt, and volt. Oh, than to enjoy a storm like this There's nothing I would rather, Don't dive between the blankets, Miss! Or else leave room for Father."}, {"response": 2, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (19:16)", "body": "A Lady Thinks She Is Thirty Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda's sight Is old and gray and dirty; Twenty-nine she was last night; This morning she is thirty. Shining like the morning star, Like the twilight shining, Haunted by a calendar, Miranda sits a-pining. Silly girl, silver girl, Draw the mirror toward you; Time who makes the years to whirl Adorned as he adorned you. Time is timelessness for you; Calendars for the human; What's a year, or thirty, to Loveliness made woman? Oh, Night will not see thirty again, Yet soft her wing, Miranda; Pick up your glass and tell me, then -- How old is Spring, Miranda? Ogden Nash"}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:50)", "body": "Pretty Halcyon Days How pleasant to sit on the beach, On the beach, on the sand, in the sun, With ocean galore within reach, And nothing at all to be done! No letters to answer, No bills to be burned, No work to be shirked, No cash to be earned, It is pleasant to sit on the beach With nothing at all to be done! How pleasant to look at the ocean, Democratic and damp; indiscriminate; It fills me with noble emotion To think I am able to swim in it. To lave in the wave, Majestic and chilly, Tomorrow I crave; But today it is silly. It is pleasant to look at the ocean; Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall swim in it. How pleasant to gaze at the sailors. As their sailboats they manfully sail With the vigor of vikings and whalers In the days of the vikings and whale. They sport on the brink Of the shad and the shark; If its windy they sink; If it isn't, they park. It is pleasant to gaze at the sailors, To gaze without having to sail. How pleasant the salt anesthetic Of the air and the sand and the sun; Leave the earth to the strong and athletic, And the sea to adventure upon. But the sun and the sand No contractor can copy; We lie in the land Of the lotus and poppy; We vegetate, calm and aesthetic, On the beach, on the sand, in the sun. Ogden Nash"}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:51)", "body": "Riding on a Railroad Train Some people like to hitch and hike; They are fond of highway travel; Their nostrils toil through gas and oil, They choke on dust and gravel. Unless they stop for the traffic cop Their road is a fine-or-jail road, But wise old I go rocketing by; I'm riding on the railroad. I love to loll like a limp rag doll In a peripatetic salon; To think and think of a long cool drink And cry to the porter, allons! Now the clickety clack of wheel on track Grows clickety clackety clicker: The line is clear for the engineer And it mounts to his head like liquor. With a farewell scream of escaping steam The boiler bows to the Diesel; The iron horse has run its course And we ride a chromium weasel; We draw our power from the harnessed shower, The lightning without the thunder, But a train is a train and will so remain While the rails glide glistening under. Oh, some like trips in luxury ships, And some in gasoline wagons, And others swear by the upper air And the wings of flying dragons. Let each make haste to indulge his taste, Be it beer, champagne or cider; My private joy, both man and boy, Is being a railroad rider. Ogden Nash"}, {"response": 5, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (22:52)", "body": "This last one reminds me of the \"Cremation of Sam McGee\""}, {"response": 6, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:04)", "body": "A Bas Ben Adhem ( My fellow man I do not care for ) by Ogden Nash My fellow man I do not care for. I often ask me, What's he there for? The only answer I can find Is, reproduction of his kind. If I'm supposed to swallow that, Winnetka is my habitat. Isn't it time to carve Hic Jacet Above that Reproduction racket? To make the matter more succint: Suppose my fellow man extinct. Why, who would not approve the plan Save possibly my fellow man? Yet with a politician's voice He names himself as Nature's choice. The finest of the human race Are bad in figure, worse in face. Yet just because they have two legs And come from storks instead of eggs They count the spacious firmament As something to be charged and sent. Though man created cross-town traffic, The Daily Mirror, News and Graphic, The pastoral fight and fighting pastor, And Queen Marie and Lady Astor, He hails himself with drum and fife And bullies lower forms of life. Not that I think much depends On how we treat our feathered friends, Or hold the wrinkled elephant A nobler creature than my aunt. It's simply that I'm sure I can Get on without my fellow man."}, {"response": 7, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:13)", "body": "....and now there are over 6,000,000,000 of us...! How appropriate on this day."}, {"response": 8, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:14)", "body": "I wasn't even thinking of that. But how right you are to remind us."}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:16)", "body": "*smile* amazing how things occur to our subconscious mind which later seem to be serendipitous...but, were they really?! Thanks for the timely post of that poem"}, {"response": 10, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (06:59)", "body": "Mr. Artesians's Conscientiousness by Ogden Nash Once there was a man named Mr. Artesian and his activity was tremendous, And he grudged every minute away from his desk because the importance of his work was so stupendous; And he had one object all sublime, Which was to save simply oodles of time. He figured that sleeping eight hours a night meant that if he lived to be seventy-five he would have spent twenty-five years not at his desk but in bed, So he cut his slumber to six hours which meant he only lost eighteen years and nine months instead, And he figured that taking ten minutes for breakfast and twenty minutes for luncheon and half an hour for dinner meant that he spent three years, two months and fifteen days at the table, So that by subsisting solely on bouillon cubes which he swallowed at his desk to save this entire period he was able, And he figured that at ten minutes a day he spent a little over six months and ten days shaving, So he grew a beard, which gave him a considerable saving, And you might think that now he might have been satisfied, but no, he wore a thoughtful frown, Because he figured that at two minutes a day he would spend thirty-eight days and a few minutes in elevators just travelling up and down, So as a final time saving device he stepped out the window of his office, which happened to be on the fiftieth floor, And one of his partners asked \"Has he vertigo?\" and the other glanced out and down and said \"Oh no, only about ten feet more.\""}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:57)", "body": "The Cobra This creature fills its mouth with venom And walks upon its duodenum. He who attempts to tease the cobra Is soon a sadder he, and sobra. The Canary The song of canaries Never varies, And when they're moulting They're pretty revolting."}, {"response": 12, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:02)", "body": "so true, so true!!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:10)", "body": "Nearly posted The Canary in Aviculture...*grin* Song of the Open Road I think that I shall never see A billboard lovely as a tree. Indeed, unless the billboards fall I'll never see a tree at all. The Sea-Gull Hark to the whimper of the sea-gull; He weeps because he's not an ea-gull. Suppose you were, you silly sea-gull. Could you explain it to your she-gull?"}, {"response": 14, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:12)", "body": "*grin* the canary would be more than appropriate for aviculture!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:22)", "body": "Might I post it there, as well as here? (Asking permission of the hostess is necessary...*smile*)"}, {"response": 16, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:24)", "body": "of course you may and the sea-gull as well!"}, {"response": 17, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:29)", "body": "Mahalo! (forgot the poor seagull!)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:33)", "body": "but it was cute! *laugh*"}, {"response": 19, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:45)", "body": "It is too bad that Joyce Kilmer didn't live to read this: Song of the Open Road by Ogden Nash I think that I shall never see A billboard as lovely as a tree. Perhaps unless the billboards fall, I'll never see a tree at all."}, {"response": 20, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (22:09)", "body": "Let me interject an bit of information relative to your comment, John...Hawaii does not allow billboards or large signs of any sort. You cannot believe how shocking it is to get used to seeing scenery here, then arriving on the Mainland where all scenery is replaced by the ubiquitous and obtrusive billboard. Ugly!!!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (01:43)", "body": "One more reason Hawaii no ka oi! Still, you remember Wyland's original \"whaling wall\" in Waikiki. The politicians and even the outdoor circle treated it as a billboard for his art. To think that the gorgeous mural of underwater whales was somehow less beautiful than the bare wall of a parking garage. Auwe!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (13:41)", "body": "Auwe, indeed! I remember well Wyland's magnificent coverage of a blank cinder-block wall. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed... The Pig The pig, if I am not mistaken, Supplies us sausage, ham, and bacon. Let others say his heart is big -- I call it stupid of the pig. Arthur There once was a man from Calcutta, Who coated his tonsils with butta, Thus converting his snore From a thunderous roar, To a soft, oleaginous mutta."}, {"response": 23, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (13:49)", "body": "The Chipmunk Odgen Nash My friends all know that I am shy, But the chipmunk is twice and shy and I. He moves with flickering indecision Like stripes across the television. He\ufffds like the shadow of a cloud, Or Emily Dickinson read aloud."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (13:54)", "body": "The Firefly The firefly's flame Is something for which science has no name I can think of nothing eerier Than flying around with an unidentified glow on a person's posteerier. Malingerer I would live all my life in nonchalance and insouciance were it not for making a living, which is rather a nouciance. Ogden Nash"}, {"response": 25, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (14:00)", "body": "Possessions are Nine Points of Conversation by Ogden Nash Some people, and it doesn't matter whether they are paupers or millionaires, Think that anything they have is the best in the world just because it is theirs. If they happen to own a 1921 jalopy, They look at their neighbor's new de luxe convertible like the wearer of a 57th Street gown at a 14th Street copy. If their seventeen-year-old child is still in the third grade they sneer at the graduation of the seventeen-year-old children of their friends, Claiming that prodigies always come to bad ends, And if their roof leaks, It's because the shingles are antiques. Other people, and if doesn't matter if they are Scandinavians or Celts, Think that anything is better than theirs just because it belongs to somebody else. If you congratulate them when their blue-blooded Doberman pinscher wins the obedience championship, they look at you like a martyr, And say that the garbage man's little Rover is really infinitely smarter; And if they smoke fifteen-cent cigars they are sure somebody else gets better cigars for a dime. And if they take a trip to Paris they are sure their friends who went to Old Orchard had a better time. Yes, they look on their neighbor's ox and ass with covetousness and their own ox and ass with abhorrence, And if they are wives they want their husband to be like Florence's Freddie, and if they are husbands they want their wives to be like Freddie's Florence. I think that comparisons are truly odious, I do not approve of this constant proud or envious to-do; And furthermore, dear friends, I think that you and yours are delightful and I also think that me and mine are delightful too."}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Oct 25, 1999 (08:15)", "body": "I have a question about this Ogden Nash poem: People expect old men to die. They do not really mourn old men. Old men are different. People look At them with eyes that wonder when... People watch with unshocked eyes, But the old men know when an old man dies. Could the last line possibly mean that the old men know when an old man \"dies\", as in they know the moment that an old man effectively ceases to be, as opposed to when he physically passes? That was how I read it to myself first time, which gives it an interpretation I now don't think is there at all. But I'm not sure."}, {"response": 27, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Mon, Oct 25, 1999 (09:32)", "body": "That's deeper than I've ever thought about an Ogden Nash poem. Marcia? I am impressed with your thought, Mark, but I'll defer to our resident Nash-o-phile here."}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 25, 1999 (13:13)", "body": "Ah, John! That is the crux of the matter...I am a Nash-o-phile, not a Nash expert. That is a new poem to me (as are several long ones I have posted here.) Mark, I shall check to see if there is a critique of that particular poem and see what is said about it. However, my reading (and upon reading your analysis) I see this happening with the regulars who inhabit the crowds watching the Vulcan (UHHilo) sports. Many are elderly and have been coming for years and years with great regularity. When I was much younger I noted that some were no longer in the audience when it was pointed out to me (\"Has so-and-so been here recently? I have't seen him in ages!\") Nowadays I note much sooner that some of our elder statesmen are missing and inquire about them. Perhaps I notice them because I am not so self-absorbed as I once was and care about the ones I recognize game after game. Just a guess on my part, but I think the older you are the more you are concerned about others...! Especially the elderly."}, {"response": 29, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (05:15)", "body": "Interesting. Thanks, Marcia! I think I was trying to over-complicate. But it is a very detached and un-Nash-like poem, IMO. Your example is very relevant - young people going \"who cares if one old man dies or another? Nothing to do with me, I'm young.\" Until they're not quite so young."}, {"response": 30, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (10:41)", "body": "Marcia, re: post 21: Cooler heads prevailed only temporarily. The whaling wall was obscured by another parking garage going up right next to it. In Hawaii, outdoor art is a no-no...another ugly building, though is \"economic development.\""}, {"response": 31, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (12:59)", "body": "It has been a while since I have been to Honolulu to drive around. I had no idea some idiot obscured Wyland's mural. How sad...! Mark, sometimes it is a Good Thing to be a little bit older and wiser. This Nash poem shows a depth of the poet which I never knew was there. I just extrapolated my experiences into his words and they seemed to fit. The young are immortal and more than a little shallow...until, as you point out, they are not quite so young anymore."}, {"response": 32, "author": "moonbeam", "date": "Tue, Oct 26, 1999 (13:41)", "body": "There's a searchable Ogden Nash site online now."}, {"response": 33, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 27, 1999 (15:26)", "body": "Thanks, Nan...There is so much more to Ogden Nash that I never knew about...it is hard to know what to ask about in the search...but it will be fun to try. Who know, perhaps I will find more undiscovered (by me) gems of his in there *smile*"}, {"response": 34, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 27, 1999 (15:27)", "body": "For all Fathers who have loved their daughters: Song To Be Sung by the Father of Infant Female Children by Ogden Nash My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky; Contrariwise, my blood runs cold When little boys go by. For little boys as little boys, No special hate I carry, But now and then they grow to men, And when they do, they marry. No matter how they tarry, Eventually they marry. And, swine among the pearls, They marry little girls. Oh, somewhere, somewhere, an infant plays, With parents who feed and clothe him. Their lips are sticky with pride and praise, But I have begun to loathe him. Yes, I loathe with loathing shameless This child who to me is nameless. This bachelor child in his carriage Gives never a thought to marriage, But a person can hardly say knife Before he will hunt him a wife. I never see an infant (male), A-sleeping in the sun, Without I turn a trifle pale And think is he the one? Oh, first he'll want to crop his curls, And then he'll want a pony, And then he'll think of pretty girls, And holy matrimony. A cat without a mouse Is he without a spouse. Oh, somewhere he bubbles bubbles of milk, And quietly sucks his thumbs. His cheeks are roses painted on silk, And his teeth are tucked in his gums. But alas the teeth will begin to grow, And the bubbles will cease to bubble; Given a score of years or so, The roses will turn to stubble. He'll sell a bond, or he'll write a book, And his eyes will get that acquisitive look, And raging and ravenous for the kill, He'll boldly ask for the hand of Jill. This infant whose middle Is diapered still Will want to marry My daughter Jill. Oh sweet be his slumber and moist his middle! My dreams, I fear, are infanticiddle. A fig for embryo Lohengrins! I'll open all his safety pins, I'll pepper his powder, and salt his bottle, And give him readings from Aristotle. Sand for his spinach I'll gladly bring, And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring. Then perhaps he'll struggle though fire and water To marry somebody else's daughter."}, {"response": 35, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:31)", "body": "i think the old men die poem was indicating how we \"young\" people notice when young people die but don't blink twice when an older person goes. but, in the same respect, an older person notes when another older person goes which is a sort of countdown for them. ah, but perhaps i'm just stating the obvious and you all already noted that. sorry if i did *smile*"}, {"response": 36, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:31)", "body": "and i just couldn't bear to read the father love daughters poem....maybe another night."}, {"response": 37, "author": "stacey", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (11:30)", "body": "I did... and I sent it to my father!"}, {"response": 38, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (12:20)", "body": "That was a lovely gesture, Stace, and I know your father got all misty over it. Wolfie, I know how you felt when you said you would read it another night. When I read it before posting it here, I missed my father, I felt for fathers with daughters who are dear to them (and whose fathers are also dear to me). It is a cute poem, but it manages to touch one in unexpected places. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 42, "subject": "Elizabeth Barrett Browning", "response_count": 26, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:47)", "body": "Thank you very much for creating this for me, Wolf. Here's my favorite \"Sonnet from the Portuguese:\" The first time that the sun rose on thine oath To love me, I looked forward to the moon To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon And quickly tied to make a lasting troth. Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe; And, looking on myself, I seemed not one For such man's love!--more like an out-of-tune Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste, Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note. I did not wrong myself so, but I placed A wrong on thee . For perfect strains may float 'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced-- And great souls, at one stroke, may do and dote."}, {"response": 2, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:16)", "body": "a better love poet has never existed (at least in English). If Thou Must Love Me by Elizabeth Barrett Browning If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say `I love her for her smile ... her look ... her way Of speaking gently, ... for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day', For these things in themselves, Belov\ufffdd, may Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may love on, through love's eternity."}, {"response": 3, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:21)", "body": "Ahh, you are so right, John!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (12:53)", "body": "If I were a sentimentalist, I would be wiping a tear from my eye at the lovelness of those lines...as it is, I shall just let it trickle down and dry there where is fell."}, {"response": 5, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:00)", "body": "Do you cry over poetry, Marcia? I think I am one of the few people in the world who doesn't, which it seems like it would because I love it so much. I cry over the memories associated with certain poems (like having part of \"Ode on Melacholy\" by John Keats recited to me while he was down on one knee,) but not the poems themselves."}, {"response": 6, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:07)", "body": "That, I think, is why some move me. Memories stirred up. (No wonder you fell for him...he read poems to you down on one knee???!!! *gasp*) Great music has the power to move me to tears, but I am not one who cries easily...it must be very powerful. Choked-up, yes! Tears, occasionally."}, {"response": 7, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:11)", "body": "Oh yes--and right in front of the whole class! I have ever word written on my heart: \"Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, Emprison her soft hand, let her rave, And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.\" He said he'd always wanted to do that but never had, to which I replied (in a high, hysterical voice,) \"Have you ever had a mistress before?\" Completely without guile, he said, \"No.\""}, {"response": 8, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (13:44)", "body": "I am a sap who wells up at beauty which overwhelms me, whether it be music: Beethoven's \"Ode to Joy\" can do it to me as can the refrain from Sibelius' \"Finlandia.\" The words and music to \"O Canada\" make me wish I were Canadian (we Americans should have so beautiful a national anthem), and certain lines of poetry, for example this from Yeats' \"When You Are Old\": How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; I still hope to find a \"pilgrim soul\" to share my life (and hers) in this realm. I consider such beauty to be inspired by God. Amy, how could you not fall for a man who would recite Keats on bended knee to you, whether alone, or in front of a roomful of people..."}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:48)", "body": "Heaven help us all if we cannot swell with emotion at anthems and stirring music of all sorts - as well as music. I agree with you about O Canada....I know the words, even. (I also collect National Anthems! Ours is the WORST unless you consider the last verse.) I am having to be content to be misunderstood my the men in my life and forever dwell alone within myself. (Finlandia does it to me, as well as anything Beethoven, Brahams, etc etc etc!)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:50)", "body": "...that should read...\"as well as the written word.\" sorry. Amy, how did you keep your knees from buckling? And did he evince any evidence of his emotional feelings at the time for all to see, other than the words? (just way too curious...!)"}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (14:52)", "body": "I can't resist saying that if more men were as \"sappy\" as you say you are, there would be many more emotionally healthy men out there than there are now! Good for you. Mist up anytime...I will furnish the tissues for you *hugs*"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (16:40)", "body": "Well, lucky for me, I was sitting down when he did it! I tried to look at him when he did it, but I was both embarassed and flattered at the same time, so I dropped my head. He cocked his head so that he could look me in the eye when he did it--I must have been blushing seven shades of red! I don't know if he was evincing any emotional feelings--I was too shocked and delighted to notice!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (18:53)", "body": "i'm a bawler too! i cry at kodak commercials and those coffee ads around christmas time. i bawl over cartoons!! if someone read a poem out loud to me and it overwhelmed me, i would cry too, but no one has taken to doing that. i cry over music, just, anything that is real beauty to me. and it's not just crying either, it's emotional. *sob*"}, {"response": 14, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (20:13)", "body": "I am not usually a misty-eyed person, but just wait till your little kiddies get to graduating and making you proud of them (yes, I know you are proud of them now...)it is overwhelming! I do not get emotional over my own achievements, but David's are another thing. I don't even want to think about when he gets married...!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (20:21)", "body": "i don't even want to think about graduation and stuff now. heck, them being in the school grades they are overwhelms me! *gulp*"}, {"response": 16, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (20:26)", "body": "Oh Wolfie...it all happens so fast...*sniffle* *sob*"}, {"response": 17, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (20:30)", "body": "*hugs*"}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (20:48)", "body": "*sniff* thank you *hugs*"}, {"response": 19, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (17:28)", "body": "I don't even have children, but I have a two-year-old brother and he just started day school this year, and it was hard for me, too! I wanted him to be able to stay home with me as he did over the summer!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (17:34)", "body": "Wow! Two is so tiny to get out into the cold cruel world. I don't blame you. He is just getting to be a person...I know you will miss him terribly. The house will seem like a tomb while he is not there! Too much silence!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (17:42)", "body": "but it will be good for him and you as well. both of you will need a break from each other and thing about the wonderful reunions!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (17:46)", "body": "...but he is only two! I did not leave the nest till I was 6 and David when he was 5...! No wonder the kids don't have any idea of what adults are like in a home setting nor role models...they are not home long enough to learn these things!"}, {"response": 23, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (19:21)", "body": "i have to counter that....my kids have done quite well considering they've had to be in a day care environment since 6 weeks of age. unfortunately, that goes with the territory for me. my mom stayed at home with us until i was able to watch my brother. she started working part time when i turned 12. the only time i went to a day care was when she and dad wanted to go to a function. i remember having a good time too!"}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (00:30)", "body": "Well, I was purely justifying my need to enjoy my son for as long as I could as a full-time Mom and homemaker. What a lovely time that was!!! There is nothing wrong with day care - especially when it is necessary!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Oct 18, 1999 (00:32)", "body": "Besides, Wolfie, you are an extraordinarily caring and nurturing person...I would consider any child in your care (feathered, furred or human) to be especially fortunate. I pray there are loads more like you out there helping rear our children...!"}, {"response": 26, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:35)", "body": "no, i'm not that good a mom, really, but thanks so much for your faith in me! *hugs and sniff* poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 43, "subject": "French Poetry", "response_count": 28, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 12, 1999 (23:52)", "body": "Merci beaucoup, La Loupe! J'esp\ufffdre qu'il y a beaucoup de personnes qui parlent fran\ufffdais ici, et qui adorent la po\ufffdsie! Je n'ai pas des poemes maintenant, mais je les cherche! (If I've made any grammatical mistakes, fellow francophones, please pardon me. I'm rather out of practice at French!)"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:02)", "body": "LE PONT MIRABEAU par Guillaume Apollinaire Sous le pont Mirabeau could la Seine Et nos amours Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne La joie venait toujours apr\ufffds la peine Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure Les jours s'en vont je demeure Les mains dans les mains restons face-\ufffd-face Tandis que sous Le pont de nos bras passe Des \ufffdternels regards l'onde si lasse Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure Les jours s'en vont je demeure L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante L'amour s'en va Comme la vie est lente Et comme l'Esp\ufffdrance est violente Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure Les jours s'en vont je demeure Passent les jours et passent les semaines Ni temps pass\ufffd Ni les amours reviennent Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure Les jours s'en vont je demeure (Oh Marcia, I hope you can read this! If you can't, I'll write you a translation!)"}, {"response": 3, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:08)", "body": "My dad could've read this. Unfortunately, I can't."}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:10)", "body": "je ne parle francaise - or whatever it is...How about Hawaiian?!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:11)", "body": "LE CHAT par Guillaume Apollinaire Je souhaite dans ma maison Une femme ayant sa raison Un chat passant parmi les livres Des amis en toute saison Sans lesquels je ne peut pas vivre."}, {"response": 6, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:17)", "body": "I can read and understand Hawaiian, if someone is not talking too fast. I am not a fluent speaker."}, {"response": 7, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:19)", "body": "Oh, crud. Well, here's my translation (and if it retains any of its original beauty, it is from no genius on my part.) The Mirabeau Bridge Under the Mirabeau Bridge flows the Seine And our loves It is necessary that I remember The joy always comes after the pain Come night chime the hour Days pass away I stay Hand in hand we stay face to face Under us The bridge of our arms passes The eternal regards of waves so weary Come night... Love goes away like that flowing water Love goes away As life is slow And as Hope is violent Come night... Pass days and pass weeks Neither past time Nor loves come back Under the Mirabeau Bridge flows the Seine Come night... The second one says: THE CAT I wish in my house A wife of good wits A cat passing amongst the books Some friends for all seasons Without these I cannot live."}, {"response": 8, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:20)", "body": "LE CHAT par Guillaume Apollinaire Je souhaite dans ma maison Une femme ayant sa raison Un chat passant parmi les livres Des amis en toute saison Sans lesquels je ne peut pas vivre."}, {"response": 9, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:21)", "body": "I don't know if it retains the original beauty, but I like both poems in translation. Merci beaucoups!"}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (00:23)", "body": "Thank you Amy Dear...means so much more than just THE CAT, which even I could translate. *hugs* for that!"}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (18:55)", "body": "ok, i can't read french but i love to look at it!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (23:48)", "body": "Here will follow (in this post and future ones,) some of my favorite French Romantic poems. from \"L'Automne\" by Lamartine La fleur tombe en livrant ses parfums au zephire; \ufffd la vie, au soleil, ce sont l\ufffd ses adieux: Moi, je meurs; et mon \ufffdme, au moment qu'elle expire, S'exhale comme un son triste et m\ufffdlodieux. The flower falls in giving up its perfumes to the zephyr; To life, to the sun, these are its goodbyes: Me, I die, and my soul, at the moment that it expires Exhales like a sound sad and melodious."}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (06:39)", "body": "With some licence, an alternative translation of the Lamartine stanza: The flower, falling, frees Its perfume to the breeze, To life, and to the sun, To show its day is done. I die, and at my death, My soul sends one last breath Echoing round and round, A sad, melodious sound."}, {"response": 14, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (10:39)", "body": "Salut, Mark! I'm glad that someone else speaks French here, too!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (11:37)", "body": "Mark is a special guy - he can translate French into rhyme and playes cricket, as well. Is there no end to the talents of this man? Happy to see you posting again...I though you had put us away with the used cricket balls for next season!"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (11:56)", "body": "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mark."}, {"response": 17, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (19:10)", "body": "LA COMPLAINTE DE REUTBEUF Les maux ne savent venir isol\ufffdment Il fallait que tout cela m'arriv\ufffdt. Et c'est arriv\ufffd. Que sont devenus mes amis, Avec qui j'\ufffdtais si intime Et que j'avais tant aim\ufffds? Je crois qu'ils sont trop clairsem\ufffds, Ils ne furent pas bien fum\ufffds, Alors ils m'ont fait d\ufffdfaut. Ces amis-l\ufffd m'ont mal trait\ufffd, Car jamais, tant que Dieu m'affligea En mainte mani\ufffdre, Je n'en vis un seul en ma demeure. Je crois que le vent me les a enlev\ufffds. L'amiti\ufffd est morte: Ce sont amis que vent emporte, Et il ventait devant ma porte: Aussi le vent les emporta. REUTBEUF'S COMPLAINT Misfortunes don't know how to come alone It was necessary that everything came to me, And it came. What has become of my friends, With whom I was so intimate And whom I loved so much? I believe that they were so well sown: They were not well fertilized, So it was my shortcoming. These friends treated me badly Because when God afflicted me In many ways, I didn't see a one of them at my house. I believe that the wind uprooted them. Friendship is dead: These are the friends that the wind carried away, And they blew away in front of my door: Also the wind carried them away."}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (19:50)", "body": "That is so sad - fair weather friends are not just an American thing, I guess..."}, {"response": 19, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:50)", "body": "thanks for the alternate translation of the flower piece. it had better meter than the direct translation! but thank you amy for translating after you post a french piece!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (01:38)", "body": "Enchant\ufffd, Amy. Your knowledge of poetry is in different realms from mine, and the postings are fascinating."}, {"response": 21, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (10:07)", "body": "I'm sorry the translation of the Reutbeuf piece is a little clunky, but I just can't seem to make the poems as beautiful as the originals. (Maybe because I'm not a poet!) What kind of poetry do you study, Mark?"}, {"response": 22, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (11:02)", "body": "Less clunky (but only a little): When troubles come, they're not alone, My troubles came not on their own. And all my friends, whose love I knew, How close we were, but where were you? I thought our roots ran deep together, It seems they could not stand foul weather. My fault, I guess, I take the blame, But when God turned on me, who came? Not one, the wind blew all away, This friendship's dead; these friends don't stay; Before my door, they blew away. Amy, I wish I could claim I studied poetry. I have read and forgotten a fair amount; the stuff that sticks is verse (sometimes poetic, sometimes not). I often lack the patience to dig out the metaphor, so it is lovely to have someone select items worth reading."}, {"response": 23, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (12:13)", "body": "Your translation is SO much better than mine! I'm terribly out of practice in French anyway--I haven't had a class in over a year, and I don't have very many opportunities to use it. I know I should practice more, because I don't want nine years or so of French to go to waste."}, {"response": 24, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (16:42)", "body": "well, this is a perfect opportunity too! i think there's also a french conference area around here but am not sure!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (17:07)", "body": "Here's a French love song from the 16th century and, fortunately for everyone here, I didn't write the translation! This is also Renaissance French, so it looks a little different than modern French. Je Suis Desherit\ufffde Je suis desherit\ufffde Puis que j'ay perdu mon amy, Seulette il m'a lais\ufffde Pleine de dueil & de soucy. Rossignol du boys joly, Sans plus faire demeur\ufffde Va t'en dire \ufffd mon amy Que pour luy suis tourment\ufffde. I Am Desolate I am desolate Since I lost my lover, All alone he left me Full of sorrow and trouble. Nightingale of the beautiful wood Without further ado, stay no longer, Go tell my lover That because of him I am tormented."}, {"response": 26, "author": "aschuth", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:41)", "body": "Parlez whatever here, sil vous please: http://www.spring.net/yapp-bin/restricted/read/cultures/13"}, {"response": 27, "author": "Isabel", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (13:47)", "body": "So are we allowed to talk french in cultures? I thought this was only for screwed, no?"}, {"response": 28, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Tue, Oct 19, 1999 (15:51)", "body": "I'm sure you'll all be happy to hear that I'm going to take a seminar in Francophone lit next semester, so I should get enough practice to do better translations! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 44, "subject": "William Wordsworth", "response_count": 28, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (18:48)", "body": "For John: William Wordsworth. 1770\ufffd1850 536. Ode Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. 5 It is not now as it hath been of yore;\ufffd Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, 10 And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; 15 The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound 20 As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; 25 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea 30 Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday;\ufffd Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 35 Shepherd-boy! Ye bless\ufffdd creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, 40 My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel\ufffdI feel it all. O evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, 45 And the children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm:\ufffd 50 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! \ufffdBut there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look'd upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet 55 Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 60 Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come 65 From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 70 He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; 75 At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a mother's mind, 80 And no unworthy aim, The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. 85 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! 90 See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learn\ufffdd art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; 95 And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long 100 Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage' With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, 105 That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity; 110 Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,\ufffd Mighty prophet! Seer blest! 115 On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave, 120 A presence which is not to be put by; To whom the grave Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight Of day or the warm light, A place of thought where we in waiting lie; 125 Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 130 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, 135 That nature "}, {"response": 2, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (19:17)", "body": "Thank you, Marcia, and good night. I think the topic is now overloaded, he he."}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (19:29)", "body": "I compressed it on wordpad before posting it and it was spread out again. Sorry for messing up your first Wordsworth. After the damage I have inflicted on Spring today I think I shall close out and retire to somewhere else. Aloha!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (20:55)", "body": "I was only kidding. Youy didn't mess it up. If I need to see it compressed, I have hard copy of it in my handy-dandy Norton Anthology of English Lit, pt. 2."}, {"response": 5, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (21:00)", "body": "LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798 Five years have past; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! and again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a soft inland murmur. -- Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves 'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms, Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke Sent up, in silence, from among the trees! With some uncertain notice, as might seem Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire The Hermit sits alone. These beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: -- feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: -- that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, -- Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. If this Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft -- In darkness and amid the many shapes Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart -- How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee, O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods, How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity, The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food For future years. And so I dare to hope, Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, Wherever nature led: more like a man Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days, And their glad animal movements all gone by) To me was all in all. -- I cannot paint What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye, and ear, -- both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognise In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. Nor perchance, If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me here upon the banks Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend, My dear, dear Friend; "}, {"response": 6, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (21:04)", "body": "At his best, he was as good as anyone. At his worst, well I won't print \"Simon Lee\" here to make my point...you'll have to look it up if you don't believe me. I don't want to ruin the memory of the fantastic poet whose best stuff my dad used to read to me in my early childhood."}, {"response": 7, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (23:23)", "body": "I used this poem in a story once, and it worked so perfectly for what was happening in the plot! (I won't tell you what it was about, because it would taint your reading of the poem.) SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and oh, The difference to me!"}, {"response": 8, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Oct 13, 1999 (23:25)", "body": "That is incredible. Possibly I am vulnerable right now, but it is making my monitor blurry and my cheeks wet..."}, {"response": 9, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (20:52)", "body": "hey, i feel like lucy sometimes (alright, a lot!)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:03)", "body": "*hugs* (sniffle) *hugs*"}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:08)", "body": "i've written several poems to depict those feelings too. *hugs* back atcha!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:14)", "body": "...thanks...those must be angst-ridden verses fyi only...I have written things like that, as well...only to consign them to the flames as too painful to keep. Now, I am sorry I did...!"}, {"response": 13, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:17)", "body": "Never burn poetry. Put it away under lock and key, but never burn it. What if Dickinson had burned the contents of her steamer trunk?"}, {"response": 14, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:17)", "body": "William Wordsworth. 1770\ufffd1850 540. The Trosachs THERE 's not a nook within this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for one Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase 5 That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10 (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:19)", "body": "...You did not tell me in time...I was in pain and did not want to rememeber it, and it was a very l o n g time ago..."}, {"response": 16, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:23)", "body": "Ironic title, and one of Wordsworth's better \"later\" (beyond his 30s) works: Surprised by joy - impatient as the Wind by William Wordsworth - 1815 Surprised by joy - impatient as the Wind I turned to share the transport - Oh! with whom But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb, That spot which no vicissitude can find? Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind - But how could I forget thee? Through what power, Even for the least division of an hour, Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss! - That thought's return Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore, Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore."}, {"response": 17, "author": "Irishprincess", "date": "Fri, Oct 15, 1999 (10:11)", "body": "I know how it is to throw away something that had a lot of potential...when I was younger and cranking out stories every day (which I can't do anymore--I'm lucky to get one a semester,) I had a temper-tantrum and threw a bunch of them away. Granted, they were pretty juvenile, but I might have made them into something."}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (13:36)", "body": "This one seems to precede the one John posted on Poems of Loss...there are several Lucy poems..I just did not have the heart to handle Poems of Loss this morning. STRANGE FITS OF PASSION William Wordsworth STRANGE fits of passion have I known: And I will dare to tell, But in the lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved looked every day Fresh as a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Beneath an evening-moon. Upon the moon I fixed my eye, All over the wide lea; With quickening pace my horse drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard-plot; And, as we climbed the hill, The sinking moon to Lucy's cot Came near, and nearer still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, Kind Nature's gentlest boon! And all the while my eye I kept On the descending moon. My horse moved on; hoof after hoof He raised, and never stopped: When down behind the cottage roof, At once, the bright moon dropped. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a Lover's head! \"O mercy!\" to myself I cried, \"If Lucy hould be dead!\""}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (13:44)", "body": "Can anyone tell me who Lucy was to him? I do not recall anyone in his life other than his sister Dorothy! THREE YEARS SHE GREW William Wordsworth THREE years she grew in sun and shower, Then Nature said, \"A lovelier flower On earth was never sown; This Child I to myself will take; She shall be mine, and I will make A Lady of my own. \"Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The Girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. \"She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn Or up the mountain springs; And her's shall be the breathing balm, And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. \"The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Even in the motions of the Storm Grace that shall mold the Maiden's form By silent sympathy. \"The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. \"And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell.\" Thus Nature spake---The work was done--- How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm, and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be."}, {"response": 20, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (18:01)", "body": "maybe he liked the name!!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Oct 16, 1999 (18:59)", "body": "either that or he liked the lady bearing the name *smile* It is amazing what a lovely person can do for a seemingly 'ugly' name...!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (01:22)", "body": "Nobody knows who \"Lucy\" was. He wrote the five poems editors grouped together as \"Lucy\" poems between 1977 and 1801. More specifically four were written in 1799 when W. was in Germany. The fifth in 1801, back in the Lake District. Wordsworth scholars believe that Lucy was almost certainly NOT Lucy Gray, the subject of a 1799 poem. Lucy Gray was a young girl who got lost in a snowstorm, fell into a canal and drowned. Wordsworth did not know Lucy Gray, but was moved by her story and wrote the poem \"Lucy Gray.\" As for women in his life, he met and nearly married a woman in France named Annette Vallon during his year there 1791-92. They had a daughter, Caroline, who died young. Annette's father, a surgeon, disapproved of Wordsworth, his poverty at the time, and his anti-Royalist politics, effectively dooming the planned marriage. In 1802, Wordsworth came into his father's inheritance and married a Lake District woman named Mary Hutchinson, a childhood friend. There is no account of it being a passionate union such as the one between him and Vallon, but she lived quietly with Wordsworth and Dorothy, his devoted sister who served as secretary, confidante, and biographer, until her physical and mental decline in the 1830s. Most accounts paint Vallon as the true love of Wordsworth's life. Lucy remains a mystery."}, {"response": 23, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (09:48)", "body": "maybe to protect the innocent, he used lucy as a pseudonym for his true love."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (14:23)", "body": "Thanks for that summary of the ladies in WW's life...one mostly hears of Dorothy and the other are swept aside. Perhaps Lucy was an alias adopted to protect someone very special to him...? Of course, unless we unearth something in an attic trunk, we will porbably never know for sure!"}, {"response": 25, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (21:48)", "body": "He basically lived in a cottage. Don't know where he'd hide a trunk that wouldn't be discovered for 150 years."}, {"response": 26, "author": "mrchips", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (21:52)", "body": "I doubt that Lucy was Vallon, but who knows. If Wordsworth told anyone, it was Dorothy, and she didn't talk. Lucy seems to die young in all his poems, but not as a child as the real Lucy Gray did."}, {"response": 27, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Oct 17, 1999 (22:25)", "body": "Thanks for the clarification, John! Much appreciated!"}, {"response": 28, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sat, Nov  6, 1999 (21:38)", "body": "maybe it's a personification. the \"lucy\" he so cared for but was cut short and so she \"died\"? poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 45, "subject": "Robert W. Service", "response_count": 6, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (05:07)", "body": "Just to show that Sam McGee & Dan McGrew aren't all of Service: When the long, long day is over, and the Big Boss gives me my pay, I hope that it won't be hell-fire, as some of the parsons say. And I hope that it won't be heaven, with some of the parsons I've met -- All I want is quiet, just to rest and forget. Look at my face, toil-furrowed; look at my calloused hands; Master, I've done Thy bidding, wrought in Thy many lands -- Wrought for the little masters, big-bellied they be, and rich; I've done their desire for a daily hire, and I die like a dog in a ditch. I have used the strength Thou hast given, Thou knowest I did not shirk; Threescore years of labor -- Thine be the long day's work. And now, Big Master, I'm broken and bent and twisted and scarred, But I've held my job, and Thou knowest, and Thou will not judge me hard. Thou knowest my sins are many, and often I've played the fool -- Whiskey and cards and women, they made me the devil's tool. I was just like a child with money; I flung it away with a curse, Feasting a fawning parasite, or glutting a harlot's purse; Then back to the woods repentant, back to the mill or the mine, I, the worker of workers, everything in my line. Everything hard but headwork (I'd no more brains than a kid), A brute with brute strength to labor, doing as I was bid; Living in camps with men-folk, a lonely and loveless life; Never knew kiss of sweetheart, never caress of wife. A brute with brute strength to labor, and they were so far above -- Yet I'd gladly have gone to the gallows for one little look of Love. I, with the strength to two men, savage and shy and wild -- Yet how I'd ha' treasured a woman, and the sweet, warm kiss of a child! Well, 'tis Thy world, and Thou knowest. I blaspheme and my ways be rude; But I've lived my life as I found it, and I've done my best to be good; I, the primitive toiler, half naked and grimed to the eyes, Sweating it deep in their ditches, swining it stark in their styes; Hurling down forests before me, spanning tumultuous streams; Down in the ditch building o'er me palaces fairer than dreams; Boring the rock to the ore-bed, driving the road through the fen, Resolute, dumb, uncomplaining, a man in a world of men. Master, I've filled my contract, wrought in Thy many lands; Not by my sins wilt Thou judge me, but by the work of my hands. Master, I've done Thy bidding, and the light is low in the west, And the long, long shift is over. . .Master, I've earned it -- Rest. Sorry it's so long, but Service didn't major in succinct."}, {"response": 2, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (11:50)", "body": "Service tells a story in the most delightful and touching way. He is not succinct, but he is very good a catching hold of a mood and making it part of his readers' excperineces. Thanks for this! Mark, if you have not yet, check Poetic Caricatures for \"The Ballad of Yukon Jake\" which was my Father's favorite."}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (12:01)", "body": "I did read Yukon Jake, but remain unconvinced, I am afraid. As a copy/continuation of Sam McGee & Dan McGrew , it comes up a little short of Service's quality, and as a parody it doesn't really work, because Service goes almost as far both in both bathos and the bizarre himself. Of course this is only my opinion, and I know I get a little defensive of Robert Service because so few know his work (you are of course an honourable exception). And real poetry critics revile this stuff for some reason."}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (13:30)", "body": "It was popular when my Dad was in college, and the only Service parody I have ever seen. What surprised me was that he had memorized it but had several gaps in his rendition and wanted a copy of the original. It took me about 4 years of on-and-off hunting for it in the University periodicals collection - but I did find it and Xeroxed it for him. He was delighted. Then came the poetic caricatures and I thought of it again...and found it on the Internet. Parodies are never as good as the original, beca se they were not written with the same genius. They might be of equal interest, but most often not as good...! I am not such a snob that good rhyme and meter are lost on me...I enjoyed Jake for what it was...not as good as the original, but still good."}, {"response": 5, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (13:33)", "body": "(It is probably a really bad parody, but I remember my father most fondly, and I can still hear his spirited narration... so I am not a good judge of it.)"}, {"response": 6, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (13:40)", "body": "Dark Pine By Robert W. Service If my life force, by death decree, Could find green haven in a tree, And there in peace untroubled years Could dream, immune from toil and tears, Though I'm a lover of all trees I woud not favor one of these... I would not choose a brittle palm Beside a sea of senile calm; Or willow droopily adream Above bright babble of a stream. No cypress would inhibit me With dark and dour austerity; Nor olive, shattering the light, Nor popular, purple in the night. The sanctuary of my search Would not be oak, nor ash, nor birch: Ah no! Their comfort I decline, - Let my life-force pervade a Pine. Aye, when my soul shall sally forth Let it be to the naked North, And in a lone pine desolate Achieve its fit and final fate; A pine by artic tempest torn, Snow-scourged, wind-savaged and forlorn; A viking trunk, a warrior tree, A hostage to dark destiny Of iron earth and icy sky, That valiantly disdains to die. There is the home where I would bide, If trees like men had souls inside,- Which is, of course, a fantasy None could conceive but dolts like me... Let others vision Heaven's gate, Dark Pine, I dream for me you wait. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 46, "subject": "The Spring's Own Published Bards", "response_count": 26, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (10:24)", "body": "What...me brag? Shy reclusive Charlotte? :) Well, my two biggest claims to fame are my silly cartoon poem that was published several years ago by Aboriginal SF magazine. And just this month, a letter I wrote was published in Dana Reeve's (wife of Christopher) new book, Care Packages: letters to Christopher Reeve\" . They even read it on the Today show. :) (Of course I never watch the Today show, so I missed it.)"}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Nov  8, 1999 (15:21)", "body": "Wow, would you be so kind or would you be able to post that here?"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (09:40)", "body": "Post what here?"}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (10:26)", "body": "The letter."}, {"response": 5, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (11:09)", "body": "Oh. Sure. But it's rather lengthy."}, {"response": 6, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (11:12)", "body": "This is the letter published in Dana Reeve's book and read at the end of The Today Show last friday. Posted here at Terry's request. -CB Dear Mr. Reeve, I know that you have received hundreds of letters since your accident, and that it is possible you will not even see this one. And yet, I need to write it. Like everyone who has heard the news, I am so saddened, and so worried for you. I am also angry! I don't think I am articulate enough to fully explain the reason for my anger, but it is no less powerful an emotion. There can be no logic to a universe that will allow such a thing to happen to you. You are needed! You have touched so many lives with your craft, with your dignity, and your personal integrity. You must fight, Mr. Reeve! Fight against the capricious fates who have disabled you. Please don't let them win this one. They win so damn many! How selfish my ranting sounds. And I admit it: I selfishly want you to live. I need to know that They haven't taken yet another star from my heavens. I need you to live and find new ways of touching us with your gentle integrity. I'm sure you will have read this common complaint in many of the letters that now surround you: I feel so helpless. I know that you are in the capable hands of the finest medical staff, surrounded by friends and loved ones. I know that if you need a drink of water, there is someone there to give it to you. I know there is someone there to hold your hand and keep reminding you that you are loved and valued. Someone will read to you if you ask. Someone will scratch the itch on your forehead. Someone will understand why you are frightened. I can offer you none of these things, but please know that I would give them without question if such a thing were possible. All I can do is sit here on the other side of the continent and pray to gods I don't much care for, and beg them to be content with the harm they have done your body and to leave the rest of you, the best of you, alone. This I will do with every conscious breath. A fan is such an insignificant, invisible thing. The relationship between an artist and his fan is of necessity a one-sided one. The artist gives, the fan takes. I have taken your gift for years, and not once have I taken the time to thank you for it. It doesn't matter whether or not you would have ever seen such a thank-you, or whether you ever needed to hear it. It matters that I never took the time. I do so now. Thank you for being who you are, for bringing beauty into my life, and for bringing balance to the often shallow and ugly industry you work for. Please live. Sincerely, Charlotte Bridges Redlands, California 1 June 95"}, {"response": 7, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (12:00)", "body": "Thanks for sharing that!"}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov  9, 1999 (19:07)", "body": "ohoh, charlotte's published and read on tv!! we got ourselves a reeeaaaal celebrity!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:14)", "body": "May I post for a Springizen who is not able to at the moment - John Burnett He posted this in News - Media appearances Two of my poems (both lighter pieces...) have just been web published in _Poetry_Now_ e-zine. Let me say for the record (since Marcia thinks I should) that the first one is a parody of Walt Whitman (who was gay). I wrote it with what if he were writing poetry now in mind. It does not reflect my own sexuality. OK, enough for disclaimer...here's the URL: http://www.poetrynow.org/Volume%20II%20poetry.htm"}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (00:23)", "body": "Since Charlotte mentioned a letter...and it is about as close to being published as I am ever going to get...I wrote a lengthy lauditory letter to Radio Australia International in thanks for their superb Olympics coverage of the last summer games. Imagine my surprise when they did their \"Letterbox\" show the following Sunday. They read my name and where I lived and then read my letter. Aloud! For the entire world to hear. I'll never know if anyone else but me heard it, but I was thrilled!"}, {"response": 11, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (09:42)", "body": "woohoo!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (17:49)", "body": "That is sooo cool, Marcia! Do you still have the letter? Can we see it?"}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Nov 11, 1999 (18:10)", "body": "I will hunt through my floppies for it, but it was in the old computer which was stolen...If I can find it, I shall post it here. It is some experience to hear your own name announced over the radio then your words spoken by another (in this case, an Australian gentleman). Did you get the same reaction, Charlotte? It was totally mind-blowing and the hairy chest pounder was having a snit so he did not hear it, either...Just me and whomever in space intercepts it at some future date...! Tres cool, indeed!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Nov 12, 1999 (13:21)", "body": "I missed my moment of glory, altogether. Dateline NBC called to get my permission to read the letter and said it would be on their Monday night show, November 1. So I had about a hundred people scheduling their time to watch it and then they never read my letter. :) And then Friday morning a collegue asked me if I happened to catch the Today show. And of course, I had not. He said they read my letter at the end of the show, and Dana referred to me not by name, but as \"Chris's angry fan\". He said she said it with a smile. I tried to get a tape of the program from NBC, but they cost $150 for a 5-minute segment. I'm not that anxious to have it! :)"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 12, 1999 (14:21)", "body": "Bummer!!! That is terrible. It was just by the merest happenstance that I caught mine being read. It was sent via email and I had no idea when/if anyone would get to see it. I imagined many hands culling letters before they get to the guys who do the actual reading, so I figured it would be months...or weeks. It was the following Sunday, as it happened. (I am sitting here grinning foolishly just thinking about it.) I am sorry you did not have the same thrill of hearing someone famous read your name. It was inexcusable the way they referred to you. So much for network TV USA...=P"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Sun, Nov 14, 1999 (09:01)", "body": "I was not offended. I *was* Chris's angry fan. The whole reason I wrote the letter in the first place was that I had all this anger and nobody to direct it to and no outlet for my rage. Writing the letter wasn't enough, however. Perhaps because I did not allow much of my anger to seep into the letter. A couple of days after I mailed the letter, I wrote a poem and I let all my anger go there, and then I felt better."}, {"response": 17, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Nov 14, 1999 (15:52)", "body": "Might we see the poem???? (hope...hope...)"}, {"response": 18, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (12:08)", "body": "Well, of course. I feel like I'm hogging the stage here, though! Crimson Casino I rage against sadistic gods as if it were my body they have shattered. Wrath engulfs my heart, and all that dwells therein. Concern and grief, respect and love remain, but cower in a corner to avoid this caustic crimson color-killing fog. This anger should be his who lies inert; but he is taxed with more important things--- like learning how to breathe unhelped, and how to reconcile his dreams and plans with this reality---and with remembering that bright impalpable aspect, still safe and whole, that properly defines and holds his being. But still, fury must be felt! Its healing fire must seek and cauterize the damage that such senseless harm inflicts upon a soul. But rage is not for him: such virulent emotions such as this are luxuries he can't afford until his spirit stands to guard against their heat. So I will rant on his behalf: I'll stand and fling my incandescant ire aloft to nameless earless eyeless heartless gods; I'll raise my fevered fists and howl toward that heav'n where dicing deities reside. And when I fall exhausted to my knees, I'll roll a pair of prayers: Let him live. Please. 2 jun 95"}, {"response": 19, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (12:59)", "body": "Charlotte - this is pure Tennyson! Fantastic!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (13:08)", "body": "Fantastic, Indeed! Thanks, Charlotte. You were a fan of the finest sort. Did he ever receive a copy of the poem? If so, what was his reaction?"}, {"response": 21, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (13:19)", "body": "I was advised not to send it to him so soon after his accident because it had such a harsh tone. So, about 3 years later, I enclosed a copy when I returned my signed permission form to Dana. I have no idea what his reaction was, or even if he has read it. He's a tad busy these days. :)"}, {"response": 22, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 15, 1999 (16:55)", "body": "i missed something. who is this for? christopher reeves? (i guess that because of the line \"learning how to breathe unhelped\" and the dana permission slip). the poem is very powerful and dignigied, i must say. usually anger is so out of control but you use it wonderfully in this piece."}, {"response": 23, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (14:53)", "body": "Wolfie, I posted this at someone's request following a discussion above. Yes, I wrote it for Christopher Reeve the day after I heard of his injury. And thank you."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (15:05)", "body": "I asked...especially since it IS the Poetry Conference and all that...*grin*"}, {"response": 25, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (20:50)", "body": "no, i didn't mean about it being posted here! i just didn't know who it was about."}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 16, 1999 (21:24)", "body": "Ah...see what happens when you work on a web page all day and it finally gets up and I can color fonts but cannot get any graphics or wallpaper onto it....I get lost! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 47, "subject": "Poetry of Dorothy Epp", "response_count": 10, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "dorothy", "date": "Tue, Dec  7, 1999 (22:45)", "body": "When we were dreaming leopards stalked the city engines stalled left us stranded you slid under a rock while I circled the cliffs I had no appetite for mice but you would swallow them whole and simile in your cozy way. At the end of the raspberry row where the fences join the barn a walnut tree spreads across their shadows and miles away where the field ends a train with cars named BC Rail Alberta Grain and Saskatchewan hoots at me as it takes the tracks to the last station in Canada D.H.E."}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Thu, Dec  9, 1999 (08:52)", "body": "These, I believe, are two separate excerpts from larger poems, is that right?"}, {"response": 3, "author": "SBRobinson", "date": "Thu, Dec  9, 1999 (10:44)", "body": "Lovely Dorothy - I admire your talent. Are you going to post the poems in their entirety here?"}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Dec  9, 1999 (13:24)", "body": "Welcome to Spring, Dorothy and Thank You for sharing your talent with those of us who are only able to appreciate genius and not to create it. More please!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "MarkG", "date": "Fri, Dec 10, 1999 (02:28)", "body": "Very enigmatic, Dorothy - cool! Was that a smile or a simile in the first verse? :-)"}, {"response": 6, "author": "dorothy", "date": "Thu, Dec 16, 1999 (22:47)", "body": "yes these were two seperate poems. Thanks for the comments."}, {"response": 7, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Dec 17, 1999 (08:53)", "body": "They are wonderful poems Dorothy, I hope to see more of your works here and have a discussion about your goals as a writer and what you are doing. Can you tell us about the poetry group that you attend?"}, {"response": 8, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Dec 30, 1999 (21:55)", "body": "Yes....Please!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Feb  1, 2000 (12:44)", "body": "http://www.spring.net/poems is a place that I helped Dorothy set up for her poetry. She plans to rotate poems in and out of there on a regular basis."}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Feb  1, 2000 (22:17)", "body": "Thanks! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 48, "subject": "nia poetry", "response_count": 0, "posts": []}, {"num": 49, "subject": "Ancient Chinese Poetry", "response_count": 40, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 10, 2000 (20:12)", "body": "From Neil, a truly special friend: SEEING OFF A FRIEND Green mountains Lie across the northern outskirts Of the city. White water Winds around the eastern City wall. Once we make our parting Here in this place, Like a solitary tumbleweed You will go Ten thousand miles. Floating clouds Are the thoughts of the wanderer. Setting sun Is the mood of his old friend. With a wave of the hand Now you go from here. Your horse gives a whinny As it departs. Li Bai Tang Dynasty Approx. 750 AD ****************** POEM River blue-- The birds seem whiter. Mountains green-- Flowers about to flame. Spring, I see Has passed again. What year will it be When I go home? Tu Fu Tang Dynasty Approx. 764 AD"}, {"response": 2, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 10, 2000 (20:13)", "body": "TRAVELLING AT NIGHT Slender grasses, A breeze on the riverbank, The tall mast Of my boat alone in the night. Stars hang All across a vast plain. The moon leaps In the Great River's flow. My writing Has not made a name for me, And now, due to age and illness, I must quit my official post. Floating on the wind, What do I resemble? A solitary gull Between the heavens and the earth. Tu Fu Tang Dynasty 765 AD."}, {"response": 3, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 10, 2000 (20:17)", "body": "\"Night Rain\" An early cricket chirps And then is silent. The dying lamp goes out, Then flares again. Outside the window I know there is rain In the night. From banana leaves First comes the sound. Bai Jyu-Yi Tang Dynasty Approx. 800 AD *********** QUIET NIGHT THOUGHTS Before my bed there is bright moonlight So that it seems like frost on the ground: Lifting my head I watch the bright moon, Lowering my head I dream that I'm home. --Li Po *************** AN INVITATION TO MY FRIEND LYOU \"Green Ant\" New wine. Red Clay Little warming-stove. It is late And about to snow. Could you drink A cup with me? Bai Jyu-Yi Tang Dynasty 817 AD."}, {"response": 4, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 10, 2000 (20:22)", "body": "Thanks, Wolfie, for this topic. What lovely poetic imagry it is! I am trying to get Neil to come and check it out... Perhcance to post, even...!"}, {"response": 5, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (01:43)", "body": "Until he chooses to post himself, here is my evening's measure of grace and beauty... from Neil.... *Big Hugs* MARBLE STAIRS GRIEVANCE On Marble Stairs still grows the night dew That has all night soaked her silk slippers, But she lets down her crystal blind now And sees through glaze the moon of autumn Li Po"}, {"response": 6, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (11:10)", "body": "Great topic!!! I have a question on Li Po: Was it he how drown in a canal while trying to contemplate the reflection of the moon while he was drunk? Or is that another factoid?"}, {"response": 7, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (13:45)", "body": "I have just summoned Neil to answer a most interesting question. He is more than just fascinating, he is also funny and eloquent by turns. Please, dear... Field this question for Cheryl, please?!"}, {"response": 8, "author": "ThinkingManNeil", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (14:31)", "body": "Hello Cheryl (my sister's name too!) and to everyone else here. To answer your question on Li Po, I'll refer you to some interesting, and perhaps revealing quotes about the man from the introduction of the Penguin Classics book, \"Li Po and Tu Fu\", translated by Arthur Cooper... \"Li Po was not merely un-Confucian in his manners, enjoying or hiding himself in a reputation as an enfant terrible, but often explicitly anti-Confucian in thought. He poured scorn on the moral and intellectual qualities (such as patient literary scholarship) most admired in the Confucian tradition, and expressed his own admiration only for the man of impulse. For a time in his youth he lived as a wandering gallant, whose sword was free to redress wrongs wherever he went.\" \"...he is said by contemporaries to have killed several men.\" \"Contemporary descriptions of Li Po speak of his great, flashing eyes and loud, shrill voice. his presence seems to have electrified everyone and the speed at which he composed, when in drink, to have astonished them.\" \"The well known legend of his death, in 762, is that he fell drunk from a boat while trying to grasp the reflection of the moon, and was drowned. It might even be true, particularly as death from pneumonia seems to have been described as 'drowning'.\" So, while the truth to the legend isn't clear, has cavalier and swashbuckling attitude towards certainly life seems to lend some creedence to it! Thanks for the kind words, Marcia!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (19:38)", "body": ""}, {"response": 10, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (19:44)", "body": "E KOMO MAI, NEIL Pikake & Ti-Leaf White fragrant 3-Strand Pikake flower leis twined together with a traditional Ti-leaf lei. See? Told ya I have to do some stuff twice to get it right!)"}, {"response": 11, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (20:23)", "body": "In Hawaii, the traditional way is to place the Lei over your head and to kiss you lightly on the cheek. Consider yourself Lei'd, my dear!"}, {"response": 12, "author": "aa9il", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (20:40)", "body": "Yow! Wut-a-group... (blush....grin...) Mike aka cosmo (who once in a while wanders out of his Dostoevsky-ian basement hovel to see whats going on in the rest of the world and realizing that yes, there is a 'rest of the world' out there)"}, {"response": 13, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 11, 2000 (22:45)", "body": "Whee! Mike does get out of the ionized air on onccasion. Welcome!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "wolf", "date": "Sun, Nov 12, 2000 (10:25)", "body": "this is great stuff! thanks mike and neil for gracing this little corner of spring!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Nov 12, 2000 (12:18)", "body": "He sent me one today for my eyes alone. It beats the others all hollow. However, this is one time I will not share. It is engraved inside of me where none others exist. Amazing, Wolfie, who is seemingly pragmatic and is found to have a poetic side to them. I am delighted to see men back in on the creative process. Without them, our love is gone, our hearts empty and needfull"}, {"response": 16, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 13, 2000 (18:57)", "body": "Happy Birthday Neil Found you an original edition of Li Po for your collection"}, {"response": 17, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 13, 2000 (19:48)", "body": "If you are reading this today you better not tell anyone; it is supposed to be a surprise for him and his time zone is 5 hours ahead of mine. *sigh*"}, {"response": 18, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 14, 2000 (19:05)", "body": "Now, for a safe place to keep those first edition treasures I have been amassing for you...the ultimate Happy Birthday for any bibliophile: The Library of Alexandria"}, {"response": 19, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Nov 14, 2000 (19:24)", "body": "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NEIL!!!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "ThinkingManNeil", "date": "Tue, Nov 14, 2000 (21:06)", "body": "Oh wow! The Mother of all Libraries1 You may never be able to pull me out of there! Thank, my dearest Marcia! And Hi Wolfie! Thanks!"}, {"response": 21, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 14, 2000 (23:06)", "body": "And I am chief Librarian. You did not think I would not supply my services to assist you, did you?! I hope the whole Library is in the afterlife I inhabit! Again, Happy Birthday and welcome to Spring!"}, {"response": 22, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Tue, Nov 14, 2000 (23:07)", "body": "Oh, and *hugs and kisses*"}, {"response": 23, "author": "ThinkingManNeil", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (12:51)", "body": "After a happy accident today in finding my copy of \"The Selected poems of Tu Fu\" which I thought I'd lost, and with Marcia warmly opening the door here for me, and Wolfie graciously wlcoming me in, I'd like to post the following: THE NEW MOON Slice of ascending light, arc tipped Aside it's bellied darkness--the new moon Appears and, scarcely risen beyond ancient Frontiers, edges behind clouds. Silver, Changeless--Heaven's River spreads across Empty peaks scoured with cold. White Dew dusts the courtyard, chrysanthemum Blossoms clotting there with swollen dark."}, {"response": 24, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (13:37)", "body": "Wonderfully evocative. What a delightful surprise to see you posting from that precious book of yours. Now that you have the original in your big new library, it is at your command. Your Librarian awaits your summons."}, {"response": 25, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (17:39)", "body": "that's a nice piece, neil! please post at will!!! (hi marcia *hugs*)"}, {"response": 26, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (19:25)", "body": "Hi Sweetie, I'm on MSN is you want to talk."}, {"response": 27, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Nov 17, 2000 (22:19)", "body": "just sent an email your way...."}, {"response": 28, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 18, 2000 (03:58)", "body": "MMMMMM..Yes, got it. Definitely chicken-skin stuff there!"}, {"response": 29, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Nov 18, 2000 (12:58)", "body": "Hello Neil and Happy Birthday! Okay, I'm late still I hope it was a happy one. Many thanks for the biographical information on Li Po. What little I've read of his poetry is beautiful. Let me clarify, I've only read him in translation. I can neither read or write Chinese. However, I do know that Chinese, like English, is an isolating language. Meaning it does not depend on masculine and feminine forms of words. The great, lost Library of Alexandria. I think I read somewhere that the Great Library was actuallya complex which in fact contained not one, but two libraries. There was the older Mother Library (smaller) and the newer Daughter Library (larger), as well as the Temple of the Muses, known as the Museum."}, {"response": 30, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sat, Nov 18, 2000 (14:37)", "body": "Thank, Cheryl, about that complex of all complexes. Hmmm... decisions decisions. I'd never leave the precincts unless I needed a dormitorium or a consumium. One must occasionally eat and sleep, alas!! Can't quite figure why that one interpretation has onion-domes - I thought they were the favorites of the very guys who torched the place! (I had no choice of structures...it was the only representation which Corbis offered.)"}, {"response": 31, "author": "ThinkingManNeil", "date": "Sun, Nov 19, 2000 (01:45)", "body": "Hi Cheryl; I'd forgotten that the Great Library was subdivided, thanks. I, too, have to rely on English translations of the poetry (just yesterday I happily came across my copy of \"The Selected Poems of Tu Fu\", translated by David Hinton, which I thought I'd lost) as I don't speak Chinese (I know a small--the operative term here being SMALL--smattering of Russian, German, and even less of Japanese), but I have some appreciation for it's complexity and sophistication as a language. I once knew a Chinese student many years ago who demonstrated this by saying, what on first hearing, seemed to be the same word said over and over, but only with differences, sometimes distinct and other times not, in tonality, emphasis, and inflection. What I thought had been the same word actually had several distinctly different meanings and definitions; it was actually quite remarkable. I have to go with Marcia and agree that the onion-domed interpetation of the Library seems somewhat fanciful. One of the best artist's impressions of it I've ever seen (and I think Marcia may agree with me here) was the one produced for the landmark PBS series, \"Cosmos\", which was produced and hosted by the late, great Carl Sagan (one of my personal heroes) many years ago. It showed very strong Egyptian and Greek influences, and it certainly gave the impression of greatness that such a facility deserved. Take Care, Neil PS. Thanks for the birthday wishes everyone. One year older and hopefully a little wiser!"}, {"response": 32, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Nov 19, 2000 (15:36)", "body": "Intonation of Chinese is an artform best learned in infancy, I think. Some simply cannot hear it at all! Rather like the Japanese being unable to hear the \"L\" sound. I looked for the Cosmos version of THE Library but came up empty. I'll keep hunting - it IS as I iamgined it. Splendid edifice whose outsides I would seldom see as chief librarian, curator and just plain reveller in the magnificence of the collection. All partakers (excepting for the owner) must wear white gloves at all times - clean ones! No snacking...no mice...no bugs!"}, {"response": 33, "author": "ThinkingManNeil", "date": "Mon, Nov 27, 2000 (00:50)", "body": "For my favourite Librarian,Marcia, and for Wolfie, and Cheryl B., some poetry by Tu Fu; RAIN CLEARS At the edge of heaven, tatters of autumn Cloud. After ten thousand miles of clear Lovely morning, the west wind arrives. Here, Long rains haven't slowed farmers. Frontier Willows air thin kingfisher colours, and Red fruit flecks mountain pears. As a flute's Mongol song drifts from a tower, one Goose climbs clear through vacant skies. LANDSCAPE Clear autumn opens endlessly away. Early shadows deepening, distant Waters empty into flawless sky. A lone city lies lost in fog. Few Enough leaves, and wind scattering More, the sun sets over remote peaks. A lone crane returning....Why so late? Crows already glut woods with night. TWO QUATRAINS 1 Lovely in late sun: mountains, a river, Blossoms and grasses scenting spring wind. Where mud is still soft. swallows fly. On warm sand, ducks doze, two together. 2 Birds are whiter on jade-blue water. Against green mountains, blossoms verge Towards flame. I watch. Spring keeps Passing. How long before I return home?"}, {"response": 34, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Mon, Nov 27, 2000 (14:13)", "body": "Why is it every time Neil posts these lovely quatrains (are they?!) I get all squashy inside? Thank you deeply for adding to our appreciation of this art form. If I had the book, the bugs would eat it. As it is now, the words are immmortal and all the world with a computer can see them. We are most grateful! *HUGS*"}, {"response": 35, "author": "wolf", "date": "Mon, Nov 27, 2000 (21:16)", "body": "thank you for posting those--they are lovely indeed!"}, {"response": 36, "author": "CherylB", "date": "Sat, Dec  9, 2000 (11:29)", "body": "Neil, many thanks for posting the beautiful poetry of Tu Fu. They are as beautiful as the extraordinary Chinese landscape paintings. The great of age of Chinese painting was the Soong Dynasty, which is sometimes spelled Sung, or Song. An important reginal variant of that school of painting is called Northern Song. Anyway, the poems are as lyrical as the paintings."}, {"response": 37, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Sun, Dec 10, 2000 (21:47)", "body": "Perhaps we can entice the gentleman to post some more of this exquisite poetry, and how nice if we could post a contemporary painting, as well!"}, {"response": 38, "author": "terry", "date": "Mon, Apr 30, 2001 (14:20)", "body": "I saw a great exhibit of Chinese poetry and philosophy of the 1600s and late 1500s at the Asian Art Museum in SF recently. Very inspiring."}, {"response": 39, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, May  2, 2001 (05:15)", "body": "Oooh, LUcky you! With some luck we will get the exhibit at the Honolulu Academy of Art which is where all travelling exhibits of that nature go. I have to get Neil to suggest more places to look so we can post more."}, {"response": 40, "author": "terry", "date": "Wed, May  2, 2001 (06:34)", "body": "I think the SF Asian Art Museum has a website, maybe there are details about this? poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 5, "subject": "How's your poetry writing day going?", "response_count": 0, "posts": []}, {"num": 50, "subject": "Who Wrote What", "response_count": 9, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "sprin5", "date": "Tue, Dec 12, 2000 (11:38)", "body": "\"the fog crept in on little cat feet\""}, {"response": 2, "author": "wolf", "date": "Tue, Dec 12, 2000 (17:45)", "body": "is this a statement or do you wanna know where it came from?"}, {"response": 3, "author": "sprin5", "date": "Wed, Dec 13, 2000 (12:15)", "body": "Where it came from!"}, {"response": 4, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, Dec 13, 2000 (13:13)", "body": "It's from a poem by Carl Sandburg. I think the title is \"Chicago\"."}, {"response": 5, "author": "wolf", "date": "Wed, Dec 13, 2000 (15:19)", "body": "*laugh* terry, sorry about that!! thought you were answering your own question with your log in as ee spring!! thanks, charlotte!"}, {"response": 6, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Wed, Jan 17, 2001 (22:42)", "body": ""}, {"response": 7, "author": "MarciaH", "date": "Thu, Jan 18, 2001 (00:16)", "body": "I do know who wrote this but do not know where to post it It was actually about his own body and the physical and psychological burden of being fat. \"The Heavy Bear Who Goes with Me\" by Delmore Schwartz The heavy bear who goes with me, A manifold honey to smear his face, Clumsy and lumbering here and there, The central ton of every place, The hungry beating brutish one In love with candy, anger, and sleep, Crazy factotum, dishevelling all, Climbs the building, kicks the football, Boxes his brother in the hate-ridden city. Breathing at my side, that heavy animal, That heavy bear who sleeps with me, Howls in his sleep for a world of sugar, A sweetness intimate as the water's clasp, Howls in his sleep because the tight-rope Trembles and shows the darkness beneath. --The strutting show-off is terrified, Dressed in his dress-suit, bulging his pants, Trembles to think that his quivering meat Must finally wince to nothing at all. That inescapable animal walks with me, Has followed me since the black womb held, Moves where I move, distorting my gesture, A caricature, a swollen shadow, A stupid clown of the spirit's motive, Perplexes and affronts with his own darkness, The secret life of belly and bone, Opaque, too near, my private, yet unknown, Stretches to embrace the very dear With whom I would walk without him near, Touches her grossly, although a word Would bare my heart and make me clear, Stumbles, flounders, and strives to be fed Dragging me with him in his mouthing care, Amid the hundred million of his kind, the scrimmage of appetite everywhere. --- Schwartz, Delmore, 1913\ufffd66, American poet, b. New York City, grad. New York Univ., 1935. He was an editor of the Partisan Review (1943\ufffd55). His first work, In Dreams Begin Responsibilities, including the famous title story, appeared in 1938. Among his later writings are Shenandoah (1941), a verse play; Genesis (1943), a prose poem on the growth of a human being; World Is a Wedding (1948), a collection of short stories; Vaudeville for a Princess and Other Poems (1950); Summer Knowledge (1959); and Successful Love and Other Stories (1961). The tragic course of Schwartz's career, in which his early success was followed by a descent into alcoholism and madness, was the basis of Saul Bellow's novel, Humboldt's Gift (1975). See his letters, ed. by R. Phillips (1985); biography by J. Atlas (1977); study by R. McDougall (1974)."}, {"response": 8, "author": "wolf", "date": "Fri, Jan 19, 2001 (18:39)", "body": "this one could go in caricatures....thanks, marcia!"}, {"response": 9, "author": "dot", "date": "Mon, Jul  2, 2001 (00:08)", "body": "I actually have some of Delmore Schwartz's poetry. I was just looking at it the other day. He died before is was really discoverd. \"The Heabvy Bear Who Goes with Me\" were most often conderned with division in the poets own consciousness. He was bright as he burned out like a candle. Those are quotes from a book by Robert PHillips. \"Last & Lost Poems of Delmore Schwartz. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 51, "subject": "Poems for our war torn age", "response_count": 2, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Sep 21, 2001 (14:27)", "body": "September 1, 1939 I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright and darkened lands of the Earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentionable odour of death Offends the September night. Accurate scholarship can unearth the whole offence From Luther until now That has driven a culture mad, Find what occurred at Linz, What huge imago made A psychopathic god: I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return. Exiled Thucydides knew All that a speech can say About Democracy, And what dictators do, The elderly rubbish they talk To an apathetic grave; Analysed all in his book, The enlightenment driven away, The habit-forming pain, Mismanagement and grief: We must suffer them all again. Into this neutral air Where blind skyscrapers use Their full height to proclaim The strength of Collective Man, Each language pours its vain Competitive excuse: But who can live for long In an euphoric dream; Out of the mirror they stare, Imperialism's face And the international wrong. Faces along the bar Cling to their average day: The lights must never go out, The music must always play, All the conventions conspire To make this fort assume The furniture of home; Lest we should see where we are, Lost in a haunted wood, Children afraid of the night who have never been happy or good. The windiest militant trash Important Persons shout Is not so crude as our wish: What mad Nijinsky wrote About Diaghilev Is true of the normal heart; For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love But to be loved alone. From the conservative dark Into the ethical life The dense commuters come, Repeating their morning vow, \"I will be true to the wife. I'll concentrate more on my work,\" And helpless governors wake To resume their compulsory game: Who can release them now, Who can reach the deaf, Who can speak for the dumb? All I have is a voice To undo the folded lie, The romantic lie in the brain Of the sensual man-in-the-street And the lie of Authority Whose buildings grope the sky: There is no such thing as the State And no one exists alone; Hunger allows no choice To the citizen or the police; We must love one another or die. Defenceless under the night Our world in stupor lies; Yet, dotted everywhere, Ironic points of light Flash out wherever the Just Exchange their messages; May I, composed like them Of Eros and of dust, Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame. --W. H. Auden"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Fri, Sep 28, 2001 (12:40)", "body": "I'm not sure who wrote this. It was sent to me from a mailing list. I think it's good enough to post, however. Charlotte ====================================================================== One As the soot and dirt and ash rained down, We became one color. As we carried each other down the stairs of the burning building, We became one class. As we lit candles of waiting and hope, We became one generation. As the firefighters and police officers fought their way into the inferno, We became one gender. As we fell to our knees in prayer for strength, We became one faith. As we whispered or shouted words of encouragement, We spoke one language. As we gave our blood in lines a mile long, We became one body. As we mourned together the great loss, We became one family. As we cried tears of grief and loss, We became one soul. As we retell with pride of the sacrifice of heroes, We become one people. We are One color One class One generation One gender One faith One language One body One family One soul One people We are The Power of One. We are United. We are America. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 52, "subject": "Austin Short Stories - austinshorts.com", "response_count": 2, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Mon, Apr 14, 2003 (21:03)", "body": "God save us from prose that drones on and on and where it will end no one really knows for it goes on and on hither and yon assaulting my brain till i'm ******* insane God save us all from prose"}, {"response": 2, "author": "terry", "date": "Tue, Apr 15, 2003 (10:03)", "body": "Did you make it to the poetry slam on S Congress over the weekend? I didn't make it but a friend, Bob Nagy, went there to videotape it so I may catch it on reruns. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 53, "subject": "Maya Angelou", "response_count": 1, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Sep  1, 2005 (22:08)", "body": "had the chance to see her live here in S.A. back in Feb. let me tell you, i fell in love with her. she wasn't feeling good but peeked out the curtain and saw all of us so she came out anyway. so beautiful, funny, and wise. poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 6, "subject": "poems about spring", "response_count": 4, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Fri, Feb  7, 1997 (20:12)", "body": "Flowing Like Spring Waters Tonight is the night, my dear friend. The feeling has ripened inside for months... Every time you and I were together Laughing, chatting, and rambling endlessly Throughout the warm summer nights, My feelings toward you have risen Like clear spring waters moving Slowly upward from my deep emotions... Remember when we first met in May? Two strangers from the land of Supernatural Brought together in a serendipitous encounter; Your enchanting, friendly smiles were so exquisite Like sparkling starlight glowing Slowly outward from your inner soul... You were always so beautiful, so cheerful; I was drawn closer to you every time you were near, But I was afraid to cross the line. On that day when you told me you were hurt, I wished to hold you in my arms To soothe you and ease your aching heart, Instead I gently touched your arm... Since then, I've admired and cared for you even more. Your strong sense of integrity has touched me; Your considerate personality has moved me; Your candid openness has emboldened me. How can any stargazer not be mesmerized By the beauty of brilliant starlight? Tonight is the night, my dear friend. Holding your tender hands in mine, My deep, spirited affections for you Finally pour out like the overflown spring... Nascent amour glows and grows; Irresistible passion engulfs me. Mesmerizing beauty lights the sky, Invoking a golden stellar scene: Racing spring waters flow from heart, Astral brilliance shines on the spring. This is the night, I bare my heart to you. -- Lee ______________________________ Original: August 18, 1995 Revised: August 23, 1995 (with great helps from Teri Rasmussen) Revisited: November 19, 1995 _____________________________________________________________________ Please Send Your Comments To: lchen@cpsc.ucalgary.ca Thanks Lee, for allowing us to reprint this! -ptw"}, {"response": 2, "author": "Grace", "date": "Sun, Feb  9, 1997 (10:27)", "body": "Ode to the West Wind V Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce, My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? Percy Bysshe Shelley"}, {"response": 3, "author": "Meggin", "date": "Sat, Mar  1, 1997 (19:15)", "body": "in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame ballonman whistles far and wee and eddieandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old balloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisabel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed balloonMan whistles far and wee e.e. cummings It's rained so much here today and yesterday that this poem came to mind. It's one of my favorites."}, {"response": 4, "author": "terry", "date": "Sat, Mar  1, 1997 (21:52)", "body": "Ah, one of my favorite poems from adolescence. I remember reading this to my high school girlfriend up on the bluff overlooking the Mississippi River. We used to go hang out there and set out a tablecloth on the grass and lie and stare at the stars and read poetry by candlelight. e. e. cummings was Helen's favorite poet. Helen was my favorite poet. poetry conference | Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 7, "subject": "Poems of Love, for Valentine's Day.......and every day!", "response_count": 1, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Grace", "date": "Wed, Feb 12, 1997 (10:12)", "body": "People, it is almost Valentine's Day! We should all be pouring out our hearts in verse! Where are you?????? Can't we conjure up a little more romantic feeling?? At Nightfall I need so much the quiet of your love After the day's loud strife; I need your calm all other things above After the stress of life. I crave the haven that in your dear heart lies, After all toil is done. I need the starshine of your heavenly eyes, After the day's great sun. Charles Towne poetry conference | Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 8, "subject": "Poems to celebrate The Kiss", "response_count": 64, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "Grace", "date": "Sun, Feb  9, 1997 (22:09)", "body": "Mistake me not --unto my inmost core I do desire your kiss upon my mouth. They have not craved a cup of water more That bleach upon the deserts of the south... Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1952) Am."}, {"response": 2, "author": "jzitt", "date": "Fri, Jun 20, 1997 (18:19)", "body": "Here's an old one of mine (1989 or so): A Kiss I may never get used to the feeling of a kiss Lips: equally soft, equally gentle meeting (open? shut? eventually agreeing) not on the same line not parallel at all (surprising, the compromises forced upon us by our noses) Eyes: equally warm, equally revealing meeting (open? shut? only if at least one has them open can we tell if they are agreeing) not on the same line not in focus (surprising, the blurrings and sharpenings of view brought to us by our nearness) Hearts: equally full, equally loving meeting (open? at least to each other at least for the moment) not with the same definitions not with the same histories (surprising, still, the mixings of the separated worlds blending in our nights) Souls: equally search, equally pray that we never get used to the feeling of a kiss"}, {"response": 3, "author": "StarBelly", "date": "Sat, Jun 21, 1997 (23:27)", "body": "hmmm......."}, {"response": 4, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Wed, Oct 29, 1997 (00:46)", "body": "Had a memory of you, earlier today. A glimmer of you- on another's face- but it was you I saw, all the same. It was a cloudy day, on a deserted beach; only you and me- and the wind and sand and sea- and the hint- the heady smell- of rain. You were reading something, that day- Baudelaire, I think? Or was it Rimbaud? You bit your lip, and squared your jaw (that thing you did when you were deep in thought); Blowing your hair away from your face, you remembered me, beside you- gave a little start, then tilted your head, just a trace, and angled it toward me- and gave it a teasing, haughty toss (the image I saw, which stopped my heart). Leaning over, then, to me we kissed- playfully, at first- then lingeringly... And I felt the shiver- the familiar ache- resonate through me- more relevant even than poetry can ever hope to be. Beautiful girl (girl of my heart)- ever shall you be keeper of my fevered soul- enchantress, of my dreams..."}, {"response": 5, "author": "jgross5", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (01:17)", "body": "you plopped one right on the kisser i broke out in hives you called the doctor I called his wives our faces seem to boo each other and then slam together like cuckolds i like to jiggle your jowls with my tongue you like to try to talk while yer cheeks bulge it was a good suggestion you had we should do it every day to saddle up and ride stallions and lean over and kiss away i admit i get bipolar when i get caught between your vices like when our teeth got stuck that time you were smoking & drinking and it turned into a family crisis your lips taste best in chocolate can i smear it around your gums? 'sposed to be quite popular among kings when they're doin' their laundry in the slums i hope i never leave this subject there's so much to write about there seem to be lips comin' at me from everywhere if only i can get the word out Elizabeth Barrett Browning"}, {"response": 6, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (10:19)", "body": "roflmao!!!! ohmigod! *cackle* *laugh* WOw! *sniff* *giggle* that must be one of her lesser known ones, Leplep! (suffice it to say, you've surely pissed someone off, but damn that was funny!)"}, {"response": 7, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (12:09)", "body": "indeed... could be though that one must first experience a thing (i.e., a woman's lips, etc.) to comprehend or appreciate it... (regardless of that, the denigration of the feelings of others is repugnant... can be an illuminating process though)"}, {"response": 8, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (12:59)", "body": "hungry kisses.....these are the best, oh, but then there's the timid, touching, waiting kisses, those are good. if'n yer gonna kiss someone, do it right, no pecks on the lips, these are cold and unfeeling. oh, i needs a kissy......."}, {"response": 9, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (13:42)", "body": "me too. (hungry ones!)"}, {"response": 10, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (13:46)", "body": "I've got a few extra, you two wanna come by and pick them up?"}, {"response": 11, "author": "stacey", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (13:58)", "body": "you offer them to go???"}, {"response": 12, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (14:00)", "body": "I think we both know the answer to that one..."}, {"response": 13, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (14:41)", "body": "no mustard, mayo, pickles, or, and especially this, onions! and hurry!!"}, {"response": 14, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (14:50)", "body": "okay, you just got to remember: you can't share! they are packaged to go for the buyer only!!!"}, {"response": 15, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (22:28)", "body": "Not sure I understood Nick's reply. What part of the (very humorous) verse was denigrating the feelings of others? And are we to infer that Nick's lips have never known those of a woman???"}, {"response": 16, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Tue, May 26, 1998 (22:30)", "body": "Oh, wait a sec. I may have been trying to interpret an inside joke. If so, my apologies, Nick & co. But whoever wrote the verse (I ain't buying EBB for a second), it was very adroit, and I enjoyed it immensely."}, {"response": 17, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Wed, May 27, 1998 (12:19)", "body": "no worries, wer, no sharing on my part....."}, {"response": 18, "author": "stacey", "date": "Wed, May 27, 1998 (12:19)", "body": "Charlotte, the fact is was not written by EBB but noted as such (humorously of course) is what I was referring to when I mentioned delicate sensibilities might be irritated (in all those Browning fans). I didn't mean to confuse anyone."}, {"response": 19, "author": "Charlotte", "date": "Wed, May 27, 1998 (12:19)", "body": "Ah. :) THanks, Stacey. ALl is clear. Well, whoever wrote it...post some more!"}, {"response": 20, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (00:47)", "body": "now this topic just won't go away...."}, {"response": 21, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (00:53)", "body": "hey... you fixed it! (it went away) hmmm... yeah but i probably broke it again (shit)"}, {"response": 22, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (00:54)", "body": "maybe it only works if we say something...."}, {"response": 23, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (00:56)", "body": "damn if that's the case we're REALLY in trouble"}, {"response": 24, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:00)", "body": "guess we gotta talk all night, man, what a bummer....."}, {"response": 25, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:02)", "body": "ummmmm..."}, {"response": 26, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:04)", "body": "and?"}, {"response": 27, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:06)", "body": "-in the end the love you take is equal to the love-"}, {"response": 28, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:07)", "body": "(your turn, by the way)"}, {"response": 29, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:08)", "body": "you make....so I guess I don't get any *grin*"}, {"response": 30, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:10)", "body": "know that song, too"}, {"response": 31, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:11)", "body": "oh?"}, {"response": 32, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:14)", "body": "-boy! (buddy holly, right?) (isn't this fun?)"}, {"response": 33, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:15)", "body": "if you say so......."}, {"response": 34, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:19)", "body": "think the lyric is actually a little different- but that's okay (probably some weird cajun derivation thing)"}, {"response": 35, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:20)", "body": "gets lost in the translation, you know... didja ever read your mail?"}, {"response": 36, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:24)", "body": "(nevermind)"}, {"response": 37, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:24)", "body": "no... i've received no mail from you, at least not the past couple of days... (will check again though)"}, {"response": 38, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:26)", "body": "just sent a card a few days ago so it's probably not showing up as from me. don't worry about it, no big deal. you never did tell me why you're so happy (not that you shouldn't be)"}, {"response": 39, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:26)", "body": "no... i've received no mail from you, at least not the past couple of days... (will check again though)"}, {"response": 40, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:28)", "body": "is there an echo in here?"}, {"response": 41, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:32)", "body": "sorry bout that... checked my mail, and then hit refresh (double entered... um shit)... anyway... what're you getting at? does it really require an explanation? and where HAVE all the flowers gone, anyway?"}, {"response": 42, "author": "Wolf", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:36)", "body": "nothing...no, i'm sorry, not \"getting at\" anything. the flowers look pretty sad (at least the ones at my house). gotta go, sweetie, g'night......"}, {"response": 43, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:40)", "body": "okay... goodnight... (and... well... \"young girls picked 'em/ every one\"... yeah, knew that all along)..."}, {"response": 44, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:43)", "body": "don't tell me I gotta spend all nite talkin to ya, Nick, so this topic won't dry up and go away now that Wolf's gone to bed..."}, {"response": 45, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:46)", "body": "actually, i sort of thought that's what elke and i were doing (drying up the topic and making people wish it would go away)"}, {"response": 46, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:53)", "body": "you know us... ever the suckers for punishment... (and I mean that most affectionately about all of us non-firthers...)"}, {"response": 47, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:54)", "body": "(not that i'm incapable of doing so by myself)... (not that i'm proud or anything)..."}, {"response": 48, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:56)", "body": "a non-proud irishman? must not be drunk yet..."}, {"response": 49, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:57)", "body": "the punishment thing... no, i don't like that (and- really- aren't we all firthers? you know, after our fashion? dylan said it... \"gotta firth somebody\")..."}, {"response": 50, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:59)", "body": "actually, was being ironic (\"i'm not proud\")... (of course the irony would work better if i was drunk)"}, {"response": 51, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (01:59)", "body": "i thought it went, i want somebody to firth i need somebody to firth i want somebody to firth me"}, {"response": 52, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:02)", "body": "that was grace slick (a very (but very) firthworthy creature her ownself) (in her time)"}, {"response": 53, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:07)", "body": "okay, how about early one morning the sun was shining and I was firthing in bed wondering if she'd changed at all if her hair was still red or maybe a one-eyed undertaker posts a futile firth"}, {"response": 54, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:12)", "body": "excellent... (and have you seen grace slick's picture recently, by the way? she looks like miss kitty on heroin or something)"}, {"response": 55, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:14)", "body": "can't say as I have... did you read the New Thinking I sent you on Digital Age History? a couple of points in it reminded me of you..."}, {"response": 56, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:21)", "body": "yes i did (and thank you, by the way)... agreed with what he said, in the main (though my conceptions re:history are probably a little more insular than his, at least as i perceived them expressed)"}, {"response": 57, "author": "KitchenManager", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:24)", "body": "no problem...you oughta subscribe it's where I got the one I posted in books, also... definitely my favorite mailing list of theirs gotta go take a nap, I suppose ciao"}, {"response": 58, "author": "pmnh", "date": "Thu, Jul  2, 1998 (02:25)", "body": "g'night..."}, {"response": 59, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (12:35)", "body": "Couldn't find one with the word kiss in it, but this is one I wrote about the grace in the aftermath. Morning After 3/29/98 Snow entwines tendril fingers through freshly washed hair we stand in this early morning sky. Your eyes embrace me with camomile heat, and I am lost again in the crevices of your smile. folding over me like a Navajo blanket. Amidst these dancing prisms, which cling to our bodies, rekindling last night\ufffds embrace, we skate nostalgic, like ice dancers caught up in the rhythm of a primal dance."}, {"response": 60, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (15:33)", "body": "Wolf, This did not show up on the topic list as a new post? I thought when a new post went in it showed up there to indicate activity in that area?"}, {"response": 61, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (21:43)", "body": "it showed up for me. but when you post something and after you hit submit, it shows up for you to check but then when you hit the poetry conference link, it won't show it as new to you, just the rest of us."}, {"response": 62, "author": "dawnis", "date": "Thu, Oct 14, 1999 (22:46)", "body": "Thanks!"}, {"response": 63, "author": "DracosFury", "date": "Thu, Feb 21, 2002 (00:48)", "body": "This Is kinda a regretfull/yearning one, kind of \"the girl that got away\" type thing... Her Kiss- Wish I could, Help you. Wish you would, Make a choice. What I feel for you. Can hear it in my voice. Sometimes I feel, So alone. How do you feel, About me now. Should have known, Even now. To good for me- You are. Hear my silent plea? You can. I\ufffdm not to far. Make a choice, if you can. Can\ufffdt promise no pain. We can get through it together. You\ufffdre driving me insane. My love for you does this. Thinking ever, All I felt in your kiss\ufffd Justin Scharwat \ufffd Apr 10 2001"}, {"response": 64, "author": "wolf", "date": "Thu, Feb 21, 2002 (14:36)", "body": "nice! thanks for posting!! poetry conference Main Menu"}]}, {"num": 9, "subject": "Jane Hirshfield", "response_count": 2, "posts": [{"response": 1, "author": "terry", "date": "Sun, Sep 28, 1997 (13:18)", "body": "The Poet by Jane Hirshfield (reprinted with permission) She is working now, in a room not unlike this one, the one where I write, or you read. Her table is covered with paper. The light of the lamp would be tempered by a shade, where the bulb's single harshness might dissolve, but it is not; she has taken it off. Her poems? I will never know them, though they are the ones I most need. Even the alphabet she writes in I cannot decipher. Her chair\ufffd-- let us imagine whether it is leather or canvas, vinyl or wicker. Let her have a chair, her shadeless lamp, the table. Let one or two she loves be in the next room. Let the door be closed, the sleeping ones healthy. Let her have time, and silence, enough paper to make mistakes and go on."}, {"response": 2, "author": "HOTDOG", "date": "Fri, Feb 13, 1998 (21:52)", "body": "Jane, Let there be light. Yours, Ted poetry conference Main Menu"}]}]}