 Poetry: October 17, 2007 Issue [#2007] |
  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Red Writing Hood <3  
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Poetry should please by a fine excess and not by singularity. It should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost as a remembrance.
John Keats (1795 - 1821)
Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting with the gift of speech.
Simonides (556 BC - 468 BC)
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Surprise Poets
While looking for template poetry lesson plan ideas, I discovered three poems by people that I never thought of as poetry writers. They were political figures. When I think of politicians I think of many things – creating moving poetry is not on my short list.
Queen Elizabeth I was the daughter of King Henry VIII (the robust king who traded wives like they were football players) and Anne Boleyn. After a rough road to the throne, Queen Elizabeth I decided to never marry. This decision was good for keeping herself in charge, but did little for producing an heir.
On Monsieur’s Departure
I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.
My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.
Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.
(Roberts and Jacobs 747)
Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth president of the United States. He was also a lawyer – another profession you don’t think of when you think of poetry. NOTE: This is only half of this poem.
My Childhood's Home I See Again
My childhood's home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
And still, as memory crowds my brain,
There's pleasure in it too.
O Memory! thou midway world
'Twixt earth and paradise,
Where things decayed and loved ones lost
In dreamy shadows rise,
And, freed from all that's earthly vile,
Seem hallowed, pure, and bright,
Like scenes in some enchanted isle,
All bathed in liquid light.
As dusky mountains please the eye,
When twilight chases day;
As bugle-notes that, passing by,
In distance die away;
As leaving some grand waterfall,
We, lingering, list its roar --
So memory will hallow all
We've known, but know no more.
Near twenty years have passed away
Since here I bid farewell
To woods and fields, and scenes of play,
And playmates loved so well.
Where many were, how few remain
Of old familiar things;
But seeing them, to mind again
The lost and absent brings.
The friends I left that parting day,
How changed, as time has sped!
Young childhood grown, strong manhood gray,
And half of all are dead.
I hear the loved survivors tell
How nought from death could save,
Till every sound appears a knell,
And every spot a grave.
I range the fields with pensive tread,
And pace the hollow rooms;
And feel (companion of the dead)
I'm living in the tombs.
(Roberts and Jacobs 775-776)
Jimmy Carter was president of the United States when I was in middle school. Oddly, the big thing I remember about him was that he claimed to have seen an Unidentified Flying Object. He also was a peanut farmer, smiled a lot, and made big strides in foreign relations (especially China), but the UFO thing has always been the first thing I think of.
I Wanted to Share My Father's World
This is a pain I mostly hide,
but ties of blood, or seed, endure,
and even now I feel inside
the hunger for his outstretched hand,
a man's embrace to take me in,
the need for just a word of praise.
I despised the discipline
he used to shape what I should be
not owning up that he might feel
his own pain when he punished me.
I didn’t show my need to him,
since his response to an appeal
would not have meant as much to me,
or been as real.
From those rare times when we did cross
the bridge between us, the pure joy
survives.
I never put aside
the past resentments of the boy
until, with my own sons, I shared
his final hours, and came to see
what he’d become, or always was-
the father who will never cease to be
alive in me.
(Roberts and Jacobs 767-768)
Just like these unexpected poets, you may never be known for your poetry. However, that doesn’t mean you won’t touch people with your verse.
Roberts, Edgar V., and Henry E. Jacobs. Literature: An Introduction to Reading and Writing. 7th ed. New Jersey: Pearson Prentice Hall, 2004.
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If so, send it through the feedback section at the bottom of this newsletter OR click the little envelope next to my name Red Writing Hood <3 and send it through email.
Comments on my previous newsletters:
Submitted By: SHERRI GIBSON 
Submitted Comment:
Great newsletter! Your advice on just "going with it" is sound, and the template a good idea.
Submitted By: cal 
Submitted Comment:
I would like to thank you for putting a poem of mine into your pick piece. I got a lot of people coming in to read my work, much appreciated. Now I just have to get them to tell me what they think, lol.
Submitted By: emerin-liseli
Submitted Comment:
Great newsletter, Holly. I'm off to try that template right now! It looks like a bunch of fun. All the best, Em
Submitted By: andromeda
Submitted Comment:
Thanks for the info on concrete poems. I like fall, so maybe I can write one to match.
Submitted By: hdelphyne
Submitted Comment:
Great Newsletter Red Riding Hood. I enjoyed the poems that grew out of the template from the "Where I’m From” poem, by George Ella Lyons. The poems you used gave substance to the creative and effective use of the template.  Thea
Submitted By: 🦄🏳️🌈Sapph
Submitted Comment:
Wonderful newsletter! I always loving reading about the topics presented in here!
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