A Poem & A Picture

Spirits of the Dead

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

Spirits of the Dead (aka Visits of the Dead)
Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 – 1849

EAPThy 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.

EAP in chainsThe 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!

The Thinker, Buddy & The Gossiping Reeboks.

/ Janna Hill / 1 Comment

Why I chose The Thinker for the final post of National Poetry Month.

A few months ago we acquired Buddy from a lovely family after our Blue Heeler was killed. His prior family said they couldn’t keep him (for a number of reasons), said they hadn’t even named him but I suspect they were fibbing; a little white lie to ease our grief.

Right away our family asked what we were going to name this little fellow. Without thinking (in my typical weird, off the cuff manner) I blurted out, “He told me his name is Patrick, but that we could call him Buddy.” The grand-kids believed me, excited that I could communicate with dogs. The children mumbled something about having me committed. I just smiled and thought, at least I don’t talk to shoes.

Weather casts a green hue (1280x1229)

The Thinker

by William Carlos Williams

My wife’s new pink slippers
have gay pom-poms.
There is not a spot or a stain
on their satin toes or their sides.
All night they lie together
under her bed’s edge.
Shivering I catch sight of them
and smile, in the morning.
Later I watch them
descending the stair,
hurrying through the doors
and round the table,
moving stiffly
with a shake of their gay pom-poms!
And I talk to them
in my secret mind
out of pure happiness.

We later found out that Buddy’s name was ‘Gus’. My husband couldn’t wait to share that bit of information.  I said something like, “Aww, I knew they sacrificed their sweet puppy out of pure kindness.” He of course really wanted to make the point that the dog had NOT told me his name was Patrick.  At that point I had to be honest…

“Hmm… Well, he didn’t really say his name was Patrick.” I admitted.

“I KNEW IT!” Husband gloated.

“What he actually said was that he was born Patrick Gustav, but he prefers to be called Buddy.”

The husband politely conceded and took Buddy out to find a new stick.

I was relieved that the issue had been settled once and for all until Buddy ran back in to tell me something; a disturbing bit of gossip actually. He said after the lights are out and the house is quiet that my Reeboks snicker and mock me, they laugh at the way I run!

The shoes, of course have the right to their opinion and I (of course) have the right to stomp around in altered footwear.

I find they fit much better minus the tongue. 😉

“The Thinker” was published in Williams’s book, Sour Grapes: a book of poems (The Four Seas Company, 1921).

Don’t let poetry die from neglect or sit gathering dust until next April.

May I suggest a nice anthology by HWA,

HWA Poetry Showcase Volume I

AND I Have 25 free promo codes from Audible for Pose Prose & Poems narrated by Linda Roper if anyone is interested.

HaPpY Earth Day

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Good Night Earth

Acorns wrapping on the roof
Rhythmic as a horses hoof
The oaks are dancing soft and slow
Taking rest to later grow

The winds are singing through the trees
Turn loose you leafs, the ground needs feed
The sun retreats, withholds her light
Making for a longer night

The flowers too have made their bed
And soon will sleep with petals shed
Sleep tight nature, goodnight earth
I’ll see you at spring time’s birth.

Excerpt from Pose Prose & Poems (My Thoughts Exactly)

Thanks to Linda Roper the audiobook was released in time for National Poetry Month.

Side note: This is Linda’s audiobook debut. Imagine a British actress narrating southern poetry, better yet listen. I, myself was pleasantly surprised.

It’s Okay to Die Poor (But Who the Heck Was Milton?)

/ Janna Hill / 1 Comment

 

Don’t you just love an ancient oracle with history and mystery served up in rhyming little stanzas?

Say, “Yes Janna. Indeed I do love such wonderful things.”

Thank you. Now say “Yay NPM!!” and let’s get started.

The following is an excerpt from William Blake’s epic poem titled Milton. I like Blake for several reasons. The main two being that he was a nonconformist and that he believed poetry could be understood by common people.

Allow me to share his sentiment right quick.

Listen up folks!

Poetry can be understood [and enjoyed] by common people!!!

Those are also [probably] the main two reasons he died poor. But you know what? It’s okay to die poor; I’m sure I will. After all a casket can only hold so much. Me and ole Billy can agree on that but who the heck was Milton?

 Martindale Lake District Cumbria England Free Images

Jerusalem

by William Blake

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.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

Now off to find out more about this John Milton character…

 

One Is Never Enough

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I was recently introduced to this lovely poem written by “the people’s poet” with a question attached, “If you could ask Robert Service one question what would it be?”

Fisherfolk

By Robert William Service (January 16, 1874 – September 11, 1958)

 

I like to look at fishermen
And often times I wish
One would be lucky now and then
And catch a little fish.
I watch them statuesquely stand,
And at the water look;
But if they pull their float to land
It’s just to bait a hook.

I ponder the psychology
That roots them in their place;
And wonder at the calm I see
In ever angler’s face.
There is such patience in their eyes,
Beside the river’s brink;
And waiting for a bite or rise
I do not think they think.

Or else they are just gentle men,
Who love–they know not why,
Greeen grace of trees or water when
It wimples to the sky . . .
Sweet simple souls! As vain I watch
My heart to you is kind:
Most precious prize of all you catch,
–Just Peace of Mind.

 

 

My answer, “Is greeen really spelled with three e’s?”  (Apparently yes. You can see for yourself here, here and here.) And then I would insist he tell me about his most inspiring travels. One question is never enough.

 

An Affair of the Heart

/ Janna Hill / 4 Comments

DSC_0045 (1024x620)
This photo is fresh from the holiday so how about a Rudyard to go with it?

I realize we have already looked at Kipling but I sort of have a crush on him right now. It’s just a spring fling sort of thing that [I hope] will soon pass.

Surely when April is gone I’ll forget him. Until then I only need to remind myself that I am married and he is dead. This will have to be an affair of the heart. I just hope he understands.

Sooo. Back to NPM.
You don’t have to be a dog lover to appreciate this but if you are a dog lover… well just read the darn poem.

 

 

The Power of the Dog

by Rudyard Kipling

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie–
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find–it’s your own affair–
But … you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone–wherever it goes–for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long–
So why in–Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

 

 

A Poem & A Picture (Day 5)

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Woot- woot. We made it !!
In honor of this accomplishment all attendees will receive a freeze-dried ham. Moi.

 

This House

This house creaks, it rattles and squeaks
It rumbles and grumbles and sometimes it shrieks
But through it all it never speaks
… Or maybe we’re just not listening

There’s blood on the walls, tears in the halls
Bruises on carpet from too many falls
You cannot see it with naked eyeballs
… Or maybe we’re just not looking

 

Janna Hill Pose Prose & Poems(My Thoughts Exactly) 1998

 

 

 

A Poem & A Picture (Day 4)

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I happened up on this gem at TLS. If you have a moment to read their gentle dissection you’ll be glad you did. You’ll also be glad I spared you the [colorful] picture that inspired Once Upon A Dead Gull. 😉

The Seagull

By Stanley Moss

When I was a child, before I knew the word
for a snowstorm, before I remember
a tree or a field,
I saw an endless grey slate afternoon coming,
I knew a bird singing in the sun
was the same as a dog barking in the dark.
A pigeon in a blizzard fluttered
against a kitchen window,
– my first clear memory of terror,
I kept secret, my intimations
I kept secret.
This winter I hung a grey and white stuffed
felt seagull from the cord of my window shade,
a reminder of good times by the sea,
of Chekhov and impossible love.
I took comfort from the gull, the graceful shape
sometimes lifted a wing in the drafty room.
Once when I looked at the gull I saw
through the window a living seagull glide
toward me then disappear, – what a rush of life!
I remember its hereness,
while inside the room
the senseless symbol
little more than a bedroom slipper
dangled on a string.
Beyond argument, my oldest emotion
hangs like a gull in the distant sky.
Eyes behind bars of mud and salt
see some dark thing below,
– my roof under the sea.
Only the sky is taken for granted.

A Poem & A Picture (Day 3)

/ Janna Hill / 4 Comments

Caterpillars

By Brod Bagert

They came like dewdrops overnight
Eating every plant in sight,
Those nasty worms with legs that crawl
So creepy up the garden wall,
Green prickly fuzz to hurt and sting
Each unsuspecting living thing.
How I hate them! Oh, you know
I’d love to squish them with my toe.
But then I see past their disguise,
Someday they’ll all be butterflies.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Okay I know this caterpillar will turn into a  moth. A Polyphemus moth to be exact but shhh she thinks she’s a butterfly.

A Poem & A Picture (Day 2)

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

 

Black Balloon

Baby’s black balloon makes her fly
I almost fell into that hole in your life
And you’re not thinking about tomorrow
’cause you were the same as me
But on your knees

A thousand other boys could never reach you
How could I have been the one
I saw the world spin beneath you
And scatter like ice from the spoon
That was your womb

Comin’ down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
Or are you someone’s prayer

You know the lies they always told you
And the love you never knew
What’s the things they never showed you
That swallowed the light from the sun
Inside your room

Comin’ down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder
Or are you someone’s prayer

And there’s no time left for losin’
When you stand they fall

Comin’ down the world turned over
And angels fall without you there
And I go on as you get colder

All because I’m
Comin’ down the years turn over
And angels fall without you there
And I’ll go and lead you home and
All because I’m
All because I’m
And I’ll become
What you became to me.

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How many of you knew those were actually the lyrics to Black Balloon by the Goo Goo Dolls? I found it on poemhunter but you can Goo Goo Google it if you want. 😉

Why did I choose ‘lyrics’ for National Poetry Month (other than they coincide with my random photo collection)? Because I believe “a lyric that can stand alone is poetry.”

Watch the video on youtube.