Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Love

Fraternal love (Prehispanic sculpture from 250–900 AD, of Huastec origin). 
Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, 

how much the heart can hold.” 
― Zelda Fitzgerald

“I don't trust people who don't love themselves and tell me,

'I love you.' ... There is an African saying  which is:        

Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.” 

― Maya Angelou

“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, 

it has to be made, like bread; remade

 all the time, made new.” 

― Ursula K. Le Guin

"Ai," the traditional Chinese character
for love (愛) consists of a heart (心, middle)
 inside of "accept," "feel," or "perceive," (受)
which shows a graceful emotion.
It can also be interpreted as a hand
offering one's heart to another hand.

Midweek Motif ~ Love

Would we be poets and never speak of love?  

Yesterday some of us celebrated Valentine's Day.  

I celebrated my BFF's birthday.  She collects Birthday/Valentine cards, but so few are made that I rarely find one.  

But LOVE!  Is that rare too?  

Can we celebrate it daily?  What do you wish 

you had said to someone yesterday?  

Your Challenge:  Deeply and with a few pointed words, speak of love in a new poem.

Comment by Dorothy Parker

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,

A medley of extemporanea;

And love is a thing that can never go wrong;

And I am Marie of Roumania.

❣

                                  A Red, Red Rose BY ROBERT BURNS

O my Luve is like a red, red rose 

   That’s newly sprung in June; 

O my Luve is like the melody 

   That’s sweetly played in tune. 

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

   So deep in luve am I; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

   Till a’ the seas gang dry. 

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, 

   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun; 

I will love thee still, my dear, 

   While the sands o’ life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

   And fare thee weel awhile! 

And I will come again, my luve, 

   Though it were ten thousand mile.

❦

Parkinson’s Disease  BY GALWAY KINNELL

While spoon-feeding him with one hand   

she holds his hand with her other hand,   

or rather lets it rest on top of his, 

which is permanently clenched shut.   

When he turns his head away, she reaches   

around and puts in the spoonful blind.   

He will not accept the next morsel 

until he has completely chewed this one.   

His bright squint tells her he finds 

the shrimp she has just put in delicious. 

Next to the voice and touch of those we love,   



food may be our last pleasure on earth— 

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE.)





💗

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

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BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 

For the ends of being and ideal grace. 

I love thee to the level of every day’s 

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for right; 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. 

I love thee with the passion put to use 

In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 

With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, 

Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death.

💕

Excerpt from King Lear
CORDELIA

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
According to my bond; no more nor less.



Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

 💖




Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—  


(Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Nostalgia)

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Human Rights (Day)

"I call on States to honour their obligation 

to protect human rights every day of the year. 

I call on people to hold their governments to account."

~ UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon

Midweek Motif ~ 

Human Rights (Day)

Today is Human Rights Day. Have you read the Universal Declaration of Human Rights?? I love #22. The document itself is an achievement.


Your Challenge: 

(1)Write a poem inspired by 

Ban Ki-Moon's challenge above.

OR:  

(2)Write a poem that answers 

one or more of these questions while staying within the "human rights" motif:

~ What is Human?

~ What are Rights?

~ What can/has uniting nations accomplished for human rights?

~ How do your dinner plans for tonight reflect Human rights?

HUMAN RIGHTS ACCORDING TO ELEANOR ROOSEVELT:

Where after all do universal human rights begin? In small places, closes to home - so close and so small that they cannot be seen on any map of the world. Yet they are the world of the individual person: The neighborhood he lives in; the school or college he attends; the factory, farm or office where he works. Such are the places where every man, woman, and child seeks equal justice, equal opportunity, equal dignity without discrimination. Unless these rights have meaning there, they have little meaning anywhere. Without concerted citizen action to uphold them close to home, we shall look in vain for progress in the larger world.

― Eleanor Roosevelt

Remarks at the United Nations, March 27, 1958

“While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.” 
― Robert Burns, 
The Complete Works Of Robert Burns

For those who are new to Poets United:  

1. Post your new Human Rights poem on your site, and then link it here.
2. If you use a picture include its link.  
3. Share only original and new work written for this challenge. 
4. Leave a comment here.
5. Visit and comment on our poems.

(Next week's Midweek Motif will be the last one this year.  Our motif will be MUSIC in honor of Beethovan's birthday and the choral songs that arise around holidays and year's end ... )

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The Living Dead

Honouring our poetic ancestors

A Red, Red, Rose

By Robert Burns (1759-1796)

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June;

O my Luve's like the melodie

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I:

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun:

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve

And fare thee well, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 

I said to a friend earlier today that poets don't become celebrities. I have to admit, this one did — though, like most, even more so after his death.  

Reading the Wikipedia article (link on his name, above) I've just discovered that his wide popularity is not only in the English-speaking world but also in Russia where, in translation, he was regarded as a poet of the people. Which indeed he was.

I'm sorry if it's disappointing that I chose a poem many of you will know well. It's hard to choose a Burns poem that isn't familiar, but this one is probably his best-known. I didn't set out to pick this one, but couldn't go past it; it really is so beautiful. I think it rivals "Greensleeves" as the ultimate love poem. And like that one it is a song. Burns wrote songs as well as poems, and adapted or rewrote Scottish folk songs.

Should I have mentioned that he was a Scot? I think that too is very well-known. The funny spelling in the poem above is because it's written in a Scottish accent. If you'd like to hear it sung, Kenneth McKellar was long considered the best interpreter, but I just listened to Bryn Terfel and thought his wonderful voice gave an even better performance. Then I heard Scottish folk singer Karen Matheson (who used the simple expedient of changing the word "lass" to "love" to turn it into a woman's song) and thought yes, it was really meant to be sung simply like this, rather than the operatic treatment. Well, take your pick! They're all gorgeous. And after all it's the poetry I'm here to discuss rather than the music.

Burns is one of the most musical of poets, however. Which is not surprising, considering that many of his poems were in fact songs. Yet the music is not only in the tunes but the lyrics. Simple words, these, but how beautiful! And how timeless the sentiments. A million greeting cards try to get this effect and fail.

You can find more of his poems at PoemHunter (what would we do without PoemHunter?) and on his Amazon page you can find his poems, songs and letters in abundance, as well as biographical and critical works about him.

Burns was the fore-runner of the Romantic poets, and A Red, Red Rose is perhaps the most perfect expression of romantic love. Like some of the Romantics, he was not the most faithful lover, but was clearly a passionate one. I'm sure he truly loved the two most important women in his life: his wife Jean Armour who bore him many children, and Mary Campbell who died young of typhus.

Burns himself didn't live long. It's surprising to realise he was only 37 when he died, and even more surprising that he managed to create such a body of writing (including prose) even while having to work hard — and not very successfully — for a living.

And I'm wrong — A Red, Red Rose is not his very best-known poem. Think of him next time you sing Auld Lang Syne.

Classic Poetry - "On a Bank of Flowers" by Robert Burns

Robert Burns
1759 - 1796


As the season heats up, how could I not post a poem highlighting classic summer love?

With "On a Bank of Flowers," Robert Burns sets a breathtaking summer scene and tells a complete tale of distant yearning, admiration, encounter and resolution in a mere four stanzas.

On a Bank of Flowers

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
For summer lightly drest,
The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
With love and sleep opprest;
When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,
Who for her favour oft had sued;
He gaz'd, he wish'd
He fear'd, he blush'd,
And trembled where he stood.

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd,
Were seal'd in soft repose;
Her lip, still as she fragrant breath'd,
It richer dyed the rose;
The springing lilies, sweetly prest,
Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast;
He gaz'd, he wish'd,
He mear'd, he blush'd,
His bosom ill at rest.

Her robes, light-waving in the breeze,
Her tender limbs embrace;
Her lovely form, her native ease,
All harmony and grace;
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
He gaz'd, he wish'd,
He fear'd, he blush'd,
And sigh'd his very soul.

As flies the partridge from the brake,
On fear-inspired wings,
So Nelly, starting, half-awake,
Away affrighted springs;
But Willie follow'd-as he should,
He overtook her in the wood;
He vow'd, he pray'd,
He found the maid
Forgiving all, and good.


Nelly and Willie must have lived happily ever after, don't you think?