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Old 04-02-2007, 02:26 PM   #1
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Do you like poems?

I bought my first book of poems today. I have never read poetry in my life. I thought it would be boring. I am retired now and I have time to do more reading and all of a sudden I have discovered poems. It is hard to explain, how beautiful they can be and how moving. I am so sorry it took me so long to find this out.

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Old 04-02-2007, 02:29 PM   #2
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What did you buy JoAnn? I love poetry. I'm pretty eclectic in my tastes though. I love Elizabeth Barrett Browning when I'm in a romantic mood, and Robert Frost too. I'm also rather fond of Robert Browning when I feel like being a bit weird.

Poetry is supposed to be a more natural form of writing than prose. I've never figured that out myself, but thats what they taught me at school.
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Old 04-02-2007, 02:36 PM   #3
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Alix
What did you buy JoAnn? I love poetry. I'm pretty eclectic in my tastes though. I love Elizabeth Barrett Browning when I'm in a romantic mood, and Robert Frost too. I'm also rather fond of Robert Browning when I feel like being a bit weird.

Poetry is supposed to be a more natural form of writing than prose. I've never figured that out myself, but thats what they taught me at school.
It is called "Goldenrods". by Melinda Morris Perrin. Is it alright if I post one of her poems here in the forum?
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Old 04-02-2007, 02:38 PM   #4
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I'm not sure about copyright on poems. Can you check the front of the book and see what it says? PM me with the title and I'll see what I can dig up for you.
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Old 04-02-2007, 02:40 PM   #5
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the YT like some of Emily Bronte and Samual Taylor Coleridge, esp, Kublai Khan :)

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Old 04-02-2007, 02:41 PM   #6
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I'm not sure about copyright on poems. Can you check the front of the book and see what it says? PM me with the title and I'll see what I can dig up for you.
You are right. I just looked in the front of the book and it says no part may be used without permission. Thanks.
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Old 04-02-2007, 02:46 PM   #7
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When I was young and living with my mother and father I loved to read poems. I had boxes of them so they were stored in our garage.

We had a fire in the garage and all my poems were destroyed.

Maybe I will go to Barnes and Noble and look to see what poems I would like to read now.
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Old 04-02-2007, 03:21 PM   #8
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I've always liked to read and to write. Been doing it since I was a child. When I was in elementary school, I wrote Christmas plays that were performed by our school and area churches. I still have copies of those plays.

I also have boxes with stories and poems I've written, so I guess reading and writing came naturally to me.

When I was 17 and a senior in high school, I wrote a poem based on Shakespeare's Seven Ages of Man. It took me about an hour to write it. I know because I wrote it when I was supposed to be paying attention in American History class. I was bored and, at the time, despised history. The poem just came to me.

I don't rhyme when I wrote poetry. I write in loose blank verse because rhyming seems to restrict my expression. If anyone is interested, I'll post my poem.

JoAnn, I'm so glad you have discovered poetry. It's wonderful stuff. There are so many beautiful pieces.
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Old 04-02-2007, 03:28 PM   #9
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Miss Katie...

Please do post your poem...
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Old 04-02-2007, 03:39 PM   #10
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Bear in mind I was barely 17 when I wrote it. Kinda long too. Okay, here goes:

Man – His Ages

A BABY

A baby is a miracle,
A gift of God.
A baby is the heartbeat of the next generation,
With the body of man and the soul from God.

Watch the mother cuddle it, protect it, and love it.
Listen as the father guides it, and speaks to defend it.


A YOUNG CHILD
A young child is a rainbow,
With each color as a measuring stick of growth.

With this age comes the ability to love, to hate, and to fear.
A puppy can bring love,
A strong opinion can bring hate,
And a darkened barren room can bring fear.

A rainbow has its dark colors,
Signifying sorrow, misfortune, and disaster.
The young child cannot understand sorrow or misfortune,
But to this child, a disaster can be the collapse of a sand castle,
Just built on the beach.

So too, does a rainbow have its bright bands.
Giving the child the gaiety of life,
The brightness of seeing things as they appear,
And the carefreeness of a breeze.

The young child is a pattern of everything good.


THE YOUNG ADULT
With early adulthood comes more difficulties.
Youth now has eyes that are just beginning to see,
Hate is understood and very often felt,
Misfortune is questioned, privacy asked,
Leaving sorrow still a puzzle.

Learning becomes the existence of progress for a young mind.
A mind begins to flower,
And the heart prepares to bloom.

Light burdens balance the character,
And goodwill and understanding pave the way of the youth,
Toward advancing age, yet to come.



THE SOLDIER
The war of the mind,
And the war of hate transforms the youth into a soldier.

A soldier is brave, with the determination to win his cause.
Gray is the dark mind when the hands control the weapon.

Good is the weapon,
Evil is the foe.
Love creates good,
Hate brews evil.

The soldier will love to fight,
A better one will fight to love.

A youth forced to adulthood by a reality.

When he pursues his enemy his mind is active,
Plotting, realizing, and hoping.
Death is his goal,
Life is his reward.


THE LOVER
In the spring nature blooms.
The soldier is home from his battle,
And his heart is light again.

Love is a story, a mystery of hidden feelings,
And a wonderful puzzle.

The young lover writes his own story,
With a pen as sharp as his feeling for the one he loves.
Feelings of his blossoming heart are his sole means of existence.

This puzzle called love is given him to solve,
But his heart tells him to remain in a questioning state.
He is a toy – a plaything.
His head is light, he walks on a cloud,
Giving all of himself, freely, asking nothing in return.

A life is made complete,
And a soul becomes one – united with another.


THE GROWN ADULT
The years advance and the youth becomes an adult.
The baby is no more,
And love is a concrete reality.

Memories are peaceful thoughts,
And the adult sees the youth of their own,
Fly from the nest and travel Life’s cycle.

Day in, day out, the same things are done that have been done for years.
A man becomes a husband, a father, a man.
A woman becomes a wife, a mother, a woman.

Hate gives way to understanding,
And fear is conquered.
Misfortune and sorrow are tolerated.

Night brings thanks to God for each blessing,
And day dawns with new hopes.


THE AGED
Old age is a double life.
With night bringing darkness and doubt,
And day bringing light and hope.

Old eyes see less sharply,
And old ears become dull to sound.
A hand that once held with care a delicate flower,
Now trembles and is gnarled with the marks of time.

A tongue that once spoke beautiful words,
Finds difficulty in grasping a phrase clearly.
And once sweet lips,
Now forget the tenderness of a sweet kiss.

The old have known all of Life’s joys and sorrows,
And they wait for the Beckoning Hand to guide them to…a pretty sleep.

They are not afraid,
They have lived.
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