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Posts tagged ‘Poetry’

Aside

310. Light touches you only to shift into iridescence upon your body and wings. ~Excerpt from a poem by Louise Bogan


Bette A. Stevens:

Exquisite—poetry in motion! ~ Bette A. Stevens

Originally posted on Sacred Touches:

Today I saw the dragonfly
Come from the wells where he did lie.
An inner impulse rent the veil
Of his old husk: from head to tail
Came out clear plates of sapphire mail.
His dried wings: like gauze they grew;
Through crofts and pastures wet with dew
A living flash of light he flew.
~Lord Alfred Tennyson

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What an absolutely exquisite creature!  Such as this winged beauty are so stunningly wondrous that I’m almost left speechless when I see them.  Not only are they breathtaking in form and beauty but they are also valued predators in controlling populations of harmful insects.  And the fact that their oldest known relatives date back over 300 million years ago seldom fails to bring forward for me images of what earth’s pristine splendor must have been like in the beginning.  In addition I find it fascinating that they have been a subject of…

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Choose Something Like a Star, poem by Robert Frost


Bette A. Stevens:

Happy star-gazing! ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

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CHOOSE SOMETHING LIKE A STAR
by Robert Frost

O Star (the fairest one in sight),

We grant your loftiness the right

To some obscurity of cloud –

It will not do to say of night,

Since dark is what brings out your light.

Some mystery becomes the proud.

But to be wholly taciturn

In your reserve is not allowed.

Say something to us we can learn

By heart and when alone repeat.

Say something! And it says “I burn.”

But say with what degree of heat.

Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade.

Use language we can comprehend.

Tell us what elements you blend.

It gives us strangely little aid,

But does tell something in the end.

And steadfast as Keats’ Eremite,

Not even stooping from its sphere,

It asks a little of us here.

It asks of us a certain height,

So when at times the mob is swayed

To carry praise…

View original 81 more words

183. Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me? ~Walt Whitman


Bette A. Stevens:

Need some inspiration? There’s nothing like Nature, a little Walt Whitman and a bit of Shakespeare, too… ~ Bette A. Stevens http://www.4writersandreaders.com

 

Originally posted on Sacred Touches:

And this our life,
exempt from public haunt,
finds tongues in trees,
books in running brooks,
sermons in stones,
and good in everything.
~William Shakespeare

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Standing beneath the Shumard Red Oak made me feel like I was standing in a temple of the Most High.  The breeze was ruffling its leaves, and they in turn were prompting sacred tongues to utter incantations of their divine purpose.  For though the leaves face eminent extinction and expulsion from the branches, in their dying they’ll fall and create warm blankets to cover the ground.  In so doing they will protect the life that lies beneath the surface during winter’s cold, cold days.  Even at the close of winter their goodness will not be at an end for as they deteriorate, the remaining bits and pieces will add nutrients to enhance the soil.  Thus goes the circle of life and the interdependency of all…

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Peregrine Falcon, New York City, poem by Robert Cording


Bette A. Stevens:

Inspiration in the midst of day-to-day humdrum! ~ Bette A. Stevens

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

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PEREGRINE FALCON, NEW YORK CITY
By Robert Cording

On the 65th floor where he wrote
Advertising copy, joking about
The erotic thrall of words that had
No purpose other than to make
Far too many buy far too much,
He stood one afternoon face to face
With a falcon that veered on the blade
Of its wings and plummeted, then
Swerved to a halt, wings hovering.
 
An office of computers clicked
Behind him.  Below, the silence
Of the miniature lunch time crowds
And toy-like taxis drifting without
Resolve to the will of others.
This bird’s been brought in, he thought,
To clean up the city’s dirty problems
Of too many pigeons.  It’s a hired beak.
 
Still he remained at the tinted glass
Windows, watching as the falcon
Gave with such purpose its self
To the air that carried it, its sheer falls
Breaking the mirrored self-reflections
Of glass…

View original 261 more words

Windy Nights, poem by Robert Louis Stevenson


Bette A. Stevens:

Poem perfect for a windy autumn night! ~ Bette A. Stevens

 

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

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WINDY NIGHTS
by Robert Louis Stevenson

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
            Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
            A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
 
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
            And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
            By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again. 

PAINTING: “Windy Night” by Marilyn Jacobson, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Prints available at fineartamerica.com.

EDITOR’S NOTE: A fascinating project about Scottish author Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894) is currently in the works — a film about his life in San Francisco, with a screenplay by G.E. Gallas. Find out more at gegallas.wordpress.com.

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Rhapsody on a Windy Night, poem by T.S. Eliot


Bette A. Stevens:

Love T.S. Eliot. Just right for a windy night… Bette A. Stevens

 

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

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RHAPSODY ON A WINDY NIGHT (Excerpt)
by T.S. Eliot

Twelve o’clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions.
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium…
***
Editor’s Note: “As a madman shakes a dead geranium” — what a stunning line! T.S. Eliot never ceases to amaze…

Read “Rhapsody on a Windy Night” in its entirety at poets.org.

Painting by Mike Grubb, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Find more of the artist’s work at fineartamerica.com.

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Aside

ARTISTRY an autumn poem by Bette A. Stevens


 

Autumm's Artistry

Celebrating Summer’s Cessation with a poem…


I love nature and usually have a little notepad and pencil with my on my nature walks. Nature is inspiring… I was resting and reflecting down by one of my favorite spots, a lovely little brook nearby.  Suddenly a few golden word nuggets grabbed me when I spotted the fall asters dancing in the breeze. ~ Bette A. Stevens

Final Performance SMALL

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Bette A. Stevens:

imagesButterflies in poetic motion! ~ Bette A. Stevens

Originally posted on Sputterpub's Blog:

buterfleoge

Sure mariposa is a lovely word,
and psyche packs provocative surprise,
but I declare the English name’s absurd
that calls fantastic insects butterflies.

How do we from the dairy designate
a creature so refined it sips the bloom
and flits on air in faerie featherweight?
What message from that name should we assume?

It’s made of wings like petals in the air.
It flutters down and up again above
the vernal earth, with no apparent care
except for sipping nectar, making love,
imprinting every flower with its kiss,
and propagating metamorphosis.

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The Ice Crystal Robe


~Poem by Bette A. Stevens © January 1, 2013~

Winter 2012_12

I collected word nuggets for The Ice Crystal Robe several years ago. Last week I shot the photograph for this post when one of our lilac trees was shimmering like a gemstone in winter’s early morning sunlight after a storm. ~Bette A. Stevens~

The Ice Crystal Robe

Royal Finery,

glistening diamond ropes

embellish bare arms.

Her ice crystal robe

disappears by mid-morning.

Lilac stands naked.

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