Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

Short Poetry Collections, Short Story Collections, and our Weekly Poetry Project
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GaryGrenholm
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Post by GaryGrenholm » March 19th, 2018, 4:29 pm

https://librivox.org/uploads/aradlaw/oysterman_holmes_ggg_128kb.mp3

The above is a link to a first contribution to librivox (after my "OK" one-minute test at https://librivox.org/uploads/tests/test_garygrenholm.mp3 [from TriciaG on 3/16/2018]).

Per Checker, the file duration is is 2:35.61.

My catalog listing can be: Gary Grenholm

Thanks!

msfry
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Post by msfry » March 19th, 2018, 4:52 pm

My Lucky Lucy has been gone 4 years, and I can still hardly bear to say her name. The smell of her, the feel of her, her devotion to me shown in her eyes, her delighted stance whenever I wanted to play fetch or take a walk, her infinite patience if I didn't feel like doing anything, her raw passion when it came to chasing armadillo or begging me to teach her a trick, her playfulness, there was simply no more charming companion. I have other dogs (all aging now) and I love them just as dearly, but Lucky died young and there was no gradual process of watching her age and holding her close while saying goodbye. I don't know, maybe it will be just as terrible, in which case I don't know if my heart can bear it. I am sorry for your loss.

I'd love to read this poem.
Michele Fry, CC
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"Knowing that a tomato is actually a fruit is Knowledge. Wisdom is not putting one in a fruit salad."
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msfry
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Post by msfry » March 19th, 2018, 5:02 pm

GaryGrenholm wrote:
March 19th, 2018, 4:29 pm
https://librivox.org/uploads/aradlaw/oysterman_holmes_ggg_128kb.mp3

The above is a link to a first contribution to librivox (after my "OK" one-minute test at https://librivox.org/uploads/tests/test_garygrenholm.mp3 [from TriciaG on 3/16/2018]).

Per Checker, the file duration is is 2:35.61.

My catalog listing can be: Gary Grenholm

Thanks!
Gary,This forum gathers suggestions for future fortnightly projects, not yet in progress. You should submit your Oysterman recording here:
viewtopic.php?f=19&t=69515
Michele Fry, CC
My Projects
"Knowing that a tomato is actually a fruit is Knowledge. Wisdom is not putting one in a fruit salad."
.

aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » March 19th, 2018, 6:54 pm

GaryGrenholm wrote:
March 19th, 2018, 4:29 pm
https://librivox.org/uploads/aradlaw/oysterman_holmes_ggg_128kb.mp3
...

Per Checker, the file duration is is 2:35.61.

My catalog listing can be: Gary Grenholm

Thanks!
Thank you Gary, I've posted notes for your reading in the Fortnightly Poetry thread here.
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
* New sections opened up in Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott

GaryGrenholm
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Post by GaryGrenholm » March 20th, 2018, 4:27 pm

Thanks for catching/correcting my error!
Gary

mdatcher
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Post by mdatcher » April 4th, 2018, 8:00 pm

Have we ever done "I keep six honest serving-men" from the end of The Elephant's Child by Rudyard Kipling?

I Keep six honest serving-men:
(They taught me all I knew)
Their names are What and Where and When
And How and Why and Who.
I send them over land and sea,
I send them east and west;
But after they have worked for me,
I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five.
For I am busy then,
As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
For they are hungry men:
But different folk have different views:
I know a person small—
She keeps ten million serving-men,
Who get no rest at all!
She sends ‘em abroad on her own affairs,
From the second she opens her eyes—
One million Hows, two million Wheres,
And seven million Whys!

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2781/2781-h/2781-h.htm#link2H_4_0005

-Matthew

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Just_So_Stories - dl

Newgatenovelist
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Post by Newgatenovelist » April 6th, 2018, 12:36 pm

As far as I could tell, Frances Harper has never featured in a weekly or fortnightly poetry collection. In honour of winter nearly being over, I'd like to suggest 'The Crocuses'.

THE CROCUSES

They heard the South wind sighing
A murmur of the rain;
And they knew that Earth was longing
To see them all again.

While the snow-drops still were sleeping
Beneath the silent sod;
They felt their new life pulsing
Within the dark, cold clod.

Not a daffodil nor daisy
Had dared to raise its head;
Not a fairhaired dandelion
Peeped timid from its bed;

Though a tremor of the winter
Did shivering through them run;
Yet they lifted up their foreheads
To greet the vernal sun.

And the sunbeams gave them welcome.
As did the morning air
And scattered o'er their simple robes
Rich tints of beauty rare.

Soon a host of lovely flowers
From vales and woodland burst;
But in all that fair procession
The crocuses were first.

First to weave for Earth a chaplet
To crown her dear old head;
And to beautify the pathway
Where winter still did tread.

And their loved and white haired mother
Smiled sweetly 'neath the touch,
When she knew her faithful children
Were loving her so much.

It's taken from: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/679.

Erin

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Post by aradlaw » April 6th, 2018, 2:05 pm

Thank you Matthew and Erin - we have our lineup for next week. :D
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
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Algy Pug
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Post by Algy Pug » April 8th, 2018, 8:32 pm

I would like to BC this seasonal gem for a Weekly Poetry Project. It is by Alfred Austin, poet laureate after Tennyson and one of the sadly neglected poets of the late Nineteenth Century.

[Text URL: http://www.archive.org/details/fortunatuspessim00austuoft
Page 113]

Fortunatus’ song
from Fortunatus the Pessimist.
By Alfred Austin.

When the lambing ewes are hurdled,
When the cream floats rich and curdled,
When the throstle trills and trebles,
When betwixt the shining pebbles
And the runnel past them sailing
Poiseth, motionless, the grayling;
When the primrose-sheeted covers
Couches are for dreaming lovers,
When the foal and broodmare hinny,
And in every cut-down spinney
Ladysmocks grow mauve and mauver,
Then the winter days are over.

Cheers
Algy Pug

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aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » April 10th, 2018, 2:56 pm

Thanks Algy, is next week too soon?
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
* New sections opened up in Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott

Algy Pug
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Post by Algy Pug » April 10th, 2018, 3:53 pm

aradlaw wrote:
April 10th, 2018, 2:56 pm
Thanks Algy, is next week too soon?
That would be fine.

Cheers
Algy Pug

My Librivox page

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Let me recapitulate backwards to what happened previously.
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SonOfTheExiles
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Post by SonOfTheExiles » April 17th, 2018, 3:48 am

Etiquette - A Poem by W S Gilbert

Etiquette
by William Schwenk Gilbert
From "Fifty 'Bab' Ballads: Much Sound and Little Sense"
1887

The Ballyshannon foundered off the the coast of Cariboo,
And down in fathoms many went the captain and the crew;
Down went the owners--greedy men whom hope of gain allured:
Oh dry the starting tear, for they were heavily ensured.

Besides the captain and the mate, the owners and the crew,
The passengers were also drowned excepting only two:
Young Peter Gray, who tasted teas for Baker, Croop & Co.
And Somers, who from Eastern shores, imported indigo.

These passengers, by reason of their clinging to a mast
Upon a desert island were eventually cast.
They hunted for their meals, as Alexander Selkirk used,
But they couldn't chat together--they had not been introduced.

For Peter Gray, and Somers too, though certainly in trade,
Were properly particular about the friends they made;
And somehow thus they settled it without a word of mouth--
That Gray should take the northern half, while Somers took the South.

On Peter's portion oysters grew--a delicacy rare,
But oysters were a delicacy Peter couldn't bear,
On Somers' side was turtle, on the shingle lying thick,
Which Somers couldn't eat, because it always made him sick.

Gray gnashed his teeth with envy as he saw a mighty store,
Of turtle unmolested on his fellow-creature's shore.
The oysters at his feet aside impatiently he shoved,
For turtle and his mother were the only things he loved.

And Somers sighed in sorrow as he settled in the south,
For the thought of Peter's oysters brought the water to his mouth.
He longed to lay him down upon the shelly bed, and stuff:
He had often eaten oysters, but had never had enough.

How they wished an introduction to each other they had had
When on board the Ballyshannon! And it drove them nearly mad.
To think how very friendly with each other they might get,
If it wasn't for the arbitrary rule of etiquette!

One day when out a hunting for the mus ridiculus,
Gray overheard his fellow man soliloquizing thus:
"I wonder how the playmates of my youth are getting on,
McConnell, S.B. Walters, Paddy Byles, and Robinson?"

These simple words made Peter as delighted as could be
Old chummies at the charterhouse were Robinson and he!
He walked straight up to Somers, then he turned extremely red.
Hesitated, hummed and hawed a bit, then cleared his throat and said:

"I beg your pardon--pray forgive me if I seem too bold,
But you have breathed a name I know familiarly of old.
You spoke aloud of Robinson--I happened to be by.
"You know him?" "Yes, extremely well" "allow me, so do I".

It was enough: they felt they could more pleasantly get on,
For (ah, the magic of the fact!) they each knew Robinson!
And Mr. Somers' turtle was at Peter's service quite,
And Mr. Somers punished Peter's oyster beds all night.

They soon became like brothers from community of wrongs:
They wrote each other little odes and sang each other songs;
They told each other anecdotes disparaging their wives;
On several occasions, too, they saved each other's lives.

They felt quite melancholy when they parted for the night,
And got up in the morning soon as ever it was light;
Each other's pleasant company they reckoned so upon,
And all because it happened that they both knew Robinson.

They lived for many years on that inhospitable shore,
And day by day they learned to love each other more and more.
At last, to their astonishment, on getting up one day,
They saw a frigate anchored in the offing of the bay.

To Peter an idea occurred. "Suppose we cross the main?
So good an opportunity may not be found again".
And Somers thought a minute, then ejaculated "Done!
I wonder how my business in the City's getting on?"

"But stay," said Mr. Peter: "when in England as you know,
I earned a living tasting teas for Baker, Croop and Co.,
I may be superceded--my employer thinks me dead!"
"Then come with me," said Somers, "and taste indigo instead".

But all their plans were scattered in moment when they found
the vessel was a convict ship from Portland, outward bound;
When a boat came off to fetch them, though they felt it very kind,
To go on board they firmly but respectfully declined.

And both the happy settlers roared with laughter at the joke,
They recognized a gentlemanly fellow pulling stroke:
'Twas Robinson--a convict, in an unbecoming frock!
Condemned to seven years for misappropriating stock!

They laughed no more, for Somers thought he had been rather rash
In knowing one whose friend had misappropriated cash;
And Peter thought a foolish tack he must have gone upon
In making the acquaintance of a friend of Robinson.

At first they didn't quarrel very openly, I've heard;
They nodded when they met, and now and then exchanged a word;
The word grew rare, and rarer still the nodding of the head,
And when they meet each other now, they cut each other dead.

To allocate the island they agreed by word of mouth,
And Peter takes the north again, and Somers takes the south;
And Peter has the oysters, which he hates, in layers thick,
And Somers has the turtle--turtle always makes him sick.
"Sorry, my tongue got in the way of my eye-tooth, and I couldn't see what I was saying..."
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aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » April 17th, 2018, 6:19 am

Thanks SOTE, what a ballad!
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
* New sections opened up in Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott

msfry
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Post by msfry » April 19th, 2018, 11:50 am

I would like to coordinate my first fortnightly poem, below. It seems so appropriate to what we do here, keeping alive the memories of deceased authors, and hoping that our efforts will last into futurity. Any assistance would be appreciated in helping me get in the queue.

Stanzas Written in His Library
, by Robert Southey
from The Book of Georgian Verse, #619
https://archive.org/details/bookofgeorgianve00braiuoft

MY days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead, with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead, anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.
Michele Fry, CC
My Projects
"Knowing that a tomato is actually a fruit is Knowledge. Wisdom is not putting one in a fruit salad."
.

aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » April 19th, 2018, 3:59 pm

Thanks for the suggestion Michele, would you like to BC this one starting this Sunday (22nd) or in two weeks (May 6th) ?
David Lawrence

* Weekly & Fortnightly Poetry - Check out the Short Works forum for the latest projects!
* New sections opened up in Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott

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