Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

Short Poetry Collections, Short Story Collections, and our Weekly Poetry Project
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williamjones
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Post by williamjones » April 23rd, 2019, 1:03 pm

I see Fortnightly Poem - Shakespeare 29 already there in New Projects Launch Pad.
It has a little red asterisk beside its icon. That can't be good.
I replaced the XXXXX with Aradlaw, but further down there's [MW]xxxx[/MW] which I suppose is a placeholder for the Magic Window.

So, is everything OK so far?
I've really botched this up; but, I'll try to make it right.
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msfry
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Post by msfry » April 23rd, 2019, 1:14 pm

I see your project awaiting on the Launch Pad. David Lawrence (aradlaw) is MC for all these Poetry projects, so he will come along shortly and set up the MW, then you'll be on your way. He will look over all your text and make sure it's all correct. The only thing I see missing toward the bottom is the Date the project ends, which will be May 5th. Also, you might shorten the file name to "sonnet29_shakespeare_initials_128kb :D

Horrors NO :evil: , don't mess with the code for the magic window, or you may have to start over. That would be sad. :( Actually, our magical MC's can fix that too! I know because I once erased the code. It was so embarrassing. :oops:
Last edited by msfry on April 23rd, 2019, 1:21 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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TriciaG
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Post by TriciaG » April 23rd, 2019, 1:16 pm

It has a little red asterisk beside its icon. That can't be good.
It's fine. It just means you have posted in that thread.
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vijeta6
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Post by vijeta6 » April 24th, 2019, 9:13 am

I would like to suggest 'Remember the roses' by Avery Taylor.Also 'The Lost Jewels by Rabindranath Tagore.

KevinS
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Post by KevinS » April 25th, 2019, 6:18 am

I'd like to suggest this poem from when America was a colony.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/409/409-h/409-h.htm#link2H_4_0039

To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works

by PHILLIS WHEATLEY

TO show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent,
And thought in living characters to paint,
When first thy pencil did those beauties give,
And breathing figures learnt from thee to live,
How did those prospects give my soul delight,
A new creation rushing on my sight?
Still, wond’rous youth! each noble path pursue,
On deathless glories fix thine ardent view:
Still may the painter’s and the poet’s fire
To aid thy pencil, and thy verse conspire!
And may the charms of each seraphic theme
Conduct thy footsteps to immortal fame!
High to the blissful wonders of the skies
Elate thy soul, and raise thy wishful eyes.
Thrice happy, when exalted to survey
That splendid city, crown’d with endless day,
Whose twice six gates on radiant hinges ring:
Celestial Salem blooms in endless spring.
Calm and serene thy moments glide along,
And may the muse inspire each future song!
Still, with the sweets of contemplation bless’d,
May peace with balmy wings your soul invest!
But when these shades of time are chas’d away,
And darkness ends in everlasting day,
On what seraphic pinions shall we move,
And view the landscapes in the realms above?
There shall thy tongue in heav’nly murmurs flow,
And there my muse with heav’nly transport glow:
No more to tell of Damon’s tender sighs,
Or rising radiance of Aurora’s eyes,
For nobler themes demand a nobler strain,
And purer language on th’ ethereal plain.
Cease, gentle muse! the solemn gloom of night
Now seals the fair creation from my sight.
E agora, José?

SonOfTheExiles
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Post by SonOfTheExiles » April 25th, 2019, 8:00 am

Desire
by Victor J. Daley (1858 – 1905)
From book: Wine and Roses
https://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/daley-victor-j/desire-0095006

SOUL of the leaping flame,
Heart of the scarlet fire,
Spirit that hath for name
Only the name—Desire!

Subtle art thou and strong;
Glowing in sunlit skies;
Sparkling in wine and song;
Shining in woman's eyes;

Gleaming on shores of Sleep—
Moon of the wild dream-clan—
Burning within the deep
Passionate heart of Man.

Spirit we can but name,
Essence of Forms that seem,
Odour of violet flame,
Weaver of Thought and Dream.

Laugh of the World's great Heart,
Who shall thy rune recite?
Child of the gods thou art,
Offspring of Day and Night.

Lord of the Rainbow Realm,
Many a shape hast thou—
Glory with laurelled helm;
Love with the myrtled brow;

Sanctity, robed in white;
Liberty, proud and calm,
Ringed with auroral light,
Bearing the sword and palm.

Maidens with dreamful eyes,
Eyes of a dreaming dove,
See thee in noble guise
Coming and call thee—Love!

Youth with his blood aflame,
Running in crystal-red,
Sees, on the Mount of Fame,
Thee with thy hand outspread.

Leader of Hope Forlorn,
When he beholds thine eyes
Shining in splendid scorn—
Storming the rampart, dies.

Many have by good hap
Seen thee in arms arrayed,
Wearing a Phrygian cap,
High on a barricade;

Aye, and by dome and arch
Leading, with eyes ablaze,
Onward the Patriots' March,
Singing the Marseillaise.

Lo, where with trembling lyre,
Held in his long white hands,
Thrilled by the glance of fire,
Rapt the Musician stands;

Feeling thee all around
Glow in the quiv'ring air—
Luminous Soul of Sound!
Music of all things fair!

Anchorite, pale and worn,
Sees thee, and earth disowns—
Lifted on prayer, and borne
Up to the Shining Thrones.

Yea, as the seraph-star
Chanting in ecstasy,
Singing in fire afar,
So he beholdeth thee.

And, as in darksome mines,
Far down a corridor,
Starlike a small lamp shines,
Raying along the floor—

So, ere his race is run,
Parted his last faint breath,
Thou, for the dying one,
Lightest the ways of Death;

And, while his kindred mourn
Over his shell of clay,
Shinest beyond the bourne,
Dawn of his first new day.

Thus through the lives to be
We shall fare, each alone,
Evermore lured by thee
Unto an End unknown.
"Sorry, my tongue got in the way of my eye-tooth, and I couldn't see what I was saying..."
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KIBBONAFIDE
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Post by KIBBONAFIDE » April 25th, 2019, 10:43 am

To Women

Your hearts are lifted up, your hearts
That have foreknown the utter price.
Your hearts burn upward like a flame
Of splendour and of sacrifice.

For you, you too, to battle go,
Not with the marching drums and cheers
But in the watch of solitude
And through the boundless night of fears.

Swift, swifter than those hawks of war,
Those threatening wings that pulse the air,
Far as the vanward ranks are set,
You are gone before them, you are there!

And not a shot comes blind with death
And not a stab of steel is pressed
Home, but invisibly it tore
And entered first a woman’s breast.

Amid the thunder of the guns,
The lightnings of the lance and sword,
Your hope, your dread, your throbbing pride,
Your infinite passion is outpoured

From hearts that are as one high heart
Withholding naught from doom and bale,
Burningly offered up, -to bleed,
To bear, to break, but not to fail!

LAURENCE BINYON


From Valour and vision : poems of the war, 1914-1918, Page 20
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc1.$b116154;view=1up;seq=44
Josh Kibbey

msfry
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Post by msfry » April 28th, 2019, 10:41 am

Here's one I'd be pleased to BC some time.

The Penitent
Edna St Vincent Millay

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/59167/59167-h/59167-h.htm#p_29

I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us all within;
And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,
“And, Little Sin, pray God to die,
And I upon the floor will lie
And think how bad I’ve been!”

Alas for pious planning—
It mattered not a whit!
As far as gloom went in that room,
The lamp might have been lit!
My Little Sorrow would not weep,
My Little Sin would go to sleep—
To save my soul I could not keep
My graceless mind on it!

So up I got in anger,
And took a book I had,
And put a ribbon on my hair
To please a passing lad.
And, “One thing there’s no getting by—
I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;
“But if I can’t be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!”
Michele Fry, CC
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"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." ~Winston Churchill

aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » May 4th, 2019, 5:30 pm

msfry wrote:
April 28th, 2019, 10:41 am
Here's one I'd be pleased to BC some time.

The Penitent
Edna St Vincent Millay

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/59167/59167-h/59167-h.htm#p_29
You can set this up a the next weekly if you wish Michele, starting tomorrow. :D
David Lawrence

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

msfry
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Post by msfry » May 4th, 2019, 7:42 pm

aradlaw wrote:
May 4th, 2019, 5:30 pm
msfry wrote:
April 28th, 2019, 10:41 am
Here's one I'd be pleased to BC some time.

The Penitent
Edna St Vincent Millay

http://www.gutenberg.org/files/59167/59167-h/59167-h.htm#p_29
You can set this up a the next weekly if you wish Michele, starting tomorrow. :D
Done
Michele Fry, CC
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"Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." ~Winston Churchill

KevinS
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Post by KevinS » May 26th, 2019, 9:41 am

I would like to recommend Ogden Nash's famous poem about the Bronx. (Wink.)
E agora, José?

aradlaw
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Post by aradlaw » May 26th, 2019, 9:54 am

KevinS wrote:
May 26th, 2019, 9:41 am
I would like to recommend Ogden Nash's famous poem about the Bronx. (Wink.)
Ogden Nash is not quite PD yet, having died in 1971. We will have to wait awhile for his work to become available to us.
David Lawrence

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

KevinS
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Post by KevinS » May 26th, 2019, 10:00 am

aradlaw wrote:
May 26th, 2019, 9:54 am
KevinS wrote:
May 26th, 2019, 9:41 am
I would like to recommend Ogden Nash's famous poem about the Bronx. (Wink.)
Ogden Nash is not quite PD yet, having died in 1971. We will have to wait awhile for his work to become available to us.
Valid point, indeed. I think of him as belonging to the world!
E agora, José?

rumpledpoetry
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Post by rumpledpoetry » June 7th, 2019, 2:51 pm

May I suggest Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night by Mr. Walt Whitman?

Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return’d with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach’d up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev’d to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade—not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear’d,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop’d well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten’d,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.

https://www.bartleby.com/142/122.html

KevinS
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Post by KevinS » June 18th, 2019, 4:20 pm

I would like to suggest something a little off beat. https://archive.org/details/poemsandportrai00marqgoog/page/n66

The Tom-Cat

At midnight in the alley
A Tom-cat comes to wail,
And he chants the hate of a million years
As he swings his snaky tail.

Malevolent, bony, brindled
Tiger and devil and bard,
His eyes are coals from the middle of Hell
And his heart is black and hard.

He twists and crouches and capers
And bares his curved sharp claws,
And he sings to the stars of the jungle nights
Ere cities were, or laws.

Beast from world primeval,
He and his leaping clan,
When the blotched red moon leers over the roofs,
Give voice to their scorn of man.

He will lie on a rug to-morrow
And lick his silky fur,
And veil the brute in his yellow eyes
And play he's tame, and purr.

But at midnight in the alley
He will crouch again and wail,
And beat the time for his demon's song
With the swing of his demon's tail.

Don Marquis
E agora, José?

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