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Monthly Archives: March 2014

“Recessional” by Thomas MacGreevy

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Irish Poets, Thomas MacGreevy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

Recessional

In the bright broad Swiss glare I stand listening
To the outrageous roars
Of the Engelbereraa
As it swirls down the gorge
And I think I am thinking
Of Roderick Hudson.
But, as I stand,
Time closes over sight,
And sound
Is drowned
By a long silvery roar
From the far ends of memory
Of a world I have left
And I find I am thinking:
Supposing I drowned now,
This tired, tiresome body,
Before flesh creases further,
Might, recovered, go, fair,
To be laid in Saint Lachtin’s,
Near where once,
In tender, less glaring, island days
And ways
I could hear—
Where listeners still hear—
That far-away, dear
Roar
The long, silvery roar
Of Mal Bay.

“Aodh Ruadh O’Domhnaill” by Thomas MacGreevy (Irish, 1893-1967)

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Aodh Ruadh O’Domhnaill

Juan de Juni the priest said,
Each J becoming H;

Berruguete, he said,
And the G was aspirate;
Ximenez, he said then
And aspirated first and last.

But he never said
And—it seemed odd—he
Never had heard
The aspirated name
Of the centuries-dead
Bright-haired young man
Whose grave I sought.

All day I passed
In greatly built gloom
From dusty gilt tomb
Marvellously wrought
To tomb
Rubbing
At mouldy inscriptions
With fingers whetted with spit
And asking
Where I might find it
And failing.

Yet when
Unhurried—
Not as at home
Where heroes, hanged, are buried
With non-commissioned officers’ bored maledictions
Quickly in the gaol yard—

They brought
His blackening body
Here
To rest
Princes came
Walking behind it
And all Valladolid knew
And out to Simancas all knew
Where they buried Red Hugh.

Thomas MacGreevy (Irish, 1893-1967) Poem — Rare:

09 Sunday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Thomas MacGreevy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Love, Peace. Love

De Civitate Hominum

The morning sky glitters
Winter blue.
The earth is snow-white,
With the gleam snow-white answers to sunlight,
Save where shell-holes are new,
Black spots in the whiteness—

A Matisse ensemble.

The shadows of whitened tree stumps
Are another white.

And there are white bones.

Zillebeke Lake and Hooge,
Ice gray, gleam differently,

Like the silver shoes of the model.

The model is our world,
Our bitch of a world.
Those who live between wars may not know
But we who die between peaces
Whether we die or not.

It is very cold
And, what with my sensations
And my spick and span subaltern’s uniform,
I might be the famous brass monkey,
The nature morte accessory.

Morte…!
‘Tis still life that lives,
Not quick life—
There are fleece-white flowers of death
That unfold themselves prettily
About an airman

Who, high over Gheluvelt,
Is taking a morning look around,
All silk and silver
Up in the blue.

I hear the drone of an engine
And soft pounding puffs in the air
As the fleece-white flowers unfold.

I cannot tell which flower he has accepted
But suddenly there is a tremor,
A zigzag of lines against the blue
And he streams down
Into the white,
A delicate flame,
A stroke of orange in the morning’s dress.

My sergeant says, very low, “Holy God!
‘Tis a fearful death.”

Holy God makes no reply
Yet.

For Kristen and Dax:

08 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Dax Shepard, Kristen Bell

Voyeur Envy

Stop buying that stuff, your life
is fine.

Stop buying that stuff, your life
is good enough.

It may not be as you once dreamed,
but grab it, accept it, and let Hollywood
successes be them. You are you;

We all have dreams, stuff to do; I dare
you not to buy the mags that say:
“So and so broke up with So and So,
and So and so’s in jail.”

What’s it to you? What’s more, those
mags are made up of photos got against
the will of the subjects:

Paparazzi in alley-ways, by-ways, under
freeways smoking cigs and wearing
rags hiding like you in Hollywood
picture mags. Escape is the name of
their game—don’t buy it!

Stay in your lane; do what you do great,
find that path to peace of mind. Stop
immediately the envy of a different road,
it’s not yours let it go!!

Look up to God, decide what you wanna be
and ask a blessing and then for that goal
head at flank speed.

And so let’s leave the stars we like to
hear and see on screen telling us stories be.

And what stories they are, artists
collaborating, thank them loudly by
resisting temptations to buy pictures
and magazines with pictures of them
and their day-to-day.

I hereby challenge us all to find
our own path, respect others
and theirs, “no means no” and
all of that

A.A. Birthday Poem

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Alcohol, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Birthday

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

A.A. Birthday

Like the other, another spin ‘round the sun.

This one’s fun!
Not at first, mind you, it’s an almost
impossible uphill climb.

So instead of trudging it straight, against
the tide and everything great—

We adhere to and climb twelve steps.
The first is a false one, we fall down,
get hurt and admit we’re done, in us
stick a fork.

The second is a ray of sun, sing lullabies
to sad lives, we see God, or at least a
Power greater than us.

The third is easy and hard haven’t you heard,
we look up words like “decision” in the
dictionary and find other words like
“Victory” – the devil runs away abashed
at every defeat. This is pretty neat, God
is in charge now, let’s see what’s left to do:

4. Write and think, and write and think—be
fearless, this is our lives, write and think.
5. Tell God, you and another dude your
findings and feelings, the weight starts to really
lift…

Six, we became ready for a new life by preparing
to give up old traits that clouded vision and
possibilities like dusty old drapes, sour grapes,
run to the market for new ones it’s not too late!

Seven is a way to humbly ask: LORD remove my
faults, Please…

Now write down names, people you have harmed,
become willing then make amends to them all.

Some may run away from you, see some
weird side of you, think you’ve gone
too religious, maybe take a break from you.

Others will be grateful and inspired.

Keep checking yourself against your actions;
faults like San Andreas want to rise and give us
trouble from time to time.

Pray hard! Improve that line between you and
God as you understand God, pray for that power
to know what to do next. Know that God’s will
is what happens.

Take that glory, your awakening of spirit, give it
to other punk alcoholics, people who could use
a boost, do this well and find you’ve gone through
the last hoop, now back to one, excuse me the One,

For there is where the healing is.

Happy Birthday.

“Rosalind’s Description” by Thomas Lodge

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Thomas Lodge

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

Like to the clear in highest sphere,
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of self-same color is her hair,
Whether unfolded or in twines:
Heigho, fair Rosalind!

Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Refining heaven by every wink;
The gods do fear when as they glow,
And I tremble when I think:
Heigho, would she were mine!

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud
That beautifies Aurora’s face,
Or like the silver, crimson shroud
That Phoebe’s smiling looks doth grace:
Heigho, fair Rosalind!

Her lips are like two budded roses,
Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh,
Within which bounds she balm incloses
Apt to entice a deity:
Heigho, would she were mine!

Her neck like to a stately tower,
Where Love himself imprisoned lies,
To watch for glances every hour,
From her divine and sacred eyes:
Heigho, fair Rosalind!

Her paps are centres of delight,
Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light,
To feed Perfection with the same:
Heigho, would she were mine!

With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,
Her body every way is fed,
Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:
Heigho, fair Rosalind!

Rosalind

“Night Note” by James Oppenheim

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in James Oppenheim, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Rare Poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Nature, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Rare

Night1

A little moon was restless in Eternity
And shivering beneath the stars
Dropped in the hiding arms of the western hill.

Night’s discord ceased:
The visible universe moved in an endless rhythm:
The wheel of the heavens turned to the pulse of a
cricket in the grass.

“The Road” by John Gould Fletcher

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in John Gould Fletcher

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

The Road

As one who walks in sleep, up a familiar lane
I went, my road to discover:
In my head was a dark bewilderment and in my
heart a pain;
The branches hung straight over.

At the summit the sky blazed with endless stars,
refired
By the ebbing of the day;
The earth was darkly beautiful and I was very tired.
There was my road, and nothing more to say.

“Work: A Song of Triumph” by Angela Morgan

07 Friday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Classic Poems, Ladies

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Work

Work: A Song of Triumph

Work!
Thank God for the might of it,
The ardor, the urge, the delight of it—
Work that springs from the heart’s desire,
Setting the brain and the soul on fire—
Oh, what is so good as the heat of it,
And what is so glad as the beat of it,
And what is so kind as the stern command,
Challenging brain and heart and hand?

Work!
Thank God for the pride of it,
For the beautiful, conquering tide of it.
Sweeping the life in its furious flood,
Thrilling the arteries, cleansing the blood,
Mastering stupor and dull despair,
Moving the dreamer to do and dare.
Oh, what is so good as the urge of it,
And what is so glad as the surge of it,
And what is so strong as the summons deep,
Rousing the torpid soul from sleep?

Work!
Thank God for the pace of it,
For the terrible, keen, swift race of it;
Fiery steeds in full control,
Nostrils a-quiver to meet the goal.
Work, the Power that drives behind,
Guiding the purposes, taming the mind,
Holding the runaway wishes back,
Reining the will to one steady track,
speeding the energies faster, faster,
Triumphing over disaster.

Oh, what is so good as the pain of it,
And what is so great as the gain of it?
And what is so kind as the cruel goad,
Forcing us on through the rugged road?

Work!
Thank God for the swing of it,
For the clamoring, hammering ring of it,
Passion of labor daily hurled
On the mighty anvils of the world.
Oh, what is so fierce as the flame of it?
And what is so huge as the aim of it?
Thundering on through dearth and doubt,
Calling the plan of the Maker out.
Work, the Titan; Work, the friend,
Shaping the earth to glorious end,
Draining the swamps and blasting the hills,
Doing whatever the Spirit wills—
Rending a continent apart,
To answer the dreams of the Master heart.
Thank God for a world where none may shirk—
Thank God for the splendor of work!

“Lovers’ Dusk” by Arthur Davison Ficke

06 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Arthur Davison Ficke, Love, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Arthur Davison Ficke, Couples, Ficke, Joy, Love, Lovers, Peace, Poems, Poetry, Romance, Romantic, Romantic Poetry, Valentine's, Valentine's Day

lovers2

                          Lovers’ Dusk

    Spring fills the air today; with different sound
The whistles blow, out in the foggy bay;
There is a thawing in the sodden ground;
And flowers whose birth is still two months away
Send down the air premonitory ghosts
Of what shall be their odors.  As we lie
Here in the dusk of silence, all things lost
Seem phantoms of a winter soon to die.
Nothing is dead that had the power to live;
Nothing can end except what should not be;
Beauty, that far-sought April fugitive,
Comes home to those who trust felicity;
Moments that have the whole life to give
Pause thus by lovers’ couches, tenderly.

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