A vacant lot
A country lane
The footpath by the river
There is plenty of time
Shrugging off her ermine coat of snow
In the ditch
The purple loosestrife too impatient for April
Queen Annes' lace
Rules the meadow
In the same exquisite gown her mother wore
No frail supermodel orchid or even rose
Their Gardener is nowhere to be seen
Song-birds and cicadas
The mower comes along to clear the mess
We'll all be back in the spring
Who are they to call us weeds?
That is very nice, and exact, and carries the right amount of sympathy for the poem's subjects.
Whose "Gardener is nowhere to be seen". Yes, that puts us soi-disant gardeners in our place!
Up and about early this Sunday?
Up and about early this Sunday?
I'm a little uncomfortable with all of the 'No No No' going on in the middle of it.
Jack, sometimes I think there's a whiff of Yeats about you. Faint usquebaugh aroma, there.
You know, "small cabin", "bean-rows", "honey-bee", "cricket sings" and "linnet's wings".
Oh, and your strength is your ability to stand on the roadways and pavements of America and listen. I hear what you hear. But my poetry is struggling behind barbed wire. Yours isn't, lucky man, friend.
First of all, Thank you so much.
Second of all, this is where a 'Reading Room' would come in handy. I would be able to sit unobtrusively in the corner, and listen to folks like you, and maybe, after LOTS of eavesdropping, I would understand just ONE of the references you just made.
And I'll sit next to you Jack, as long as you're not smelling too strongly of uisge beatha. JP
Jack! This poem settles it-- I'm taking a drive the country today. Wow, I love this! But I think you're more like Robert Frost, than Yeats.
As for the middle:
Or frail supermodel orchid or even rose
Their Gardener is nowhere to be seen"
Personally, I like the repetition, but this could cut a few of the "nos" out, if they really bother you that much...
Please post some more poems!
P.S. Have you ever read this one?
by: Robert Frost
Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.
The woods around it have it--it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.
And lonely as it is that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less--
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.
They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars--on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.
From "A Further Range", 1936
I hope this doesn't scramble, I apologize if it does... seems to everytime I try to paste it!
Jack-great poem. Stephen is a well of knowledge---am glad we are allowed to drink from it sometimes...............
You created a vision with your words - well done!
You even inspired bobo to share the words of Frost.......
it's a good poem.
Guys - especially Jack - go here (and do click on the hear this hyperlink, but pour a whisky first):
I would that the spirits had ceased to call,
and I could sit with my pals, down at the bar
each neat glass that came, I would down it all;
Someone else would be needed, to drive the car.
Those gaelic spirits though, are too strong for my will
so I must be content as the other lads swill.
Just think of me with cheer, when next you are sipping,
I would be there you know, if my will wasn't slipping!
Many thanks to one and all.
Stephen, Thank you for the clarification. My computer at work says that my current settings won't allow me to hear it. I'm such a techno-tard, I don't know how to change them.
Frost and Yeats!? Wow, you guys need to get out more.
Honestly, thank you. I never learned how to take a compliment.
I really enjoyed your 'Untouched Field'.
It takes me to a quiet place, where I remembered this one.
Ahhh springtime. Very nicely done.
Sorry I missed this one earlier, I like the unseen Gardener aspect.
Last one, promise.
Ohhh! This is a brilliant poem, particularly the last verse!
Jack, I enjoyed the poem in both form and content, nice imagery too.
It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it. (Aristotle)
Good one, Jack, you've been in the vaults again.
I already thanked you for the whole 'Anthology thing', but that was before I understood it to be a double-edged sword. Now I can't reveal the pieces for discussion without opening up that whole 'Crappy Cowboy Poetry' can of worms.
We were having a seasonal poetry chat, and I thought 'Weeds', 'Golden Hoard', and maybe 'Eleven' would be relevant. But there is no way to select those from the collection without someone saying "Hey, what's this 'Doofus' thing about?' You get what I'm saying? The simple solution is to not write the fun/dubious stuff in the first place. Or maybe we can get Wally McCrea and Sarah Teasdale into the same room. I don't know. I'll work on it.
Thanks again (really) for the anthology.