The Poetry Pantry Is Now Open! - #98

The Poetry Pantry

2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares

Anything goes!! All Poems, all Poets, All Week!!

Do you have a poem you would like to share? Something that you just felt inspired to write and want others to read. Perhaps it’s a poem that didn’t get as much exposure on your blog as you would have liked. Maybe it’s a poem that you wrote a long time ago that you would like people to revisit. That’s what this section of Poets United is for.

Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to anything you want us to read, anything at all related to poetry or prose found on your own poetry blogs. It will remain open all week so that you can show us your writings and thoughts. You can post links weekly should you chose to do so. What poetry you put here is up to you so don't be afraid to share with us!!

There 3 simple rules:

1. Don’t link to more than 3 poems per week.

2. Please visit some of the other poems linked here when you link to yours.

3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.

I Wish I'd Written This

We have just had Anzac Day in Australia, when we remember those of our people who fell in wars, and celebrate those who returned. Leading up to it, there has been a 10-minute segment on national TV every night, about indigenous people who served in our armed forces. One was a young woman called Kathleen Ruska. When she married, she became Kath Walker, a name she made famous; later she rejected a name which came from white colonialism, to embrace the tribal name by which she became even more famous: Oodgeroo Noonuccal (1920 –1993). 

She wrote several poems I’d like to have written, this one most of all (which I once had the pleasure of hearing her read):

We Are Going 

For Grannie Coolwell

They came into the little town

A semi-naked band subdued and silent,

All that remained of their tribe.

They came here to the place of their old bora ground

Where now the many white men hurry about like ants.

Notice of estate agent reads: 'Rubbish May Be Tipped Here'.

Now it half covers the traces of the old bora ring.
They sit and are confused, they cannot say their thoughts:

'We are as strangers here now, but the white tribe are the strangers.

We belong here, we are of the old ways.

We are the corroboree and the bora ground,

We are the old sacred ceremonies, the laws of the elders.

We are the wonder tales of Dream Time, the tribal legends told.

We are the past, the hunts and the laughing games, the wandering camp fires.

We are the lightning bolt over Gaphembah Hill

Quick and terrible,

And the Thunder after him, that loud fellow.

We are the quiet daybreak paling the dark lagoon.

We are the shadow-ghosts creeping back as the camp fires burn low.

We are nature and the past, all the old ways

Gone now and scattered.

The scrubs are gone, the hunting and the laughter.

The eagle is gone, the emu and the kangaroo are gone from this place.

The bora ring is gone.

The corroboree is gone.

And we are going.'

The first (but by no means the last) Australian Aboriginal poet to be published, she described her own work as ‘pure propaganda’ and ‘not the best but the best selling‘. I think she sold herself short. When this particular piece was first published, some critics said it wasn’t poetic enough! It was a kind of poetry we weren’t used to then, but has stood the test of time.

She was also known as an activist for her people. The back cover blurb of one of her books, My People, says: ‘... when her poetry was first published in the sixties, it began a new phase in the communication between peoples in Australia. For the first time a Black Australian had analysed and judged white Australians as well as her own people.’ 

She wrote powerfully for Reconciliation too, but many of her dreams of justice and harmony have yet to be realised. 

You can read many of her poems here, where you can also find details of her life. A few poems are available for download here, and there is also a video clip.  I like the brief account of her life here, because it speaks of her relationship to her birth country.

Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

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Further to last week’s non-post, things in my personal life are almost resolved — for the best in practical if not emotional terms. You can find some anguished poems about it at my Passionate Crone blog, and a prose account here.

The Think Tank Thursday #94 Wonder

I thought it would be fun to play with the word wonder. What comes to  mind when you hear the word?

I think of the wonder of a sunset, the wonder of a brand new child, the wonder of laughter, the wonder of love, and so on.  Wonder makes you wonder and than it is attached to wonderful, so how can we not appreciate this word.  It is a wonder....lol.  My lame attempt at humor again. I wonder if you will get use to it?!   

 

 

Spread Your Wings by ~JonasKr

Deep blue by ~buleria

sun sets daily.. love never by ~sinanTR

  

Hand In Hand by ~eracer34

Sweet Slumber II by ~JonasKr

 

 Poetry is a deal of joy and pain and wonder, with a dash of the dictionary.
Khalil Gibran

 

I know I changed it up a bit today!   Today is Poem in Your Pocket Day.You can read more about it here.  I think I might give this a go today. It will make some people wonder ;D

If you have a prompt idea (even a Music or Film inspired one) that you would like to suggest or share with us please send it to poetsunited@ymail.com . We keep a folder set aside with all your suggestions and just might use it one day.

There 3 simple rules:

1. Don’t link to more than 3 poems per week.

2. Please visit some of the other poems linked here when you link to yours.

3. Leave a comment after you have posted your link.

Life of a Poet - S.E. Ingraham

Kids, today we shall visit what our poet calls “the coldest place on the planet” (what, colder than WINNIPEG??), Edmonton, Alberta, where my fellow Canadian, S.E. Ingraham, of The Poet Treehouse, lives. We Canadians love to talk about the weather, you may have noticed, especially this year, when we are living the Winter That Never Ends. So hot chocolate is our beverage of choice this morning. Come sit by the fire, (yes, I know it is April Everywhere Else!) and we'll hear what life is like at Sharon's house.

Poets United: Sharon, so nice of you to invite us into your life. Would you like to set the scene for us? Does where you live make you happy or is it a stopping place on the way to somewhere else?

Classic Poetry - "Life" by William Drummond

William Drummond (1585–1649)

Life 
 
This Life, which seems so fair,

is like a bubble blown up in the air

by sporting children’s breath,

who chase it everywhere

and strive who can most motion it bequeath.
       
And though it sometimes seem of its own might

like to an eye of gold to be fix’d there,

and firm to hover in that empty height,

that only is because it is so light.

But in that pomp it doth not long appear;
        
for when ’tis most admired, in a thought,

because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

Sir William Drummond was well educated, earning his M.A. and a law degree. Devoted to a branch of the royal family, The Stuarts, he is fabled to have died from grief after the passing of Charles I. His poetry was popular with the bourgeois during the Elizabethan revival at the end of the eighteenth century.
Some have ventured a genealogical connection to Lady Diana Spencer.

I Wish I'd Written This

...is not happening this week. I am in the middle of a family crisis.

— Rosemary

The Think Tank Thursday #93 Quotes

                            

Happiness Quote by ~cho-oka

             
Yes, you read it correctly! ;D   Since it is National Poetry Month I thought we should push our boundaries. I see you nodding your heads, but you question how will we do this?!   You will select a favorite quote or one that speaks to you at this moment in time. Pen a poem inspired by the quote you have selected. Please share the quote you selected with the poem. I'm betting on some insightful poems. I wonder if a few of us will pick the same quote?! 

 I want to bid a fond farewell to one of our own, The Tired Monk is taking a hiatus.  I, for one will miss his voice. We can hope the Tired Monk will write a book. Let's hope he isn't too tired.

quotes for life by ~keturavamp

I know this challenge seems hard, but I think it will create so many different thoughts and ideas. It gives us a chance to stretch and flex our writing wings.  Go with a quote, that attracts your attention or strikes a nerve. Emotion will help bring your voice to life.



These are photos, you can use them if you like, but I think it best to pick one that suits you.

 

right quote by ~PandosRulz

 

If you have a prompt idea (even a Music or Film inspired one) that you would like to suggest or share with us please send it to poetsunited@ymail.com . We keep a folder set aside with all your suggestions and just might use it one day.

There 3 simple rules:

1. Don’t link to more than 3 poems per week.

2. Please visit some of the other poems linked here when you link to yours.

3. Leave a comment after you have posted your link.


 

 

The Life of a Poet - John G. Evans

Kids, today we are zipping down to Texas, to visit with John G. Evans, of The Poetry Bungalow. John is one of those fellows who is always kind, pleasant and genuine. He makes a wonderfully positive contribution on-line, and I'm so stoked he agreed to sit down with us today. I am posting this a little early (my time) because for many of you, it is already Wednesday. 

Poets United: John, so wonderful to meet you! Would you like to tell us a little about your family, and what part of the world you live in?

John: My lovely wife Judith and I live in the US; Texas to be exact. I have lived here for over 40 years, now; my wife and I have been married for almost 3 years; thus, she has only lived in this state for a little over 3 years. I have lived all over the US growing up as a small boy, but this is where we settled. I also lived in Germany as a small child, which is where I have the fondest memories.

The Poetry Pantry Is Now Open! - #97

The Poetry Pantry

2nd Chance Poems or 1st time shares

Anything goes!! All Poems, all Poets, All Week!!

Do you have a poem you would like to share? Something that you just felt inspired to write and want others to read. Perhaps it’s a poem that didn’t get as much exposure on your blog as you would have liked. Maybe it’s a poem that you wrote a long time ago that you would like people to revisit. That’s what this section of Poets United is for.

Each Sunday we start a new post with a New Mr. Linky for you. This is so that you can post a link to anything you want us to read, anything at all related to poetry or prose found on your own poetry blogs. It will remain open all week so that you can show us your writings and thoughts. You can post links weekly should you chose to do so. What poetry you put here is up to you so don't be afraid to share with us!!

There 3 simple rules:

1. Don’t link to more than 3 poems per week.

2. Please visit some of the other poems linked here when you link to yours.

3. Leave a comment after you have posted
your link.

I Wish I'd Written This

the identification

By Roger McGough

So you think its Stephen?
Then I'd best make sure
Be on the safe side as it were.
Ah, theres been a mistake. The hair
you see, its black, now Stephens fair ...
Whats that? The explosion?
Of course, burnt black. Silly of me.
I should have known. Then lets get on.

The face, is that the face I ask?
that mask of charred wood
blistered scarred could
that have been a child's face?
The sweater, where intact, looks
in fact all too familiar.
But one must be sure.

The scoutbelt. Yes thats his.
I recognise the studs he hammered in
not a week ago. At the age
when boys get clothes-conscious
now you know. Its almost
certainly Stephen. But one must
be sure. Remove all trace of doubt.
Pull out every splinter of hope.

Pockets. Empty the pockets.
Handkerchief? Could be any schoolboy's.
Dirty enough. Cigarettes?
Oh this can't be Stephen.
I dont allow him to smoke you see.
He wouldn't disobey me. Not his father.
But that's his penknife. Thats his alright.
And thats his key on the keyring
Gran gave him just the other night.
Then this must be him.

I think I know what happened
... ... about the cigarettes
No doubt he was minding them
for one of the older boys.
Yes thats it.
Thats him.
Thats our Stephen.

I expect this English (Liverpudlian) poet may be better known to many of you than others I’ve featured. He’s one of the more famous of my selections, also well-known in performance.

What makes me wish to have been capable of the heart-rending tragedy in the above poem is, in particular, the way he gets right inside the skin of the protagonist, via the authentic language. Well, the poem speaks for itself, powerfully, so I'll say no more about that.

What I will note is my surprise when I first came across it, because it seemed so out of character. McGough is best known for his humorous verses, which are so deft, quirky and unlike anyone else’s that one almost forgets they are often, also, biting social commentary.

For example, and by way of contrast, another of my favourites:

Poem for a dead poet

He was a poet he was.
A proper poet.
He said things
that made you think
and said them nicely.
He saw things
that you or I
could never see
and saw them clearly.
He had a way
with language.
Images flocked around
him like birds,
St Francis, he was,
of the words. Words?
Why he could almost make ‘em talk.


How’s that for a ‘Kapow!’?

You can find more of McGough’s poems at PoemHunter and there’s a free down-loadable ebook in pdf.

Here’s a list of his books in print (for both adults and children)  and you can get his Collected Poems through Amazon.

Poems and photos used in ‘I Wish I’d Written This’ remain the property of the copyright holders (usually their authors).

This poto is credited to Tony Hardacre and is cleared for use in publicising McGough's poetry.