%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |  Pursue the Horizon: 30-Day Poetry Blogging Challenge Entries |
|
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only **
|
我生何為在窮谷 中夜起坐萬感集... 魂捐不來歸故鄉 How did I come to spend my life in this miserable valley? In the middle of the night I get up. Ten thousand worries and griefs... My soul does not come when called. It's gone back to its old home. -Du Fu My last entry had me thinking about loss, which led me to this little poem by a great Chinese poet. (Yes, my brain works in strange patterns.) I have no idea where I first heard it, but it makes me stop and think. In my opinion, that it makes it pretty darn good. I think that this is one of those poems that means different things to different people. Personally, I've had it make me feel sad and hopeful at two different times. |
Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. -Mary Elizabeth Frye If you haven't heard this poem before, I'm sure you will at some point in your life. While used often at funerals and memorial services, it is, perhaps, one of the best poems used in attempt to comfort the grieving. Honestly, it didn't bring much solace to me the first time I heard it. But years later I came it across it and realized just how meaningful it reads. This short and simple poem holds a powerful message. |
I always saw, I always said If I were grown and free, I'd have a gown of reddest red As fine as you could see, To wear out walking, sleek and slow, Upon a Summer day, And there'd be one to see me so And flip the world away. And he would be a gallant one, With stars behind his eyes, And hair like metal in the sun, And lips too warm for lies. I always saw us, gay and good, High honored in the town. Now I am grown to womanhood.... I have the silly gown. -Dorothy Parker Yep, I'm kind of in a Dorothy Parker mood today. This particular poem speaks to me because I feel like it's almost a metaphor for the way my life story as unfolded. As a little girl (you know, way back in the 80's) I had a dream of finding that Great Love of my life, having the perfect marriage, and living Happily Ever After. Of course it didn't work out that way. We had 9 great years followed by 3 rough years. Then came divorce. So I guess you could say that I got my red dress and it was a disappointment. |
The day that I was christened- It's a hundred years, and more!- A hag came and listened At the white church door, A-hearing her that bore me And all my kith and kin Considerately, for me, Renouncing sin. While some gave me corals, And some gave me gold, And porringers, with morals Agreeably scrolled, The hag stood, buckled In a dim gray cloak; Stood there and chuckled, Spat, and spoke: "There's few enough in life'll Be needing my help, But I've got a trifle For your fine young whelp. I give her sadness, And the gift of pain, The new-moon madness, And the love of rain." And little good to lave me In their holy silver bowl After what she gave me- Rest her soul! - Dorothy Parker Just to be clear- I love Dorothy Parker. I can't imagine what it would have been like to sit at the Algonquin table. Her sharp humor and wittisms on life suggest she would have been a great lunch partner! I like this poem because it's a great example of unconditional love and devotion. Although the Godmother is described as a hag in a dim gray cloak, it's clear the author cherishes her gifts more than the others. |
| “Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly; “’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.” “I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly. “There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said, They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed.” Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do, To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice; I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?” “O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be; I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.” “Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise! How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf, If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.” “I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say, And bidding you good-morning now, I’ll call another day.” The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again: So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing “Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing: Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.” Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly, Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by. With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue; Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed; Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly. - Mary Howitt Ah, a poem with a lesson! I read bedtime stories to my kids until they were old enough to read them back to me. It's a tradition that slowly slipped away as their ages hit double digits. Talk about growing pains. Like most bedtime stories I read, this one is a cautionary tale. What better way to slip in life lessons? Of course, I had to go back and point out the message, but it was a good way to introduce them to the literary world. Even if they stopped appreciating it over the years. Damn teenagers. |
| Thy soul shall find itself alone 'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness- for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again in death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. The night, though clear, shall frown, And the stars shall not look down From their high thrones in the Heaven With light like hope to mortals given, But their red orbs, without beam, To thy weariness shall seem As a burning and a fever Which would cling to thee for ever. Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish, Now are visions ne'er to vanish; From thy spirit shall they pass No more, like dew-drop from the grass. The breeze, the breath of God, is still, And the mist upon the hill Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken, Is a symbol and a token. How it hangs upon the trees, A mystery of mysteries! -E.A. Poe In my opinion, Spirits of the Dead is, by far, one of the top three poems written by Mr. Poe. I like how the overall mood seems to shift with each stanza. It starts kind of sad and ends on more of a hopeful note. Or at least, not so sad. To me, it represents the five stages of grief. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
Good for Ruby! Just for fun, I wrote a flash fiction story a few years ago about just such a woman: "