Tag Archives: Guest poem

The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower

The Force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever

Dylan Thomas.

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At The Meat Chiller

Own up folks, we’ve all done something like this at some point. As usual Glenys captures these moments so well:

lifecameos

On a busy morning at the
supermarket meat chiller
I studied shelves of
sausages, chops, mince
and shin meat on the bone.
I tried to slide right
to see the chicken packs, lamb
knuckles, corned beef brisket
but the person to my right
simply would not move.
I sidestepped along slightly crowding
but still they did not move.

I turned to say “Excuse me !”
and found myself facing my
reflection in the mirror
on the end section wall.

Previously posted June 2016

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Two Beacons

Two lights gleam equally across the snow
The traveller hesitates which way to go . . .
One is a cottage lamp; the other ray
A world four hundred million miles away.

 by Theodore Stephanides, who should be familiar to all who love Gerald Durrell‘s “My Family and other Animals”. Theodore was a polymath—-both Doctor and aquatic biologist, and he wrote wonderful poetry.

Changeling

by Leah Bodine Drake

I am out on the wind
In the wild, black night;
On the wings of the owl
I take my flight,
On the ghostly wings of the great white owl;
And whether the night be fair or foul,
Or the moon be up or the thunder growl,
Happy I be,
Happy I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me!

When meek folk sleep
In their dull, soft beds,
I creep over roots
That the weasel treads,
Where the squat green lamps of the toadstools glow —
And only the fox knows the ways I go,
And nobody knows the things I know. . . .
Wise I be,
Wise I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me!

O Mother, slumber
And do not wake! . . .
Thin voices called
From the rain-wet brake,
And the child you cradled against your breast
Is out in the night on the black wind’s crest,
For only the wild can give me rest. . . .
Sad I be,
Sad I be
When the changeling blood runs green in me

from https://poemsofthefantastic.com/changeling/

Because I Liked You by A.E. Housman

Because I liked you better
Than suits a man to say,
It irked you, and I promised
To throw the thought away.

To put the world between us
We parted, stiff and dry;
‘Good-bye,’ said you, ‘forget me.’
‘I will, no fear’, said I.

If here, where clover whitens
The dead man’s knoll, you pass,
And no tall flower to meet you
Starts in the trefoiled grass,

Halt by the headstone naming
The heart no longer stirred,
And say the lad that loved you
Was one that kept his word.

by A.E. Housman

Wrecks

In the dew-drop abyss near
Wrecks of molecules appear;
In the far abyss of the sky
Wrecks of outworn  worlds  drift by…
But in the protean abyss of the soul
Wrecks of motes and universes roll.

by Theodore Stephanides, who should be familiar to all who love Gerald Durrell‘s “My Family and other Animals”. Theodore was a polymath, and wrote wonderful poetry.

A poem by Richard Feynman

Richard Feynman was not only a brilliant physicist but one of the 20th Century’s great thinkers. He also loved playing pranks and thumbing his nose at authority. And, he wrote poetry!

Collecting Reality

There are the rushing waves
mountains of molecules
each stupidly minding its own business
trillions apart
yet forming white surf in unison

Ages on ages
before any eyes could see
year after year
thunderously pounding the shore as now.
For whom, for what?
On a dead planet
with no life to entertain.

Never at rest
tortured by energy
wasted prodigiously by the Sun
poured into space.
A mite makes the sea roar.

Deep in the sea
all molecules repeat
the patterns of one another
till complex new ones are formed.
They make others like themselves
and a new dance starts.
Growing in size and complexity
living things
masses of atoms
DNA, protein
dancing a pattern ever more intricate.

Out of the cradle
onto dry land
here it is
standing:
atoms with consciousness;
matter with curiosity.

Stands at the sea,
wonders at wondering: I
a universe of atoms
an atom in…

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EOS

I would like to share this wonderful poem by Louis Faber with you:

an old writer and his words

Tomorrow the morning
will arrive as it always does,
eating the last vestiges
of night, painting the sky
in puce and crimson.
It will foretell the rain
that will carry our dreams
down the hill
and into storm sewers,
eventually to wash into the lake.
But in that moment
when the sky is ablaze,
none of that matters,
save the beauty of dawn.

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night into early morn’

A poem I’d like to share with you, from Eliot Dybden:

along the interstice

duck in the pond behind the flat
pontificating to whatever audience he thinks he has
proclaiming his territory
or maybe he’s just saying hey

hey! hey! hey!
(pause)
hey!
(pause)
hey!

the acoustics are just right
so that sometimes i believe among the cattails
roams a talkative, minature moose

at first he was a leaky tap
the squeak of a ceiling fan
but now he is the consistency of being

resistance against the dark undertown
refusing to be stifled or quelled

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Guest Artist, Glenys Doull of New Zealand

A wonderful selection of poems from Glenys, otherwise known as ‘LifeCameos’ here on WordPress and a poet I always make time to read whenever she posts. Do visit and enjoy…..

QuickTurtle Books®

It is my privilege to introduce Glenys as part of our Guest Artist Series.  I believe she is an important poet of our times and for the people.  Unencumbered by the literary judgements of intellectuals, she is part of the movement to return poetry to the people–where it rightfully belongs.  I hope you take the time to enjoy her wonderful skill of imagery and verse.

These poems are used by permission and copyrighted by Glenys Doull.

Sweet Peas

Heavily scented warm
summer air draws in
buzzing bees eagerly
seeking precious nectar.

Sweet peas swarm up
netting on the old shed wall
a perfumed rainbow
tapestry of many hues.

Pale pastels to bright
reds, purples, pinks,
blues and lilacs paint a
masterpiece on old timbers.

Rich pickings for the
school children’s flower show.

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