Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

Short Poetry Collections, Short Story Collections, and our Weekly Poetry Project
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Newgatenovelist
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Post by Newgatenovelist »

I'd like to suggest 'I Love my Love in the Morning' by the Irish author Gerald Griffin (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerald_Griffin). He has a couple of poems in a collection by 'various', but I think perhaps he's not in the catalogue with his own separate author page.

I Love my Love in the Morning

I love my love in the morning,
For she like morn is fair-
Her blushing cheek, its crimson streak,
It clouds her golden hair.
Her glance, its beam, so soft and kind;
Her tears, its dewy showers;
And her voice, the tender whispering wind
That stirs the early bowers.

I love my love in the morning,
I love my love at noon,
For she is bright, as the lord of light,
Yet mild as autumn’s moon:
Her beauty is my bosom’s sun,
Her faith my fostering shade,
And I will love my darling one,
Till even the sun shall fade.

I love my love in the morning,
I love my love at even;
Her smile’s soft play is like the ray
That lights the western heaven:
I loved her when the sun was high,
I loved her when he rose,
But best of all when the evening’s sigh
Was murmuring at its close.

Taken from:
https://archive.org/details/poeticaldramatic00grif/page/116/mode/2up

Erin
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Vik1
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Post by Vik1 »

* Here is the link to the poem - https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/the-gift-of-india/
Vik1 wrote: April 6th, 2021, 3:26 pm May I suggest the following poem by Sarojini Naidu (1879 - 1949), the female activist who worked with Gandhi during India's struggle for independence from Britain.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarojini_Naidu

Some of her other works are in our catalog but not the following poem. This piece is about soldiers from British India who fought in World War I:


The Gift of India - by Sarojini Naidu

Is there ought you need that my hands withhold,
Rich gifts of raiment or grain or gold?
Lo! I have flung to the East and West
Priceless treasures torn from my breast,
And yielded the sons of my stricken womb
To the drum-beats of duty, the sabers of doom.


Gathered like pearls in their alien graves
Silent they sleep by the Persian waves,
Scattered like shells on Egyptian sands,
They lie with pale brows and brave, broken hands,
They are strewn like blossoms mown down by chance
On the blood-brown meadows of Flanders and France.


Can ye measure the grief of the tears I weep
Or compass the woe of the watch I keep?
Or the pride that thrills thro’ my heart’s despair
And the hope that comforts the anguish of prayer?
And the far sad glorious vision I see
Of the torn red banners of Victory?


When the terror and the tumult of hate shall cease
And life be refashioned on anvils of peace,
And your love shall offer memorial thanks
To the comrades who fought in your dauntless ranks,
And you honour the deeds of the deathless ones,
Remember the blood of thy martyred sons!
aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw »

Thank you Vik1, reading through the Poetry by Heart site and Terms and Conditions, "All poems on the Website are protected by copyright." and therefore not able to be used by LibriVox and our public domain policy.
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG »

I found it in an Archive scanned book, published 1917: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.95756/page/n25/mode/2up
Serial novel: The Wandering Jew
Medieval England meets Civil War Americans: Centuries Apart
Humor: My Lady Nicotine
Vik1
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Post by Vik1 »

Thank you TriciaG.
TriciaG wrote: April 11th, 2021, 10:22 am I found it in an Archive scanned book, published 1917: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.95756/page/n25/mode/2up
pschempf
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Post by pschempf »

David -

Here's a suggestion -

The Churchyard By The Sea. A Memory. by Jessie C. Howden

Across the waste of years I see
One spot for ever soft and green,
Which, shrined within my memory,
In evening glow or morning sheen,
Tells of the golden, vanished years,
When smiles came oftener far than tears.

A churchyard by the restless sea,
Where, in deep calm and dreamless sleep,
The Dead lay resting peacefully,
Unheeding the tempestuous deep;
Careless alike of sun and breeze,
Or ebbing of those changeful seas.

And oft when shipwreck and despair
Came to the little sea-beat town,
Pale women, with dishevelled hair,
To the wild shore went hurrying down,
And tenderly dead eyes would close,
And smooth dead limbs for long repose.

Full many a weary, storm-tossed wight,
Year after year, in quiet was laid,
Safe from the blustering storms of night,
In this green spot, and undismayed,
Slept close beside the breakers’ roar,
Whose wrath should mar his rest no more.

And over each low-sleeping head,
Where thymy turf grew green and soft,
The wild bee hummed, and rosy-red
The brier-flower bloomed, and up aloft
The fleecy clouds went drifting by
Like shades, across the summer sky.

And ever as the years go by,
And one by one old memories creep
From out the sweet Past solemnly,
I seem to see, beside the deep,
That little, lonely, silent spot,
With many a childish dream enwrought.

The Churchyard By The Sea. A Memory. by Jessie C. Howden (1857-1935)

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65015/65015-h/65015-h.htm#THE_CHURCHYARD_BY_THE_SEA

I don't believe Howden is in the catalog yet. Bio - https://dvpp.uvic.ca/prs_2095.html
Fritz

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Newgatenovelist
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Post by Newgatenovelist »

I'd like to propose a sonnet by Joseph Blanco White:

Night and Death

Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet ‘neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame,
Hesperus with the host of heaven came,
And lo! creation widened in man’s view.
Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed
Within thy beams, O sun! or who could find,
Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed,
That to such countless orbs thou mad’st us blind!
Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife?
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life?

Text source: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.b4632963&view=1up&seq=50

I don't believe the author is in the catalogue. His wiki page is at:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Blanco_White
And if a short bio helps:
Joseph Blanco White was a Spanish poet, theologian and political writer and editor of Irish descent.
Off LV 25-28 March.
msfry
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Post by msfry »

Here's one I'd like to BC when space and time permits, perhaps as a Fortnightly Poem.

The West by Francis Borton (?-?)
Text: https://archive.org/details/callofcali00bortrich/page/n19/mode/2up

Along our blue Sierra's wall,
No moldering castles rest;
But there the Redman s Thunder-bird
Hath built his lonely nest.

No hoary donjons, foul with crime,
Oppress the good, clean sod
Where live-oaks meet, with knotted arms,
The blazing bolts of God.

Instead of doubtful titles stamped
On pride's dim vellumed page.
The sullen grizzly here hath left
The claw marks of his rage.

No silken halls, no softness here,
No courtiers, false as hell;
But from the echoing granite gorge
The panther s deadly yell!

Here, laws unflattering, primal, harsh ;
The desert s scorching breath;
Here, thorn, fang, claw and scalping knife-
The crimson trail of death!

And what are man-made kings and courts,
With cheap, brief honors set,
Where, in the red, raw clay of things,
God 's thumb-prints yet are wet?

Amid these awful solitudes.
With skies so still and blue,
Are held such deadly, fierce debates
As minstrels never knew.

Here howling winds of ocean meet
The wild winds of the sky,
While vast, dim shapes from desert wastes
Their spirals wheel on high.

Cliff calls to cliff; th' avalanche
Replies in thunders loud,
While shafts of blinding lightning split
The swirling, inky cloud,

That bursts, and ploughs the mountains down,
The salt plain 's hissing sands,
Till fresh-torn canon gulfs reveal
Earth s granite swaddling bands!

* * *

And here are men, sons of thy strength,
Oh, western land of mine,
Gay, tender, careless, swift and wild,
But upright as the pine.

Serene, clear-eyed, of Spartan speech.
The breed of men out here,
Who've trailed with hunger, thirst and death,
But never met with fear.

The wide, free winds are in their hearts,
The deep-voiced torrent's roar,
The solemn stillness of the woods,
Beside the lonely shore.

They need no finger-posts for faith;
No self -sure go-between;
They look God in the face and smile;
Their rugged hearts are clean.

They pluck the gray wolf from his den;
They tire the grizzly down,
Or peacefully their harvests reap
Along the foothills brown.

They beat the mountain into dust;
They burst its ribs apart;
Their laughter rings Homeric when
They clutch its golden heart!

Alone they win the chill, still heights,
By mountain sheep untrod;
They gaze abroad, they bare their brows
And shout, "Hurrah for God!";

Oh, little folk, who cringe and hedge.
Who cannot understand,
They tread a broader trail than yours
Across our Sunset Land,

Where man is kin to peak and star,
The wide plain's lonely space;
Where oft they ride so close to God
They meet Him face to face !
TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG »

For the record, I'm pretty sure this is him: https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Borton-77
Serial novel: The Wandering Jew
Medieval England meets Civil War Americans: Centuries Apart
Humor: My Lady Nicotine
aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw »

Thanks for the Tricia, it does look like him.

Michele, you are good to go for the next Fortnightly, Sunday May 30th :D

[memo to self - pay attention to which Michel(l)e is which!)
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
msfry
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Post by msfry »

Ok, David. I'm on it, and looking forward to it.

P. S. If you would, please try and spell Michele with one 'l', as in my signature. I don't want to pass that British spelling of my French name along to others if I can help it. :roll:
aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw »

I will be away for two or three weeks, so a poetry BC (or two or three) would be appreciated. I'm sure some of the other admins will pick up the projects over the next few weeks. :D
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG »

I've got this week's poem and fortnightly set up. A BC for next week's weekly poem would be appreciated. :)
Serial novel: The Wandering Jew
Medieval England meets Civil War Americans: Centuries Apart
Humor: My Lady Nicotine
msfry
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Post by msfry »

TriciaG wrote: June 13th, 2021, 8:52 am I've got this week's poem and fortnightly set up. A BC for next week's weekly poem would be appreciated. :)
Let me catch my breath from the family weekend and see if I will have time to do it. Weekly. How hard can that be? :mrgreen:
TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG »

Any takers to BC next week's weekly poetry?
Serial novel: The Wandering Jew
Medieval England meets Civil War Americans: Centuries Apart
Humor: My Lady Nicotine
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