Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

Short Poetry Collections, Short Story Collections, and our Weekly Poetry Project
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Post by TriciaG » May 3rd, 2020, 2:01 pm

This one would make a great Father's Day poem:

The Man to Be, by Edgar A. Guest (unfortunately, he died in 1959, so not PD for Life+70 countries)

The Man to Be

Some day the world will need a man of courage
in a time of doubt,

And somewhere, as a little boy, that future hero
plays about.

Within some humble home, no doubt, that instru-
ment of greater things

Now climbs upon his father’s knee or to his
mother’s garments clings

And when shall come that call for him to render
service that is fine,

He that shall do God’s mission here may be your
little boy or mine.

Long years of preparation mark the pathway for
the splendid souls.

And generations live and die and seem no nearer
to their goals,

And yet the purpose of it all, the fleeting pleasure
and the woe.

The laughter and the grief of life that all who
come to earth must know

May be to pave the way for one — one man to
serve the Will Divine

And it is possible that he may be your little boy
or mine.

Some day the world will need a man! I stand
beside his cot at night

And wonder if I’m teaching him, as best I can,
to know the right.

I am the father of a boy — his life is mine to
make or mar —

For he no better can become than what my daily
teachings are;

There will be need for someone great — I dare
not falter from the line —

The man that is to serve the world may be that
little boy of mine.

Perhaps your boy or mine may not ascend the
lofty heights of fame;

The orders for their births are hid. We know
not why to earth they came;

Yet in some little bed to-night the great man of
to-morrow sleeps

And only He who sent him here, the secret of
His purpose keeps.

As fathers then our care is this — to keep in mind
the Great Design —

The man the world shall need some day may be
your little boy or mine.
One Mystery Story Left: Master of Mysteries
Mussolini's speeches thru 1923: LINK
Samuel Smiles Self-Help: Character

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Post by SouCS » May 7th, 2020, 12:23 pm

ROSE-MOSS By Hilda Conkling

Little Rose-moss beside the stone,
Are you lonely in the garden?
There are no friends of you,
And the birds are gone.
Shall I pick you?"

"Little girl up by the hollyhock,
I am not lonely.
I feel the sun burning,
I hold light in my cup,
I have all the rain I want,
I think things to myself that you don't know,
And I listen to the talk of crickets.
I am not lonely,
But you may pick me
And take me to your mother."


MC note... this would not be PD for us, Hilda Conkling died in 1986, only 34 years ago.

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Post by Gyan » May 10th, 2020, 3:43 pm

ODE TO DUTY - By William Wordsworth
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;
From vain temptations dost set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth:
Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not:
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;
Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance-desires:
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.

To humbler functions, awful Power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;
The confidence of reason give;
And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live!
Gyan Moorthy

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Joined: May 18th, 2020, 12:55 pm

Post by Ambsweet13 » May 22nd, 2020, 1:08 am

I found this poem in a collection on Project Gutenberg. Maybe I could try my hand at coordinating with this one as a weekly or fortnightly poem?


If I was sad, then he had grief, as well—
Seeking my hands with soft insistent paw,
Searching my face with anxious eyes that saw
More than my halting, human speech could tell;
Eyes wide with wisdom, fine, compassionate—
Dear, loyal one, that knew not wrong nor hate.
If I made merry—then how he would strive
To show his joy; "Good master, let's to play,
The world is ours," that gladsome bark would say;
"Just yours and mine—'tis fun to be alive!"
Our world ... four walls above the city's din,
My crutch the bar that ever held us in.
Whate'er my mood—the fretful word, or sweet,
The swift command, the wheedling undertone,
His faith was fixed, his love was mine, alone,
His heaven was here at my slow crippled feet:
Oh, friend thrice-lost; oh, fond heart unassailed,
Ye taught me trust when man's dull logic failed.

-Meribah Abbott.


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