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  • Veteran Poet - 1,106 Points Jerry Hughes (9/27/2005 6:03:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply
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    Greetings, Movers and Shakers, t'would seem the preoccupation with death poems has subsided, however, in it's dying moments (scuse the pun) , I'd like to leave you all with this beautiful poem by Bruce Dawe, truly one of our greats.

    soliloquy for one dead

    Ah, no, Joe, you never knew
    the whole of it, the whistling
    which is only the wind in the chimney's
    smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy
    path that are always somebody else's.
    I think of your limbs down there, softly
    becoming mineral, the life of grasses,
    and the old love of you thrusts the tears
    up into my eyes, with the family aware
    and looking somewhere else.
    Sometimes when summer is over the land,
    when the heat quickens the deaf timbers,
    and birds are thick in the plums again,
    my heart sickens, Joe, calling
    for the water of your voice and the gone
    agony of your nearness. I try hard
    to forget, saying: If God wills,
    it must be so, because of
    His goodness, because-
    but the grasshopper memory leaps
    in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe,
    you never knew the whole of it...

    Replies for this message:
    • Veteran Poet - 1,106 Points Herbert Nehrlich1 (9/27/2005 9:03:00 PM) Post reply

      Thanks Jerry, but I am keeping the spirit of death alive with my latest called The Devil's Cousin. Read it and reap. Best wishes H

  • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 5:40:00 PM) Post reply

    I found this one which tells you a lot about Huff and his succession of fast-food jobs: 'One Life'

    One life I’ve lived this time
    is in the back booth of a diner
    or cafe, out of the way, drinking
    coffee, smoking, watching the
    people, writing things down.
    In this life, I could be mute,
    I don’t talk to anyone, I
    just watch and listen and write.
    That’s it. This is one person
    that I’ve been this life, across
    the country, Canada, parts of
    Mexico, observing, recording.
    It’s a life. It’s a way of
    life. It’s a place where I
    feel comfortable: nothing I
    have to say, no one I have to
    relate to. I have had other
    lives this time but none more
    basic. It’s lonely sometimes
    but even the loneliness isn’t
    really uncomfortable: it fits.
    I could wish that some of my
    other lives fitted as well
    but that’s carping. We play
    the hand that’s dealt us and
    hope we leave behind something
    of worth but we don’t know.
    Somewhere in all those lines
    written in all those places
    there may be a line that lasts.
    If not, there was still the
    doing of it, the peace of a
    room where people come to eat
    or drink coffee or talk and
    also, though they’re not aware
    of it, to be watched and
    written down.
    from 'Simple Vows'

  • Rookie Linda Jenkinson (9/27/2005 5:17:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    hi...i think this a wonderful site, , , please look at my work...im looking too...input is a wonderful thing

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Herbert Nehrlich1 (9/27/2005 9:50:00 PM) Post reply

      Slow down, we're looking, we're looking. It takes time with so many poems on the site. Read one of yours, you don't have to worry about people not looking. So stop fretting: -)) And welcome to the s ... more

    To read all of 2 replies click here
  • Rookie Richard George (9/27/2005 2:59:00 PM) Post reply | Read 4 replies

    Michael, David, so glad you liked the poem by Albert Huffstickler - here's another one.

    To My Twin Born Dead

    It was like being stuck in a door,
    both of us fighting to get out,
    the pressure building
    like there was a crowd behind us
    pushing, pushing.
    And then a sudden surge
    and I burst through,
    hearing your voice trail away behind me
    as I floundered out there in the light,
    thinking 'The door was too small'.
    And later then they brought you out,
    a battered lifeless thing,
    and I was alone for the first time ever.

    Sometimes I wonder
    if all my poems are to you,
    keeping a record you'll never read
    of my sojourn in that place
    you never reached.
    Sometimes I think
    they need to invent
    a new word for loneliness -
    a sound that reaches
    into the marrow of the bone
    then passes on
    into infinity.

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 4:49:00 PM) Post reply

      My feeling is, he could have taken this further with a bit more thought. But a fine idea nevertheless and yes, a strong ending that the rest of the poem doesn't deserve.

    • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (9/27/2005 3:48:00 PM) Post reply

      wow. sad poem. i hope it never happens to me.

    • Rookie Poetry Hound (9/27/2005 3:38:00 PM) Post reply

      I'm not sure if I like this poem or not. It's kind of wierd. But I just love the final 'Sometimes...' sentence.

    • Rookie Mary Nagy (9/27/2005 3:32:00 PM) Post reply

      If I may say, I think this is one of the ... more

  • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (9/27/2005 8:14:00 AM) Post reply | Read 5 replies

    hot damn, that Dylan doc last night was just awesome. Dylan has influenced nearly every rock artist (and poet!) this side of JFK's Assassination. i was most impressed with the people that influenced Dylan. and the footage was incredible, every frame of it. Scorcese has done a marvelous job.

    part 2 tonight!


    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 4:54:00 PM) Post reply

      10.30 pm British time - 2nd Dylan doc brilliant. Answering idiotic 'label' questions...squirm-making, he's so smart not answering them - 'what do you think? ' 'I've never heard your music...'

    • Rookie Max Reif (9/27/2005 3:37:00 PM) Post reply

      I felt Mr. Dylan was totally straight in his discussions with Scorcese. Those grey, or green, or grey-green eyes seemed to look into the past and recall everything with utter precision. He's the only ... more

    • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (9/27/2005 3:00:00 PM) Post reply

      you are right, Michael, Dylan is a bit elusive and evasive; reluctant to reveal himself in any great detail. it might be because, since he changed his name, he has always relied on the mystery of his ... more

    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 11:08:00 AM) Post reply

      For a guy with no singing voice or music ... more

    • Rookie Poetry Hound (9/27/2005 10:16:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Yes, it was a finely made and thoroughly ... more

  • Rookie Janice M Pickett (9/27/2005 8:08:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies


    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Mary Nagy (9/27/2005 10:43:00 AM) Post reply

      Hi Janice, Does that mean you're coming back for awhile? Hopefully. I really don't think other sites can compare with Poemhunter. I havn't been able to find any other sites with such an easy, 'inst ... more

    • Rookie Poetry Hound (9/27/2005 10:24:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      NO! ! ! I will hound you off the site again! Just kidding. C'mon in, the water's fine. We have a lifeguard on duty now.

  • Rookie Allan James Saywell (9/27/2005 4:11:00 AM) Post reply | Read 6 replies

    men and women poets to be a poet you have to be a little left of centre or in
    my case a bloody raving lunatic because let us be honest why would anyone want to be a poet If for gods sake you were regarded as the best poet in the world as per popular vote the reward would not buy you a dozen eggs
    maybe that is why we have more poetry teachers then poets, there must be more money in teaching poetry or maybe a monk people leave food as a offering to
    appease the gods could we sell our poetry for food or drink well would you
    like my best poem for a two litre bottle of coke i'v run out of coke i need
    a coke, think about the whole issue give me some feedback

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Herbert Nehrlich1 (9/27/2005 7:42:00 AM) Post reply

      Some little poems do have legs just long enough to buy some eggs. Though for a dozen not enough So, Allan, do you give a stuff? You know you'd shrivel like a flower and sting like a box jellyf ... more

    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 6:36:00 AM) Post reply

      Back in the '30s, kids (said Granpop) , IZAL toilet rolls had a little poem printed every fourth leaf. It's a message I've never forgotten.

    • Rookie Herbert Nehrlich1 (9/27/2005 4:54:00 AM) Post reply

      Allan, you are only telling a small part of the story. It's not money that is the root of all evil but the love of money. Same with poetry, only it's evil to only some, not the likes of us. Right Emi ... more

    To read all of 6 replies click here
  • Rookie Richard George (9/26/2005 2:06:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    I'm probably a bit late to post a poem about death, but this is one of my all time favourite poems by anyone on any subject. It's by Albert Huffstickler (1927-2002) of Austin, Texas.


    I think of a dream I had
    some fourteen years ago
    not long before my mother died:
    I was getting off the bus
    in Ft.Myers where she lived
    and saw her next door in the drug store.
    She had managed to get downtown
    to meet me and I knew
    that she was buying me
    a homecoming present.
    She looked so old and tired
    and something melted in me
    and I felt such sorrow
    over her love for me,
    felt so ashamed
    to be loved the way
    that this old woman loved me.
    And maybe that dream
    foretold her death
    because I knew that she
    had passed beyond me,
    that her love for me
    had carried her beyond us both
    and so
    she didn't belong here anymore.
    And I stood watching her
    with this terrible sadness in me
    wandering from aisle to aisle,
    searching anxiously
    for just the right thing,
    all of her being focussed
    on finding just the right thing.
    God knows what the right thing was.
    God knows if she found it.
    I woke to some cosmic, unbearable grief
    and sat smoking till daylight.

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie David Nelson Bradsher (9/27/2005 8:18:00 AM) Post reply

      What a great poem that is. It really tugged at me, and I don't even like many free verse poems. Thank you.

    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/27/2005 6:23:00 AM) Post reply

      Huge thankyou for that, Richard. Unforgettable. And so, so true. That totality of love is devastating, and the poem throws that up so well.

  • Rookie Rev. Dr. A. Jacob Hassler (9/26/2005 1:46:00 PM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Ahoy, fellow Poets,

    tonight at 9 pm EST on PBS will be the first part of 'No Direction Home', Martin Scorcese's biopic about Bob Dylan. judging by the trailer, and Uriah Hamilton's expert opinion (he bought the DVD already) it's essential viewing for the hardcore BobCat or the casual fan interested in learning more.

    it is scheduled to air on the Beeb in the UK, but i'm not certain on showtimes.

    just a heads up for those who might like to see it.


    Replies for this message:
  • Rookie Richard Jackson (9/26/2005 2:44:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    'Rain, rain, go away
    Come again another day.'
    ...a delay in play

    © 2005 Richard Jackson
    If anyone can cite the quotation feel free

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/26/2005 9:49:00 AM) Post reply

      ..and if you google the third item down on rain rain (on my screen) , don't miss the incredible detail about execution, on the Jack and Jill page...gasp...definitely a YCMIU - you couldn't make it up ... more

    • Rookie Michael Shepherd (9/26/2005 4:16:00 AM) Post reply

      Google it - there's lots about it. Said to go back to the failure of the Spanish Armada to conquer Britain due to storms in time of Liz 1...not entirely convincing...but there are other explanations. ... more

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