ladylinda
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August
Aug 26, 2014 7:44:48 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 26, 2014 7:44:48 GMT -5
Staff Nurse: Old Style
W E Henley
The greater masters of the commonplace, REMBRANDT and good SIR WALTER—only these Could paint her all to you: experienced ease And antique liveliness and ponderous grace; The sweet old roses of her sunken face; The depth and malice of her sly, grey eyes; The broad Scots tongue that flatters, scolds, defies; The thick Scots wit that fells you like a mace. These thirty years has she been nursing here, Some of them under SYME , her hero still. Much is she worth, and even more is made of her. Patients and students hold her very dear. The doctors love her, tease her, use her skill. They say 'The Chief' himself is half-afraid of her.
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 26, 2014 7:45:28 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 26, 2014 7:45:28 GMT -5
Katherine Mansfield
Valley of waving broom, O lovely, lovely light, O hear of the world, red-gold! Breast high in the blossom I stand; It beats about me like waves Of a magical, golden sea
The barren heart of the world Alive at the kiss of the sun, The yellow mantle of Summer Flung over a laughing land, Warm with the warmth of her body Sweet with the kiss of her breath
O valley of waving broom, O lovely, lovely light, O mystical marriage of Earth With the passionate Summer sun! To her lover she holds a cup And the yellow wine o'erflows. He has lighted a little torch And the whole of the world is ablaze. Prodigal wealth of love! Breast high in the blossom I stand.
(A poem by a New Zealand writer about New Zealand)
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 28, 2014 10:02:07 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 28, 2014 10:02:07 GMT -5
In The Garden
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
One moment alone in the garden, Under the August skies; The moon had gone but the stars shone on, - Shone like your beautiful eyes. Away from the glitter and gaslight, Alone in the garden there, While the mirth of the throng, in laugh and song, Floated out on the air.
You looked down through the starlight, And I looked up at you; And a feeling came that I could not name, - Something starnge and new. Friends of a few weeks only, - Why should it give me pain To know you would go in the morrow, And would not come again?
Formal friends of a season. What matter that we must part? But under the skies, with a swift surprise, Each read the other's heart. We did not speak, but your breath on my cheek Was like a breeze of the south: And your dark hair brushed my forehead And your kiss fell on my mouth.
Some one was searching for me, - Some one to say good-night; And we went in from the garden, Out of the sweet starlight, Back to the glitter and music, And we said 'Good-bye' in the hall, When a dozen heard and echoed the word, And then - well, that was all.
The river that rolls between us Can never be crossed, I know, For the waters are deep and the shores are steep, And a maelstrom whirls below; But I think we shall always remember, Though we both may strive to forget, How you looked in my eyes, 'neath the August skies, After the moon had set; -
How you kissed my lips in the garden, And we stood in a trance of bliss, And our hearts seemed speaking together In that one thrilling kiss.
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 28, 2014 10:02:37 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 28, 2014 10:02:37 GMT -5
Her Dilemma
Thomas Hardy
The two were silent in a sunless church, Whose mildewed walls, uneven paving-stones, And wasted carvings passed antique research; And nothing broke the clock's dull monotones.
Leaning against a wormy poppy-head, So wan and worn that he could scarcely stand, —For he was soon to die,—he softly said, "Tell me you love me!"—holding hard her hand.
She would have given a world to breathe "yes" truly, So much his life seemed hanging on her mind, And hence she lied, her heart persuaded throughly, 'Twas worth her soul to be a moment kind.
But the sad need thereof, his nearing death, So mocked humanity that she shamed to prize A world conditioned thus, or care for breath Where Nature such dilemmas could devise
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 28, 2014 10:02:58 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 28, 2014 10:02:58 GMT -5
Island
Langston Hughes
Wave of sorrow, Do not drown me now:
I see the island Still ahead somehow.
I see the island And its sands are fair:
Wave of sorrow, Take me there.
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 30, 2014 17:10:36 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 30, 2014 17:10:36 GMT -5
The Little Old Lady in Lavender Silk
Dorothy Parker
I was seventy-seven, come August, I shall shortly be losing my bloom; I've experienced zephyr and raw gust And (symbolical) flood and simoom.
When you come to this time of abatement, To this passing from Summer to Fall, It is manners to issue a statement As to what you got out of it all.
So I'll say, though reflection unnerves me And pronouncements I dodge as I can, That I think (if my memory serves me) There was nothing more fun than a man!
In my youth, when the crescent was too wan To embarrass with beams from above, By the aid of some local Don Juan I fell into the habit of love.
And I learned how to kiss and be merry- an Education left better unsung. My neglect of the waters Pierian Was a scandal, when Grandma was young.
Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid, And the bitter outmeasured the sweet, I should certainly do as I then did, Were I given the chance to repeat.
For contrition is hollow and wraithful, And regret is no part of my plan, And I think (if my memory's faithful) There was nothing more fun than a man!
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 30, 2014 17:11:09 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 30, 2014 17:11:09 GMT -5
Lovesong
Ted Hughes He loved her and she loved him. His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she sucked She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains
Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life Should not drag her from that moment He wanted all future to cease He wanted to topple with his arms round her Off that moment's brink and into nothing Or everlasting or whatever there was
Her embrace was an immense press To print him into her bones His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace Where the real world would never come Her smiles were spider bites So he would lie still till she felt hungry His words were occupying armies Her laughs were an assassin's attempts His looks were bullets daggers of revenge His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets His whispers were whips and jackboots Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks And their deep cries crawled over the floors Like an animal dragging a great trap His promises were the surgeon's gag Her promises took the top off his skull She would get a brooch made of it His vows pulled out all her sinews He showed her how to make a love-knot Her vows put his eyes in formalin At the back of her secret drawer Their screams stuck in the wall
Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face
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ladylinda
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August
Aug 30, 2014 17:11:44 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Aug 30, 2014 17:11:44 GMT -5
Ithaka
Constantine Cavafy
As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon-
don't be afraid of them: you'll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon- you won't encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind- as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.
Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.
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August
Aug 30, 2014 22:24:40 GMT -5
Post by beth on Aug 30, 2014 22:24:40 GMT -5
Lovesong Ted Hughes He loved her and she loved him. His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she sucked She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life Should not drag her from that moment He wanted all future to cease He wanted to topple with his arms round her Off that moment's brink and into nothing Or everlasting or whatever there was Her embrace was an immense press To print him into her bones His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace Where the real world would never come Her smiles were spider bites So he would lie still till she felt hungry His words were occupying armies Her laughs were an assassin's attempts His looks were bullets daggers of revenge His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets His whispers were whips and jackboots Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks And their deep cries crawled over the floors Like an animal dragging a great trap His promises were the surgeon's gag Her promises took the top off his skull She would get a brooch made of it His vows pulled out all her sinews He showed her how to make a love-knot Her vows put his eyes in formalin At the back of her secret drawer Their screams stuck in the wall Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs In their dreams their brains took each other hostage In the morning they wore each other's face I'm pretty sure I posted this one back some little while ago, but since it's probably fallen back a few pages, it's nice to see it up and easy to find again. Thanks, Lin.
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August
Aug 30, 2014 22:26:44 GMT -5
Post by beth on Aug 30, 2014 22:26:44 GMT -5
Lovesong Ted Hughes He loved her and she loved him. His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to He had no other appetite She bit him she gnawed him she sucked She wanted him complete inside her Safe and sure forever and ever Their little cries fluttered into the curtains Her eyes wanted nothing to get away Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows He gripped her hard so that life Should not drag her from that moment He wanted all future to cease He wanted to topple with his arms round her Off that moment's brink and into nothing Or everlasting or whatever there was Her embrace was an immense press To print him into her bones His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace Where the real world would never come Her smiles were spider bites So he would lie still till she felt hungry His words were occupying armies Her laughs were an assassin's attempts His looks were bullets daggers of revenge His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets His whispers were whips and jackboots Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks And their deep cries crawled over the floors Like an animal dragging a great trap His promises were the surgeon's gag Her promises took the top off his skull She would get a brooch made of it His vows pulled out all her sinews He showed her how to make a love-knot Her vows put his eyes in formalin At the back of her secret drawer Their screams stuck in the wall Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs In their dreams their brains took each other hostage In the morning they wore each other's face I'm pretty sure I posted this one some little while ago, but since it's probably fallen back a few pages, it's nice to see it up and easy to find again. Thanks, Lin.
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ladylinda
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August
Sept 1, 2014 6:18:52 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Sept 1, 2014 6:18:52 GMT -5
Sorry about any double posting but it's a brilliant poem anyway.
Here are the last three of my August thread.
East London
Matthew Arnold
'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, looked thrice dispirited. I met a preacher there I knew, and said: "Ill and o'erworked, how fare you in this scene?" - "Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread." O human soul! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam - Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.
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ladylinda
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August
Sept 1, 2014 6:19:17 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Sept 1, 2014 6:19:17 GMT -5
The Farmer’s Bride
Charlotte Mew Three summers since I chose a maid, Too young maybe—but more’s to do At harvest-time than bide and woo. When us was wed she turned afraid Of love and me and all things human; Like the shut of a winter’s day Her smile went out, and ’twadn’t a woman— More like a little frightened fay. One night, in the Fall, she runned away. “Out ’mong the sheep, her be,” they said, ’Should properly have been abed; But sure enough she wadn’t there Lying awake with her wide brown stare. So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down We chased her, flying like a hare Before out lanterns. To Church-Town All in a shiver and a scare We caught her, fetched her home at last And turned the key upon her, fast. She does the work about the house As well as most, but like a mouse: Happy enough to chat and play With birds and rabbits and such as they, So long as men-folk keep away. “Not near, not near!” her eyes beseech When one of us comes within reach. The women say that beasts in stall Look round like children at her call. I’ve hardly heard her speak at all. Shy as a leveret, swift as he, Straight and slight as a young larch tree, Sweet as the first wild violets, she, To her wild self. But what to me? The short days shorten and the oaks are brown, The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky, One leaf in the still air falls slowly down, A magpie’s spotted feathers lie On the black earth spread white with rime, The berries redden up to Christmas-time. What’s Christmas-time without there be Some other in the house than we! She sleeps up in the attic there Alone, poor maid. ’Tis but a stair Betwixt us. Oh! my God! the down, The soft young down of her, the brown, The brown of her—her eyes, her hair, her hair!
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ladylinda
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August
Sept 1, 2014 6:22:13 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Sept 1, 2014 6:22:13 GMT -5
One by an Indian poet who I'd never heard of before. Almost all the poems I've posted have come from my extensive poetry collection but this gem I found on the web.
River Island
Bibek Jena
How strange that all the low moans of all the married women should come together, here, from the earth’s ten corners – those women who keep their soft lamentations on their trembling lips, under the lamp’s light, when slender wicks burn inside the lonely temple.
The river island, silent, after midnight. Does the body here feel once again wet with moaning until someone is brought, quilt-wrapped, and burnt away, until someone’s body is returned to the banyan tree, the river, the air?
Who burns now and now goes out, time and again, on the river island, after midnight?
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ladylinda
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August
Sept 1, 2014 6:45:31 GMT -5
Post by ladylinda on Sept 1, 2014 6:45:31 GMT -5
Because I like to finish off these monthly threads with a song and because this month there are three threads - August, people and islands - here are three great songs.
First Day in August - Carole King
People - Barbra Streisand
Island in the Sun - Harry Belafonte
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