  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done.Stormy Lady |
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A Summer Day by
Lucy Maud Montgomery
I
The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.
II
Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.
III
Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.
On November 30, 1874, in Clifton, Prince Edward Island, Hugh Montgomery and Clara Montgomery welcomed daughter Lucy Maud Montgomery into their family. Maud’s mother came down with tuberculosis shortly after Lucy was born. They family moved in with Lucy’s grandparents so they could help care for Lucy and her mother. Her mother died in September, 1876. After the death of his wife Hugh spent most of his time traveling. Maud was left in the care of her grandparents.
By the age of thirteen Maud had become an avid reader and writer. When Maud was fifteen she moved in with her dad and his new wife and their two young children. Maud was forced to give up school and care for her younger siblings. While there she wrote and mailed in her first poem, On Cape Le Force. It was published in the local newspaper. She only lived with her father a year before returning to live with her grandparents.
Maud got her teachers license in 1895 at Prince Wales College and began teaching right away at Bideford. She taught there for three years before returning home to help her grandmother run the post office after her grandfather’s death. She worked there until 1901 and then set out to be an editor in Halifax. It was only a year later when she was forced to move back home with her grandmother. During this time Maud started writing her book Anne of Green Gables, upon its completion she turned it in to four publishers, and all rejected it. It was until 1908 that Anne of Green Gables was finally published; it was followed by six sequels.
On June 22, 1911, Maud married Reverend Ewen MacDonald the couple had three boys, Chester in 1912, Hugh who was stillborn in 1914 and Stuart in 1915. In 1916 she published Watchman and Other Poems. Maud who was no known as a successful writer still struggled. She fought with the publishing company over her royalties and her husband’s mental health was failing. Maud also never truly came to grips with Hugh being stillborn and in the 1930’s she suffered a nervous breakdown which left her downhearted and unstable until her death. In 1934 she published Courageous Women.
On April 24, 1942 at the age of six-eight, Lucy Maud Montgomery MacDonald died in Toronto, Ontario. Her body was returned to Prince Edward Island and buried in the Cavendish cemetery. At the time of her death she was working on another Anne book, this book was altered and finished by her son as a collection of stories The Road to Yesterday, published in 1974.
Before Storm
by Lucy Maud Montgomery
There's a grayness over the harbor like fear on the face of a woman,
The sob of the waves has a sound akin to a woman's cry,
And the deeps beyond the bar are moaning with evil presage
Of a storm that will leap from its lair in that dour north-eastern sky.
Slowly the pale mists rise, like ghosts of the sea, in the offing,
Creeping all wan and chilly by headland and sunken reef,
And a wind is wailing and keening like a lost thing 'mid the islands,
Boding of wreck and tempest, plaining of dolor and grief.
Swiftly the boats come homeward, over the grim bar crowding,
Like birds that flee to their shelter in hurry and affright,
Only the wild grey gulls that love the cloud and the clamor
Will dare to tempt the ways of the ravining sea to-night.
But the ship that sailed at the dawning, manned by the lads who love us
God help and pity her when the storm is loosed on her track!
O women, we pray to-night and keep a vigil of sorrow
For those we speed at the dawning and may never welcome back!
Twilight by Lucy
Maud Montgomery
From vales of dawn hath Day pursued the Night
Who mocking fled, swift-sandalled, to the west,
Nor ever lingered in her wayward flight
With dusk-eyed glance to recompense his quest,
But over crocus hills and meadows gray
Sped fleetly on her way.
Now when the Day, shorn of his failing strength,
Hath fallen spent before the sunset bars,
The fair, wild Night, with pity touched at length,
Crowned with her chaplet of out-blossoming stars,
Creeps back repentantly upon her way
To kiss the dying Day.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winners of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] are:
| |  | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1556532 by Not Available. |
Lost in a jungle of concrete,
dodging thousands of shuffling feet,
along sidewalks they all compete -
on every street, on every street.
Noises come from many places,
in the crowds, so many faces,
from many nations, all races -
in tight spaces, in tight spaces.
Along the curbs, buses are crammed.
Screeching tires, as brakes are slammed,
the flow of traffic becomes dammed.
Car horns are jammed, car horns are jammed.
Traffic cop barking an order,
gawkers chatter at the border
of car wrecks causing disorder -
such cramped quarter, such cramped quarter.
Taxi drivers always yelling,
street vendors are always selling.
How to escape city dwelling?
There’s no telling, there’s no telling
Runner Up
| | | Invalid Item
This item number is not valid.
#1550379 by Not Available. |
No City for Me
The big city’s landscape is not mine; its crowded sidewalks and neon signs
do not enter my periphery.
Nor do I tune into the chatter of daily bits of useless patter
that matter not at all to me.
Yelling and screaming I do not hear nor is there traffic and horns that blare
to disturb my peaceful reverie.
Yes, bright yellow buses do abound taking children to the school in town
and then back home where they can run free.
Barking dogs with six varied ranges announce the arrival of strangers
before human senses hear or see.
Instead of wishing for an escape; I simply open the window drape
and look out on my country retreat.
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Poetry: May 13, 2009 Issue [#3043]
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