“I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet I know how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.”

Emily Dickinson 1830-1886

To which Mrs. Parker responds:

“Who lay against the sea, and fled,

Who lightly loved the wave,

Shall never know, when he is dead,

A cool and murmurous grave.

But in a shallow pit shall  rest

For all eternity,

And bear the earth upon the breast

That once had worn the sea.”

Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

“I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be

blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves

off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the

deck-hand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter

singing as he stands.,

The wood-cutter’s song, he plowboy’s on his way in the

morning, or at noon intermissions or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at

work , or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day…at night the party of

young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.”

Walt Whitman  1819-1892

I could never understand the popularity of this broken verse nor its

construction. I guess he was breaking new ground, but even then…

Some old, but still pertinent advice…

“Laugh and the world laughs with you;

Weep, and you weep alone,

For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,

But has trouble enough of its own.

Sing, and the hills will answer;

Sigh, it is lost on the air,

The echoes bound to a joyful sound,

But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;

Grieve, and they turn and go.

They want full measure of all your pleasure,

But they do not need your woe.

Be glad, and your friends are many;

Be sad and you lose them all…

There are none to decline your nectar’d wine,

But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;

Fast, and the world goes by.

Succeed and give, and it helps you live,

But no man can help you die.

There is room in the halls of pleasure

For a large and lordly train,

But one by one we must all file on

Through the narrow aisles of pain.”

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 1850-1919

I’ve decided I do not care for the poetry of Henry David Thoreau. For example:

“Low anchored cloud,

Newfoundland air,

Fountainhead and source of rivers,

Dew-cloth, dream drapery,

And napkin spread by fays;

Drifting meadow of the air,

Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,

And in whose fenny labyrinth

The bittern booms and heron wades;

Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,

Bear only perfumes and the scent

Of healing herbs to just men’s fields!”

This is no put on…it is exactly what the famous man wrote…and I haven’t the foggiest idea of what he is talking about!

It just seems utter nonsense to me….

Grandfather waxes poetic regarding thunder showers…

“The lightning flashes from yon cloud,

The thunder rumbles long and loud,

Or crashes overhead;

Driven by wind, the rain doth come

From clouds that hide the shinning sun,

Man flees before its tread.

The thirsty earth drinks up the shower,

Plants and grass will higher tower

Because God gives them rain;

The curtains of the sky undrawn,
The sun beams over field and lawn,

And smiles on us again.”

Benjamin Franklin Minch 1869-1936

However,

“If it shine or if it rain, little will I care or know.

Days, like drops upon a pane, slip and join and go.

At my door’s another lad; here’s his flower in my hair.

If he see me pale and sad, will he see me fair?

I sit looking at the floor. Little will I think or say

If he seek another door; Even if he stay.”

Dorothy Parker 1896 1967

A poem worth repeating….

“The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

In a beautiful pea-green boat;

They took some honey, and plenty of money

Wrapped up in a five pound note.

The Owl looked up to the stars above,

And sang to a small guitar,

“Oh Pussy, oh Pussy, my love,

What a beautiful Pussy you are,

You are, you are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the owl, “You elegant fowl,

How charmingly sweet you sing!

Oh! Let us be married, too long we have tarried”

But what shall we do for a ring?”

They sailed away, for a year and a day,

To the land where the bong-tree grows;

And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood,

With a ring at the end of his nose,

His nose, his nose, with a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling

Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”

So they took it away, and were married next day

By the Turkey who lives on the hill.

They dined on mince and slices of quince,

Which they ate with a runcible spoon;

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,

They danced by the light of the moon,

The moon, the moon,

They danced by the light of the moon.

Edward Lear

Marine Corps veteran Warren Flournoy was inspired to write this poem after participating in the Korean War.

“I’ve played a lot of roles in my life; I’ve met a lot of men.

I’ve done a lot of things I’d like to think I wouldn’t do again.

And though I was young, I was old enough to know someday I’ll die,

And to think about what lies beyond.

Beside whom would I lie? Perhaps it doesn’t matter much, still if I had my choice

I’d want a grave amongst fighting men when at last death quells my voice.

I am sick of the hypocrisy, of lectures to the wise.

I’ll take the man with all his flaws, who goes, though scared and dies.

The men I knew were common place; they didn’t want the war;

They fought because their fathers and fathers before them had.

They cursed and killed and wept…God knows they are easy to deride.

Bury me with men like these. They faced the guns and died.

It’s funny when you think of it, the way we got along.

We came from different worlds to live in one where no one belonged.

I didn’t even like them all, some didn’t like me,

I am sure they’d all agree,

Yet, I would give my life for them; I know some did for me.

So bury me with fighting men, please, though much maligned they be.

Yes, bury me with fighting men, for I miss their company.

But bury me with men like them ‘til someone else does more.”

Warren Flournoy 1928-

(Another of his poems next week)

“Sweet and low, sweet and low, wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow, wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go, come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me; while my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast. father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest, silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon; sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.”
Alfred Lord Tennyson 1809-1892
However…
“Sleep, pretty lady, the night is enfolding you;
Drift, and so lightly, on crystalline streams,
Wrapped in its perfumes, the darkness is holding you;
Starlight bespangles the way of your dreams.
Chorus the nightingales, wistfully amorous;
Blessedly quiet, the blare of the day.
All the sweet hours may your visions be glamorous…
Sleep, pretty lady, as long as you may.
Sleep, pretty lady, the world awaits day with you;
Girlish and golden, the slender young moon.
Grant the fond darkness its mystical way with you;
Morning returns to us ever too soon.
Roses unfold, in their loveliness, all for you;
Blossom the lilies for hope of your glance.
When you’re awake, all the men go and fall for you…
Sleep, pretty lady, and give me a chance.” Dorothy Parker 1893-1967

“Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

Oh well for the fisherman’s boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

Oh well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.”

Alfred Lord Tennyson 1809-1892

(And, as counterpoint to the above)

“Oh, I should like to ride the seas, a roaring buccaneer;

A cutlass banging at my knees, a dirk behind my ear.

And when my captives’ chains would clank I’d howl with glee and drink,

And then fling out the quivering plank and watch the beggars sink.”

Dorothy Parker  1893-1967

ODE TO THE BICYCLE

I carry the youth who have learned to ride,

I bear the burdens of age beside;

I make no distinction of sex or race,

Of the poor in rags or rich in lace;

I take them all at my quickest speed;

Out stripping th’ pace of the swiftest steed.

I travel at night as well as by day,

With searchlight attached to point out the way,

And my bell of warning the track makes clear

When pedestrians are loitering near.

Upon me the aged their youth renew;

As they journeyed through regions old and new

And the sickly forget their weary pains,

As the fresh blood tingles within their veins;

Adown the long hills see them coasting go,

Like schoolboys in winter over the snow!

To the sons of toil I’m a valued friend,

And I help the idle their time to spend;

I’m the school girl’s pet and the young man’s pride,

I’m a source of pleasure to groom and bride;

If to Niagara they cannot roam,

I furnish the falls, free gratis, at home.

B. Franklin Minch   1869-1936           (Grandfather exhibits a rare sense of humor)