Weekly/Fortnightly Poetry Suggestions

[Ambsweet13]

I think this one might be nice to do for a weekly or fortnightly poem.
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2679

IN THE GARDEN.
A bird came down the walk:

He did not know I saw;

He bit an angle-worm in halves

And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew

From a convenient grass,

And then hopped sidewise to the wall

To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes

That hurried all abroad, —

They looked like frightened beads, I thought;

He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,

I offered him a crumb,

And he unrolled his feathers

And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,

Too silver for a seam,

Or butterflies, off banks of noon,

Leap, splashless, as they swim.

[aradlaw]

Hi Michele, you are welcome to BC next weekend when the current Fortnightly is finished.

Okay. Just to confirm, it should go up on Sunday the 16th? And end at midnight on Saturday the 29th of April?

Yes, that would be fine.

[TriciaG]

Did you know there are more stanzas to Home on the Range by Brewster Higley?
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=nnc1.cu11954965&view=1up&seq=67 (pages 67-68)

[Owlivia]

Invictus" is a short poem by the Victorian era British poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). It was written in 1875 and published in 1888 in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section Life and Death (Echoes).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus

Invictus
BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

[alanmapstone]

Hi David
I would like to suggest the following as a fortnightly poem. If accepted I would be happy to BC it. I can provide a PD source.

TROY by Charles Williams (1886-1945)

I. ANDROMACHE
In Ilion fifty towers are set, whereof
Hector, that strongest, who is set to be
A warning and a terror toward the sea,
Is glad at heart on this day's dawn for love :
To whom with music through the temples move
Feet of a maiden, maiden-circled, she
Whose name being called of men Andromache
Gleams like white Pergamos all peers' names above.

Troy many-palaced, single-lorded Troy,
Virgin like Pallas' spear to Pallas' grip.
Like Aphrodite land-poised from the tide,
Joyous and crowned city, this new joy
By Hector's hand crowns and by Priam's lip
Salutes, and as in bridal hails the bride.

II. HELEN
Not thee alone, Helen, did thy new lord
Through that long night in thy Greek palace woo,
But his own native city's false hands drew
In thine from law, broke in thy troth her word :
Wherefore she knows thee now and does accord
To thee full honour, swears herself anew
Thine and thy leman's lover, brings thereto
Skill of war-chariot, cunning of the sword.

Ascend upon the walls, Helen, and look,
Companioned by the young Andromache,
Thither where, far beyond Scamander's brook,
The lawless, lustful, fierce barbarians dwell
Turn thyself then, gaze northward, canst thou tell
How far off is that line of shore, that sea ?

III. HECUBA
Didst thou grow old, Troy, as thy queen grew old,
Honoured in sons, rich in kings' amity,
Lady of households, till there came to thee Argos and Ithaca with commandment cold ?
Whose faces ever now thy dreams behold
Storm through thy walls with shouts to victory,
Whom each new morn dreads lest that morn should see
Such end as thy mad daughter hath foretold.

Shall Helen comfort thee at all, O queen ? Or shall her beauty willingly be seen
For whose old lord's sake each new fight is won ?
Or her voice break the echo heard in thee
Of Priam's feet before thy gate when he
Bore Hector home, in guard of Thetis' son ?

IV. CASSANDRA
Queen Hecuba is dead and no more known ;
The slave Andromache by Pyrrhus' chair
Waits ; only now still by a royal stair
The feet of Helen mount her royal throne
Whose eyes, whose mouth have mocked thy sight, thy moan,
How oft, Cassandra ! since in thy despair
Were none sure-hearted through Troy's bounds to share,
Save some few old men, blind, morose, alone.

O Troy, whose name was once Andromache,
Helen, while wantonly thou didst rejoice,
Hecuba, ere thou yet hadst ceased to reign.
What shalt thou be more than a cry of pain
Hereafter through the nations, than the voice
Of a prophetess in her adversity ?

Charles Williams was one of the Inklings, an Oxford based group of writers which included J.R.R.Tolkien and C.S.Lewis. I am going to run his collection Poems of Conformity sometime but would like to do this one first.

[aradlaw]

Thanks Alan, this would be a great addition. May 28 would be the next Fortnightly start date.

[Owlivia]

Invictus" is a short poem by the Victorian era British poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). It was written in 1875 and published in 1888 in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section Life and Death (Echoes).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus

Invictus
BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Any date scheduled for this poem?

[TriciaG]

Invictus" is a short poem by the Victorian era British poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). It was written in 1875 and published in 1888 in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section Life and Death (Echoes).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus

Any date scheduled for this poem?

It's running now: viewtopic.php?t=98121

[Owlivia]

Invictus" is a short poem by the Victorian era British poet William Ernest Henley (1849–1903). It was written in 1875 and published in 1888 in his first volume of poems, Book of Verses, in the section Life and Death (Echoes).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invictus

Any date scheduled for this poem?

It's running now: viewtopic.php?t=98121

Great! Sorry, didn’t see the update!

[alanmapstone]

Thanks Alan, this would be a great addition. May 28 would be the next Fortnightly start date.

Hi David
Sorry to be a nuisance but can I defer my fortnightly poem for 2 weeks. I have to go hospital next week and may be unavailable for a few days.
Perhaps I could take the next slot on June 11th?

[aradlaw]

No problem Alan, all the best.

[kristiesanger26]

Hi All,

I wanted to read this poem by Kathrine Mansfield a New Zealand poet from 1888.

I'll try to get this in by June 16th.


Thanks you guys,


-Ani

A Few Rules for Beginners

BY KATHERINE MANSFIELD

Babies must not eat the coal
And they must not make grimaces,
Nor in party dresses roll
And must never black their faces.

They must learn that pointing’s rude,
They must sit quite still at table,
And must always eat the food
Put before them—if they’re able.

If they fall, they must not cry,
Though it’s known how painful this is;
No—there’s always Mother by
Who will comfort them with kisses.

[kristiesanger26]

Hi aradlaw,

I have uploaded my poem for listening review. Here is the URL.

https://librivox.org/uploads/aradlaw/a_few_rules_for_beginners_katherine_mansfield_kristiesanger_26.mp3

(Please let me know if I have placed this in the wrong thread and I will correct it.)

Thank you,

-Ani

[TriciaG]

Hi aradlaw,

I have uploaded my poem for listening review. Here is the URL.

https://librivox.org/uploads/aradlaw/a_few_rules_for_beginners_katherine_mansfield_kristiesanger_26.mp3

(Please let me know if I have placed this in the wrong thread and I will correct it.)

Thank you,

-Ani

I'll jump in.

This isn't a project thread; this thread is for suggesting poems for the weekly and fortnightly poetry projects.

I think the best place for your poem would be in the Short Poetry Collection, here: viewtopic.php?t=98371

Be sure to name the file as described in the first post, and upload it to the folder named.

[msfry]

Ran across this poem today, regarding forest fires (from the tree's point of view), and it spoke to me. Maybe it's too long for a weekly or fortnightly, but here it is.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/64548/64548-h/64548-h.htm#I_138

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64548
(1877 - 1955)

THE GHOST-TREES, Anthony Euwer, copyright 1923

We are the stricken—those who died
But did not fall. Once, side by side,
We burned and bled—
We are the countless standing dead.
Not like the Capuchins, cowl-topped,
Dried in their cerements, stiff-propped
And postured in the charnel gloom
Of some deep-caverned chapel-room,
But in the full, white light of day
We stand—gaunt, naked, gray—
Close-locked in death,
Yet ever with the breath
Of life around us. We can see
The quickened green of each young tree,
Their bobbing heads
Upcrowding at our feet; and beds
Of paint-brush and the blue
Of lupine. Years renew
Their seasons—dust and rain and snow.
For us dawns glow,
And setting suns transfuse our cold
And ashen palor into gold;
Moons rise, and then
We all are turned to ghosts again.

We are the stricken—those who died
But did not fall. Once, side by side,
We burned and bled—
We are the countless standing dead.
We look upon some mighty fir,
Remembering ourselves that were;
It was a lightning flash that came,
And flame
Encircled us. All night
The sky was crimson with our light.
Day dawned upon the hills—the sun rose red,
It saw the dying and the dead,
The vast, uncounted dead—and over all,
A smoky pall
That wavered in the wind. We did not fall—
We did not fall, like some—magnificent in strength
Who measured out their length,
Still smouldering, upon the ash-heaped mat
Of earth—we were not burned enough for that.

Years passed
Our dried bark cracked—at last
It flaked and fell. In high distress
We were—gaunt in our nakedness.
So have we stood—
The gray ghost-brotherhood,
We who have burned and bled
But did not fall—the standing dead.