I grew up in a town like Pierre, in the coastal hills of Northern California, a town perhaps not unlike Pierre--a frontier town. i grew up there at least until I was 13, and when back in summers, during one of which--I was 21, I wrote many awful, awful poems. The poem below benefits, I think, from being free verse. I could no more have written a formal poem in meter and rhyme than I could have stood on my head or flow to the moon. Under the cloak of "free" verse, I was over many years able to develop as a formalist poet, just as under the cloak of others' compassion and acceptance of my foibles and deep flaws, I was able to grow as a person.
Orange Songs
1
The boy with the flute plays a pipe
And the song rises, a streak of silver smoke.
Another strums country blues, off-tune.
A third hums, mournful.
2
Round and fresh, from a far-off grove,
The fruit’s thrust into my hand.
I drive my thumb down its center;
The splitting of the moon, and bring cool-skinned,
This is really lovely, both the poem and the reflection. I could say so much of the same --- about developing under the cloak of free verse, which is how I first started writing poems, and also grace given to my faults as I blundered my way into something like maturity.
Joseph, Joseph. Tomorrow I will be 83. Today I am consumed with anxiety about an election which I believe that whoever wins will be a loss to our great nation and now I read today’s poem. Thanks much. 😎
I still see stuff like in hardware stores that I could use to turn into something for my dolls house. And I think I could use that and then I realize that I don’t even have a doll’s house anymore. I like the poem, but I don’t honestly think it’s tragic!
I enjoyed this poem so. much. Yes - a feeling easy to identify with.
She died so young! What did she die of?
Pneumonia, I think.
It is immature and frankly quite moving. It captures a sadness that I don’t know you ever outgrow.
I grew up in a town like Pierre, in the coastal hills of Northern California, a town perhaps not unlike Pierre--a frontier town. i grew up there at least until I was 13, and when back in summers, during one of which--I was 21, I wrote many awful, awful poems. The poem below benefits, I think, from being free verse. I could no more have written a formal poem in meter and rhyme than I could have stood on my head or flow to the moon. Under the cloak of "free" verse, I was over many years able to develop as a formalist poet, just as under the cloak of others' compassion and acceptance of my foibles and deep flaws, I was able to grow as a person.
Orange Songs
1
The boy with the flute plays a pipe
And the song rises, a streak of silver smoke.
Another strums country blues, off-tune.
A third hums, mournful.
2
Round and fresh, from a far-off grove,
The fruit’s thrust into my hand.
I drive my thumb down its center;
The splitting of the moon, and bring cool-skinned,
Scented crescents to lips
Displaced in the darkened room.
This is really lovely, both the poem and the reflection. I could say so much of the same --- about developing under the cloak of free verse, which is how I first started writing poems, and also grace given to my faults as I blundered my way into something like maturity.
Joseph, Joseph. Tomorrow I will be 83. Today I am consumed with anxiety about an election which I believe that whoever wins will be a loss to our great nation and now I read today’s poem. Thanks much. 😎
Oh, we're birthday twins. Happy birthday to you! (I turn 60, which is . . . older than I have ever yet been).
Happy Birthday, Sally Thomas!
Thank you, Zara!
Sally: Happy 🎂 Birthday. You ain’t seen nothing yet.
Thanks. I shall hold on tight for whatever the wild ride turns out to be.
An early happy birthday, and a joyous or comic poem for you as well.
On a different note, in elections we get the government we deserve as we voted them in. God help us!
Happy Birthday!
I still see stuff like in hardware stores that I could use to turn into something for my dolls house. And I think I could use that and then I realize that I don’t even have a doll’s house anymore. I like the poem, but I don’t honestly think it’s tragic!
Yeah "tragedy" is a bit over-dramatic, but it's a very effective piece of melancholia.