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Weekly poetry thread.
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Kangi Ska
Half-elven


Nov 3 2012, 5:44pm

Post #26 of 34 (81 views)
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All of my life [In reply to] Can't Post

I have collected stones and fossils. It connects me to our Earth-mother.

Kangi Ska Resident Trickster & Wicked White Crebain
Life is an adventure, not a contest.

At night you can not tell if crows are black or white.
Photobucket



Aunt Dora Baggins
Half-elven


Nov 3 2012, 8:41pm

Post #27 of 34 (61 views)
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I have too! [In reply to] Can't Post

One of my favorites is a bit of snowflake obsidian I picked up on a beach in Quebec during a family vacation. It was polished smooth, and I always called it my "starstone", and it always reminded me of a lovely moonlight night my mom and I spent walking on that beach <3


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories

leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Kangi Ska
Half-elven


Nov 3 2012, 9:59pm

Post #28 of 34 (114 views)
Shortcut
Fab [In reply to] Can't Post

Your stone sounds perfect as does your memory that it evokes.

I wear a flint projectile point (best guess is that it is an atleatle spear thrower point) on a chain around my neck. I found it long long ago in Montana. It is a beautiful piece of stone art.

Kangi Ska Resident Trickster & Wicked White Crebain
Life is an adventure, not a contest.

At night you can not tell if crows are black or white.
Photobucket



(This post was edited by Kangi Ska on Nov 3 2012, 10:03pm)


Aunt Dora Baggins
Half-elven


Nov 3 2012, 11:46pm

Post #29 of 34 (84 views)
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This came up in my reading today. [In reply to] Can't Post

I've been reading "The Stand", and this poem is quoted in part by one of the characters.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories

leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



divine hobbit
The Shire


Nov 8 2012, 3:02am

Post #30 of 34 (44 views)
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reading Wild Geese [In reply to] Can't Post

is like seeing a piece of my soul outside of my body.

One of my favorite poems and poets.


divine hobbit
The Shire


Nov 8 2012, 3:05am

Post #31 of 34 (208 views)
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The Lanyard [In reply to] Can't Post

The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that's what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I , in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

~Billy Collins


Aunt Dora Baggins
Half-elven


Nov 8 2012, 4:56am

Post #32 of 34 (79 views)
Shortcut
I first heard that one in church. [In reply to] Can't Post

The minister's wife read it from the pulpit on Mother's Day. And I got teary-eyed because for some reason, though we seem to have a fine relationship, my grown son doesn't like Mother's Day. I finally had to tell him to send me a card this year, and he did, weeks late. But on the other hand, he'll do fun things with me, like fly kites or play board games or sit at the kitchen table typing with me for NaNoWriMo, so it's all good, I guess.

And I thought of how when he was little and I was trying to get my career going, my mom babysat, giving up her own attempt at starting a career after being a stay-at-home mom for decades. And in the selfishness of my youth, I let her do it with hardly a thought.

And when I read this poem, I also think of the one and only lanyard I ever made, in Camp Fire camp when I was eleven, and how my mom had been a Camp Fire Girl before me. There's a lot of stuff in this poem that really hits me.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories

leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Kangi Ska
Half-elven


Nov 8 2012, 5:19am

Post #33 of 34 (41 views)
Shortcut
The Boys [In reply to] Can't Post

The Boys


Beneath the limbs of an ancient willow,
At the dark of the warrior’s moon,
Round the heat of a guttering fire
They danced like shaved baboons

Sang taunting songs at the slavering monsters
That circled their small dome of light,

Spoke bold as a shield from their terror
Of what lurked in that wild dark night.

Kangi Ska

Kangi Ska Resident Trickster & Wicked White Crebain
Life is an adventure, not a contest.

At night you can not tell if crows are black or white.
Photobucket



Aunt Dora Baggins
Half-elven


Nov 8 2012, 1:19pm

Post #34 of 34 (58 views)
Shortcut
Great! [In reply to] Can't Post

I love the imagery.

Reminds me a bit of my jack-o-lantern poem:


Jack-o-Lantern

Jack-o-Lantern
Grotesque and beautiful,
Small and ancient deity,
Grim and golden guardian,
You only live one night
And yet you have lived a million years.

Thirty years ago
I walked through crackling parchment leaves
And thought of fleshless skeletons at my back
Reaching their bony hands
For my young, naked neck,
And ran home with small swift feet,
Pursued by the wonder and terror of death.
Your glowing face met me at my mother's door.

A thousand years ago
I followed the fairy fire
Away from the stone cathedral,
Through the dark churchyard,
And into the bog,
Where ghosts wandered,
And witches waited,
And only your glowing gargoyle eyes
Could guard me.

Ten thousand years ago
I stood in the sacred clearing.
The bonfire drove the shadows back
Into the dark forest.
And a voice keened on the moonlight
"Alas, alas, Balder the Beautiful is dead!"
And all around the world,
In golden temple,
And grass hut,
Your frightful face frightened away
The nameless terrors of the night.

A million years ago
I stood beside the river of fire
Flowing down from the distant, riven mountain.
My wide eyes glowed
Like Jack-o-Lantern eyes
With the strangeness of the fire.
You were not a pumpkin then,
Nor a hollowed turnip,
Nor even a stone fetish.
My hands had not yet learned the magic
Of shaping and burning.
But even then I saw your face,
Grotesque and beautiful,
Peering out between the leaves
Of that ancient jungle.

And still tonight you watch,
Ancient golden guardian
On my front porch.
It is not spirits I fear this night,
Unless they are human spirits
Gone strangely fierce and savage
In a world that forgets
The simplicity of light and darkness,
And the power of ancient guardians.

Karen Deal Robinson
Halloween, 1993


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"For DORA BAGGINS in memory of a LONG correspondence, with love from Bilbo; on a large wastebasket. Dora was Drogo's sister, and the eldest surviving female relative of Bilbo and Frodo; she was ninety-nine, and had written reams of good advice for more than half a century."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A Chance Meeting at Rivendell" and other stories

leleni at hotmail dot com
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


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