I thought I'd share a poem. Feel free if you'd like. Please keep them kind of short though if you do.

when rockets cry
and babies buy
oh and the world's a tumultuous place
what can we do
to abide the human race?
sing out, our Lord
throught he prayers of the songs
until in everyone we see God's face
God, the unknowable concept,
whom none shall put a face upon.

Yes, there is a poetry thread--any la_veronique post!

P.S. Nice poem. Maybe add a few more stanzas and it could be a new gospel song?

There was a young man from Nantucket...

(Seriously, I love poetry and used to participate in slams back in the day. Maybe I'll grace you with some of my stuff some day...)

Banana, do you know that whole limerick? Not a lot of people actually do. Like the joke about the 12 inch pianist, now that one's funny!

I've never been that into poetry myself aside from a few poems. In general it doesn't do much for me though I wish I could find more appreciation for it.

There once was a man from Hadoo
who had so many limes he didn't know what to do
so he raked up his ho, scratched up some dough
and threw a party outside the loo.

You know, now that I'm thinking about it, some of those words may have come from a song I heard before already. Oh well. I swear I didn't have any typos. Is someone altering posts!?

There was a young lady named Jeannie
Who made pasta from strips of zucchini
Another name is aubergine
But you knew what I mean
And it's all better than eating panini!

(I will say it first: *grown*)

*homegrown* (where they can't take possession of your property)

rawalice Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> *homegrown* (where they can't take possession of
> your property)

LOL! Uh oh...I hope that all the years on the Internets reading poor spelling hasn't finally caused me to become one of them...

I meant GROAN!

How about loan.

rawalice Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> How about loan.

Go ask Alice...I think she'll know...

Mary had a little pig, little pig, little pig,
mary had a little pig, it's face was sure to go,
mary had a little pig, little pig, little pig,
mary had a little pig, alas, evreywhere she'd go.

Just thought I'd share a last poem before I go.

June 22, 2010

Hathor in the Night Sky

I want to see a sky like milk
dripping God's love
like it was
before hubris came in the form of man
in his pride and glory

I want to see a sky like milk
shooting a star
like a little lamb
before it grows to be angry
haughty ram's in God's glory

I want to see a sky like milk
pooled into nature's coming and going
like a round earthen pail
reflecting our faces
when filled to overflowing

<Hathor cries, she may deny>
<in the raw power of a bullheaded knowing>
<as she fondles the delicate ewe by her side>
<love and joy are hers to deny>
<I warn you, don't deny your twin>
you may become tormented vegan
you may become tormented vegan

Anyone want to read my boyfriend's poem?

Whether my hopes and dreams be denied,
Is measured by the countless times I’ve lied,
To thy own self be true,
Be pure at heart do unto others as you would have them do unto you,
Tired and weak of this tough façade this rough charade,
Tired of using my fists when my hearts engaged,
The countless times I’ve been enraged,
As words are put down on this notebook page,
I think of all the second chances I’ve gotten,
Have they been in vain?
But, then again I’ve made progress, a tamer brain,
Less ungodly thoughts have to be repressed,
Therefore less need to be confessed,
In turn less resentment at self,
Time to swallow my pride the old life goes up on the shelf.

There once was a man from Kazoo
He had so many children he didn't know what to do
So he fed them some bran, ran off with a man
And his wife didn't know what to do.

Nice Poems.

daffodills in winter
I like to watch the clover bloom
happy bees lollygag

Oh, thank you.

For Strong Women By Marge Piercy

A strong woman is a woman who is straining.
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing Boris Godunov.
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn't mind crying, it opens
the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears
in her nose.

A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren't you feminine, why aren't
you soft, why aren't you quiet, why
aren't you dead?

A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.
Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you're so strong.

A strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. A strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
every battle a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make
each other. Until we are all strong together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

This poem keeps going thru my head after what happened in Fla.

rip Travor.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Did you mean Trayvon?

Langston Hughes, I think.
Powerful poetry that.
Thanks for posting it, riverhousebill.


My favorite raw vegan