Where's the Poet?

Where's the Poet?

Where's the Poet? show him! show him,

Muses nine! that I may know him.

'Tis the man who with a man

Is an equal, be he King,

Or poorest of the beggar-clan

Or any other wonderous thing

A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;

'Tis the man who with a bird,

Wren or Eagle, finds his way to

All its instincts; he hath heard

The Lion's roaring, and can tell

What his horny throat expresseth,

And to him the Tiger's yell

Come articulate and presseth

Or his ear like mother-tongue.

John Keats

A Thing of Beauty....

A Thing of Beauty (Endymion)

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.

John Keats

 

(This is one of my very favorites by John Keats. I absolutly love the words- A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness. It sends shivers up my spine it is so beautiful......

Friendship....

Friendship

I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I'm dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out 'twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.

A man may love the truth and practise it,
Beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.

But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;

When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates
Eternally;

And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love's bands more tight,
Service he ne'er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;

In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.

______

Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter's storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow's pride,
For both are strong

Above they barely touch, but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined
Insep'rably.

Henry David Thoreau

Quotes

Found some very intresting quotes/pictures from unforgettable writers.

So....not knowing whom 'created' the pictures i regret to inform you i have no names to credit where credit is due......

Path that Leads to Nowhere...

Corinne Roosevelt Robinson (1861-1933)
THE PATH THAT LEADS
NOWHERE

THERE'S a path that leads to Nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an inland island rises
And the stream is still and slow;
There it wanders under willows,
And beneath the silver green
Of the birches' silent shadows
Where the early violets lean.

Other pathways lead to Somewhere,
But the one I love so well
Has no end and no beginning—
Just the beauty of the dell,
Just the wind-flowers and the lilies
Yellow-striped as adder's tongue,
Seem to satisfy my pathway
As it winds their scents among.

There I go to meet the Springtime,
When the meadow is aglow,
Marigolds amid the marshes,—
And the stream is still and slow.
There I find my fair oasis,
And with care-free feet I tread
For the pathway leads to Nowhere,
And the blue is overhead!

All the ways that lead to Somewhere
Echo with the hurrying feet
Of the Struggling and the Striving,
But the way I find so sweet
Bids me dream and bids me linger,
Joy and Beauty are its goal,—
On the path that leads to Nowhere
I have sometimes found my soul!
(Cool fact, that 'i' didn't know...Corinne Roosevelt Robinson was the sister of United States President Theodore Roosevelt.

Mattie J.T. Stepanek

The Eye of the Beholder

Dandelions are NOT weeds!
See?
They have beautiful Yellow flowers on them.
They have lovely Green stems.
Mommy puts them In a jar of water In the kitchen -
They are flowers! See?
They are round. They are round and yellow.
Oh, mommy, Please tell him He's making a big mistake!
Poor little dandelions ... He's pulling them all up
And calling them "weeds."
Oh, this is So horrible, so sad!
What would God say if He saw you sending all of these
Poor, little, round, yellow Dandelion-flowers
Back to the Lord?

A Dream Within a Dream- E. A. P

A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow--

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.



I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand--

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep--while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nothing Gold Can Stay


Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

(I had never read this beautiful poem until my birthday...when an amazing friend bought me a poetry book-this was the first page- love it! :)

There is another sky...

There is another sky by Emily Dickinson


There is another sky,
er serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

Good Morning to You...

The Poet's Thought by Lucy Maud Montgomery



It came to him in rainbow dreams,

Blent with the wisdom of the sages,

Of spirit and of passion born;

In words as lucent as the morn

He prisoned it, and now it gleams

A jewel shining through the ages.

A Winter's Dawn

http://www.poemhunter.com/i/ebooks/pdf/lucy_maud_montgomery_2004_9.pdf


Sooo...my computer wouldn't let me copy or paste ( for some reason) But pleease.......don't be lazy and 'click' on the link and read the poems that i so wanted to post!!!

The Touch of The Master's Hand

'Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who'll start the bidding for me?"
" A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who will make it three?"

"Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three..." But no,
From the room, far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quite and low,
Said: "What am I bid for the old violin?"
And he held it up with the bow.
" A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! and who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once: Three thousand, twice,
And going and gone," said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply
"The touch of the Master's hand."
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like this old violin.

A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine,
A game - And he travels on.
He is "going" once, and "going" twice,
He's "going" and almost "gone."
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of the soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
-Myra Brooks Welch

The House with Nobody in it a poem by Joyce Kilmer

The House with Nobody in it





Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track

I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.

I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute

And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.



I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;

That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.

I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;

For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.



This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,

And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.

It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;

But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.



If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid

I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.

I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be

And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.



Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,

Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.

But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone

For the lack of something within it that it has never known.



But a house that has done what a house should do,

a house that has sheltered life,

That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,

A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,

Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.



So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track

I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,

Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,

For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

Outwitted...

by Edwin Markham

He drew a circle that shut me out —

Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.

But Love and I had the wit to win:

We drew a circle that took him in!

She Sat and Sang.......

SHE SAT AND SANG







by: Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)






HE sat and sang alway


By the green margin of a stream,


Watching the fishes leap and play


Beneath the glad sunbeam.






I sat and wept alway


Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam,


Watching the blossoms of the May


Weep leaves into the stream.






I wept for memory;


She sang for hope that is so fair:


My tears were swallowed by the sea;


Her songs died in the air.

Awesome

The Bridge Builder



This poem speaks of each generation's responsibilities to its successors.




An old man, going a lone highway,


Came, at the evening, cold and gray,


To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,


Through which was flowing a sullen tide.


The old man crossed in the twilight dim;


The sullen stream had no fears for him;


But he turned, when safe on the other side,


And built a bridge to span the tide.


"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim, near,


"You are wasting strength with building here;


Your journey will end with the ending day;


You never again must pass this way;


You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide-


Why build you the bridge at the eventide?"


The builder lifted his old gray head:


"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,


"There followeth after me today


A youth, whose feet must pass this way.


This chasm, that has been naught to me,


To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.


He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;


Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."


Will Allen Dromgoole

( This is not written by me...lol....this is written by my older sis. Kinsey. She has a blog( you should check it out..it's listed on our sidebar) And i was looking at her blog this morning and saw this , it was written a while back..... I just LOVED it.....lol and i hope she doesn't mind me putting it here! <3


Lightning Bugs


When I was young I remember thinking that the years would never pass. It felt as if one month lasted forever, and a year was like an eternity. I remember thinking that time would pass so slowly and I would never get to high school, or drive a car, or get a job. I felt as if I was stuck in the here and now forever. But now....it is so different. Now I can't even tell what the here and now is. It's as if I blink and another day has gone by. Months fly by, and with them years just disappear into the past. It's scary. It's like I see everything happening so fast, and I just want to slow it down but I can't. I feel like I'm on a rollercoaster that is speeding out of control, and I have no choice but to stay plastered in my seat with my white knuckles gripping the bar as we fly around the tracks. I'm not sure what causes this change. I remember how slow summer went by during my childhood. We would wake up every morning and plan our day....a few hours in the woods, run through the sprinklers when it was hot, stand barefooted on the scorching rocks in Mama's flower garden, sit lazily on the porch licking a popsicle and playing the car game, find worms for fishing, eat dinner, and then spend the rest of the evening catching lightning bugs in the front yard. I remember falling asleep with the bedroom window open and feeling the damp night breezes blow in through the screen and the sound of crickets ringing through the night. I didn't have a care in the world. Sure I thought about my future. But it seemed so far off that it would never come. And yet, here it is. That future I had been waiting for is here......and it's slipping by fast. I can barely keep up with the days, and before I know it another year has gone by. This summer just started.......and yet it's almost over. To think that this summer is my last summer in college is depressing to say the least. I guess I always think of myself as a kid, and it's hitting me hard that I am supposed to be an adult now. One year of college left, and then what? I just feel like life is passing me by, and I have somehow found myself on the sidelines just watching in disbelief as it races past me. I want to jump on and live it for everything it's worth. But I don't know how anymore. Maybe if I just let everything go and let myself be carried back to how life was ten summers ago.....I could find myself again. I could see that this life is really the same...it's just me that has changed. The days and hours don't pass any faster. There are still 60 seconds in a minute and 365 days in a year. It is my fast paced existence that causes me to lose track of my life. Can I go back? I would give anything to spend this evening on the porch listening to the tree frogs croak and the whipporwill singing. Just to go back to when every minute was cherished and life seemed endless. All I need is a jar, a clear summer night, and lots of lightning bugs.

Mattie Stepanek :)

On Being a Champion




A Champion is a winner,

A hero...

Someone who never gives up

Even when the going gets rough.

A champion is a member of

A winning team...

Someone who overcomes challenges

Even when it requires creative solutions.

A champion is an optimist,

A hopeful spirit...

Someone who plays the game,

Even when the game is called life.

There can be a champion in each of us,

If we live as a winner,

If we live as a member of the team,

If we live with a hopeful spirit,

For Life.
 
-Mattie J. T. Stepanek.
 
" Yall should look him and his poems up....he was a very amazing boy.

One Of my Fav.

THE LOCKLESS DOOR




by: Robert Frost (1874-1963)



T went many years,

But at last came a knock,

And I thought of the door

With no lock to lock.



I blew out the light,

I tip-toed the floor,

And raised both hands

In prayer to the door.



But the knock came again

My window was wide;

I climbed on the sill

And descended outside.



Back over the sill

I bade a “Come in”

To whoever the knock

At the door may have been.



So at a knock

I emptied my cage

To hide in the world

And alter with age.

The Road Not Taken- Robert Frost- I love this poem w/ a passion! ")

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,



And sorry I could not travel both


And be one traveler, long I stood


And looked down one as far as I could


To where it bent in the undergrowth;






Then took the other, as just as fair,


And having perhaps the better claim,


Because it was grassy and wanted wear;


Though as for that the passing there


Had worn them really about the same,










And both that morning equally lay


In leaves no step had trodden black.


Oh, I kept the first for another day!


Yet knowing how way leads on to way,


I doubted if I should ever come back.






I shall be telling this with a sigh


Somewhere ages and ages hence:


Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--


I took the one less traveled by,


And that has made all the difference.