This week: Guess who? Edited by: eyestar~*  
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 Happy March! I am happy to be your guest editor this week. I was hopping around in "Wonderland" in February and still feel the hyper vibe so in this issue I will jump around for fun with a Guess who menagerie of poems to enjoy!
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Guess Who...
Wrote Poetry about March?
Dear March - Come in -
How glad I am -
I hoped for you before -
Put down your Hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are -
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -
Did you leave Nature well -
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -
I have so much to tell -
I got your Letter, and the Birds -
The Maples never knew that you were coming -
I declare - how Red their Faces grew -
But March, forgive me -
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -
There was no Purple suitable -
You took it all with you -
Who knocks? That April -
Lock the Door -
I will not be pursued -
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied -
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame -"
 One of my favourite poets Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886. Not publically recognized for her craft in her time, she eventually joined Walt Whitman in the rank of having a uniquely American voice. She was influenced by Metaphysical poets, read the Brownings and Keats. She was dissuaded by her puritan peers, not to read Walt Whitman because of rumour it was disgraceful.  .
March celebrates St. Pat! So...
Who Wrote Poetry about the Irish Potato?
Lament of the Potato
There is woe, there is clamour, in our desolated land,
And wailing lamentation from a famine‐stricken band;
And weeping are the multitudes in sorrow and despair,
For the green fields of Munster lying desolate and bare.
Woe for Lorc’s ancient kingdom, sunk in slavery and grief;
Plundered, ruined, are our gentry, our people, and their Chief;
For the harvest lieth scattered, more worth to us than gold,
All the kindly food that nourished both the young and the old.
Well I mind me of the cosherings, where princes might dine,
And we drank until nightfall the best seven sorts of wine;
Yet was ever the Potato our old, familiar dish,
And the best of all sauces with the beeves and the fish.
But the harp now is silent, no one careth for the sound;
No flowers, no sweet honey, and no beauty can be found;
Not a bird its music thrilling through the leaves of the wood,
Nought but weeping and hands wringing in despair for our food.
And the Heavens, all in darkness, seem lamenting our doom,
No brightness in the sunlight, not a ray to pierce the gloom;
The cataract comes rushing with a fearful deepened roar,
And ocean bursts its boundaries, dashing wildly on the shore.
Yet, in misery and want, we have one protecting man,
Kindly Barry, of Fitzstephen’s old hospitable clan;
By mount and river working deeds of charity and grace:
Blessings ever on our champion, best hero of his race!
Save us, God! In Thy mercy bend to hear the people’s cry,
From the famine‐stricken fields, rising bitterly on high;
Let the mourning and the clamour cease in Lorc’s ancient land,
And shield us in the death‐hour by Thy strong, protecting hand!*
Lady Jane Wilde, the mother of Oscar Wilde! Who knew?
Jane Francesca Agnes, Lady Wilde was an Irish poet under the pen name "Speranza" and wrote about her nationalist views and advocating women's rights. She caused controversy in her time. One of the papers she wrote in even got shut down by authorities. Quite outspoken with strong views, she wrote quite prolifically in spite of heard times in her personal life. She was married to and eye and ear surgeon William Wilde, later knighted. When her husband was accused of seducing a young colleague, they lost the court case and their fortune. Her daughter Isola died at 9 years old and Mr. Wilde's two illegitimate daughters burned to death. She went to live in London with her sons Oscar and William and managed to eek out a living. She wrote for fashionable magazines and books about Irish folklore. She became ill and died at age, while Oscar was in prison. They could not afford a headstone so she was buried in an unmarked grave. In 1999, The Oscar Wilde Society raised a Celtic cross in her honour.
The Famine Year
Weary men, what reap ye? -- Golden corn for the stranger.
What sow ye? -- Human corpses that wait for the avenger.
Fainting forms, hunger-stricken, what see you in the offing?
Stately ships to bear our food away, amid the stranger's scoffing.
There's a proud array of soldiers -- what do they round your door?
They guard our masters' granaries from the thin hands of the poor.
Pale mothers, wherefore weeping -- Would to God that we were dead;
Our children swoon before us, and we cannot give them bread.
We are wretches, famished, scorned, human tools to build your pride, But God will yet take vengeance for the souls for whom Christ died.
Now is your hour of pleasure -- bask ye in the world's caress;
But our whitening bones against ye will rise as witnesses,
>From the cabins and the ditches, in their charred, uncoffin'd masses,
For the Angel of the Trumpet will know them as he passes.
A ghastly, spectral army, before the great God we'll stand,
And arraign ye as our murderers, the spoilers of our land.
Who Wrote:
"I am an incurable romantic
I believe in hope, dreams and decency.
I believe in love,
Tenderness and kindness."
I am Convinced
I am convinced
That if all mankind
Could only gather together
In one circle
Arms on each other's shoulders
And dance, laugh and cry
together
Then much
of the tension and burden
of life
Would fall away
In the knowledge that
We are all children
Needing and wanting
Each other's
Comfort and
Understanding
We are all children
Searching for love
 Leonard Nimoy, the logical Vulcan of Star Trek fame was a warm, romantic love poet among his many other talents! He wrote, directed, sang and played music as well. He passed on in 1983 and left us volumes of his poems.
Enjoy his recitation of a poem "Whenever I think of you" back in the 70's.
Who was another actor who wrote in English and Spanish?
Secrets
Oceans take our secrets
what we don’t want to see or smell anymore.
We feel anonymous
we feel clean
when we throw our past away.
It will wash, we think.
It will sink
it will drift far from this shore.
It will disappear.
Maybe the fish will eat our words
maybe lost or spurned loves
will help deep-sea feathery green plants grow.
Viggo Mortenson, Of Lord of the Rings fame, was a poet before he was an actor, even writing poems as a child. A multitalented artist, he enjoys going to poetry readings as he feels poetry being popular is important. He once said that acting fame has more folks show up to see what poetry is all about, even if they just come out because of his fame.
With proceeds from his movies he founded the Perceval Press publishing house — named for the knight in the King Arthur Legend, to help other artists by publishing works that might not find a home in more traditional publishing places. 
Enjoy his recitation of "Cuttings"!
https://www.facebook.com/ViggoMortensensArt/videos/cuttings-a-poem-by-viggo-mort...
It was so cool to find these favourite actors writing poetry too. Do you know of any other celebrities who write poetry?
Off to write some myself. I hope you enjoyed my little flight of fancy! Happy March!
Cool Links!
https://mypoeticside.com/poets/lady-jane-wilde-poems
https://www.viggo-works.com/index.php?page=2361
https://hellopoetry.com/poets/leonard-nimoy/
http://www.thehypertexts.com/leonard%20nimoy%20poet%20poetry%20photographer%20ph...
https://pennyspoetry.fandom.com/wiki/Viggo_Mortensen
http://hyemusings.ca/poetry-corner-viggo-mortensen-secrets-secretos/
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 Enjoy!
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Find spring or leprechauns! *sharmrock*
NEWBIES!!!
March themes for everyone!!
A place for Poets!
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Thank you for you kind responses to my last newsletter and for the wonderful renditions of the Boonstra Brain function Form!  "Poetry Newsletter (February 3, 2021)"
Monty 
"Looks like an interesting form."
Seabreeze 
"Peace be with us, peace throughout our world to all peoples
hope, tranquility, peace of mind, loving, giving, forgiving each other
through knowledge, truth and faith in our heavenly Father
peace will flow, love will thrive
through love of others
we can
survive"
JCosmos 
"here's my take
My Mind Is Filled with Dark and Dangerous Thoughts Writing Com
my mind is filled with dark and dangerous thoughts
my soul is overwhelmed at the witching hour
when wild things run amuck in my head
filling my eyes with such dark visions
my ears hurting with the noise
smelling death everywhere
seeing corona ghosts
all around me
just crying
waiting
death"
Joy 
"Thanks, eyestar~* I must have missed this one, earlier. I have to try the form when I get a moment free. " |
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Poetry: March 03, 2021 Issue [#10641]
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