Pikes Peak

Pikes Peak
"Spacious Skies"
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, March 14, 2021

The Moon never Beams without bringing me Dreams


Annabel Lee

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee--
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee,
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me, 
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me--
Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, i lie down by the side
Of my darling--my daring--my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea--
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

By Edgar Allan Poe

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Clouds Came Down to Earth

"Clouds Came Down to Earth"
Clouds came down to Earth
And sit at my feet,
No place to wander
Not far the eye could see,
For thick and grey was the air,
The trees did not bend,
from the whisper of the wind
Nor did the birds whimper
As stillness fell on the earth
Covering her in blankets of grey...

By PL Fallin

Friday, October 31, 2014

Under the Crescent Light - Birds in Flight

Poem from a "Thousand Mornings" by Mary Oliver who is a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet whose body of work is largely filled with imagery of the natural world.


'The first time Percy came back
he was not sailing on a cloud.
He was loping along the sand as though
he had come a great way.
"Percy," I cried out, and reached to him—
those white curls—
but he was unreachable. As music
is present yet you can't touch it...

And now you'll be telling stories
of my coming back
and they won't be false, and they won't be true,
but they'll be real."
And then, as he used to, he said, "Let's go!"
And we walked down the beach together."

Excerpt from "A Thousand Poems" by Mary Oliver

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Rotorua Lake, Lake of Black Swans

Rotorua, a Maori word meaning literally "second lake", was originally settled by the Maori of the Te Arawa tribe.  Rotorua is the heartland of New Zealand Maori culture.  Lake Rotorua is the largest of the 16 lakes in the Rotorua district.  Mokoia Island is on the lake and for centuries been occupied by various tribes. The lake is a treasure of wildlife, particularly black swans. 
There are seven species of swans in the world, all pure white except for the Australian black swan and the South American black-necked swan. The black swan was introduced as a game bird from Australia to New Zealand in the 1860s but also probably reached New Zealand naturally and are considered a native bird.

Sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay
From Fatal Interview

"O ailing Love, compose your struggling wing!
Confess you mortal; be content to die.
How better dead, than be this awkward thing
Dragging in dust its feathers of the sky;
Hitching and rearing, plunging beak to loam,
Upturned, disheveled, uttering a weak sound
Less proud than of the gull that rakes the foam,
Less kind than of the hawk that scours the ground.
While yet your awful beauty, even at bay,
Beats off the impious eye, the outstretched hand,
And what your hue or fashion none can say,
Vanish, be fled, leave me a wingless land . . .
Save where one moment down the quiet tide
Fades a white swan, with a black swan beside."

—  Edna St Vincent Millay

Edna St. Vincent Millay (February 22, 1892 – October 19, 1950) was an American lyrical poet and playwright. She received the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1923, the third woman to win the award for poetry, and was also known for her feminist activism and her many love affairs.
Mamaroneck, NY, 1914, by Arnold Genthe.
On her death, The New York Times described her as "an idol of the younger generation during the glorious early days of Greenwich Village...One of the greatest American poets of her time." Thomas Hardy said that America had two great attractions: the skyscraper and the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Monday, April 22, 2013

'Well Water' by Randall Jarrell


Well Water

  by Randall Jarrell 1969
What a girl called "the dailiness of life"
(Adding an errand to your errand.  Saying,
"Since you're up . . ." Making you a means to
A means to a means to) is well water
Pumped from an old well at the bottom of the world.
The pump you pump the water from is rusty
And hard to move and absurd, a squirrel-wheel
A sick squirrel turns slowly, through the sunny
Inexorable hours.  And yet sometimes
The wheel turns of its own weight, the rusty
Pump pumps over your sweating face the clear
Water, cold, so cold! you cup your hands
And gulp from them the dailiness of life.

From The Complete Poems by Randall Jarrel

Randall Jarrell
In 1914, Randall Jarrell was born in Nashville, Tennessee. He earned bachelor's and master's degrees from Vanderbilt University. From 1937 to 1939 he taught at Kenyon College, where he met John Crowe Ransom and Robert Lowell, and then at the University of Texas.
His first book of poems, Blood for a Stranger, was published in 1942, the same year he enlisted in the Army Air Corps. He soon left the Air Corps for the army and worked as a control tower operator, an experience which provided much material for his poetry.

Following the war, Jarrell accepted a teaching position at the Woman's College of the University of North Carolina, Greensboro, and remained there, except for occasional absences to teach elsewhere, until his death. Even more than for his poems, Jarrell is highly regarded as a peerless literary essayist, and was considered the most astute (and most feared) poetry critic of his generation.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Fairies In My Garden

Fairies In My Garden

As the rain drops fall
I wandered past my garden wall,
Among the dark green hedges
Within the flowers blooming as rubies rare,
There lies a fairy land
As only I the beholder can see,
As rain-pools form at my feet
I walked along the shady creek,
I saw a  lovely sight indeed,
Standing among the grassy stalks,
With a small basket of lily leaves
A fairy was catching tiny raindrops,
Beyond the growth of ivy vines
Fairies fluttered between the twines,
Gathering rosebuds for their hair,
Dressed in colors of every hue,
Green, purple, white and blue,
With graceful wings, swiftly they flew,
As I wandered thru their garden home.

By PL Fallin

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Summerland Pastoral Fields - John Milton's "Lycidas"


  few photos of Summerland Park on the North Inlet Trail to Cascade Falls; I particular like seeing the horses grazing in the pasture. I don't have the language skills to write a pastoral elegy like John Milton.

I never hear anything about the work of the poet "John Milton" except in a University English classroom.  His writing style is of a highly educated man and far more sophisticated and elegant then writers today. He had a command of the English language and knew how to use words like a painter uses brush strokes to produce a brilliant effect.  Lycidas is a pastoral elegy which is why I thought about John Milton with the pastoral scene at Summerland Park.

Several verses from John Milton's "Lycidas" to stir the imagination:

"Thee Shepherd, thee the Woods, and desert Caves,
With wilde Thyme and the gadding Vine o'regrown,
And all their echoes mourn.
The Willows, and the Hazle Copses green,
Shall now no more be seen,
Fanning their joyous Leaves to thy soft layes.
As killing as the Canker to the Rose,
Or Taint-worm to the weanling Herds that graze,
Or Frost to Flowers, that their gay wardrop wear,
When first the White thorn blows;
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to Shepherds ear."

John Milton (Bewails a  friend, who drowned in his Passage
from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637.)

Saturday, September 29, 2012

A Poet's Eye In the Lonely Sky

A Poet's Eye In the Lonely Sky

Sea Gull, 
soaring so high
no one inspires
wings of dreams

like you create 
painting the sky.

Clouds descend,
forming a haven
in the twilight;

the tips of your wings
catches the wind,

in poetic flight.

Searching for dreams,

in drifting tide;
Spreading your wings

in glimmering light;
A Poet's eye

In the lonely Sky.

By PL Fallin

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Little Blue Crab, Why are you Climbing up that Tree?

Little Blue Crab, Why are you Climbing up that Tree?

Little Blue Crab,
Go back to the sea,
You are not a bird,
You do not belong in a tree,
Your eyes look so sad,
Did the tide wash you ashore?
You're in the marsh,
Hiding under the moss,
Why are you climbing up that tree?
I'm not going to touch,
Your claws are too sharp,
They're ready to snap,
Poor little fellow,
The sea is not up that tree!

By PL Fallin

Monday, September 24, 2012

"Ring Around O' Rosies" A Poem of Darkness

Are the children Singing "Ring Around O'Rosies?"

The water fountain in Frankenmuth, Michigan are children dancing around a flag pole.  There is a popular poem that many of us as children would sing when we danced around a flag pole:

" Ring around the roses
pocket full of poses
atishoo, atishoo
we all fall down."

What is the dark truth that lies deep in the meaning of the poem?  What was I as a child singing?
It is about the plague that struck England in 15 Th century. Also referred to as 'Black Death" had almost killed 1/3 rd population of Europe.It also refers to many other diseases that hit Europe around the same time.  The ring around roses basically means the rat bites became cherry red in color,being the first sign of plague. It is also related to infectious diseases such as " Rubella". Rubella is German measles, it causes rashes, head aches , fever and discomfort. Pocket full of poses means, people being effected by plague would become patients of respiratory infection further leading to seizures. Further others symptoms of plague were were cold,abdominal pain, swelling of the lymph nodes, fever, chills, chest pain, headaches and weakness, that explain the "Atishoo".

Friday, September 21, 2012

Sitting on the Dock in the Rain

Sitting on the Dock in the Rain

Rain clouds gathering overhead,
Thunder roaring from the darkness,
Gusty winds stinging my face,
Walking as fast as I can
Down the cobblestone lanes,
Horse hitch wagons splashing puddles,
People flocking like larks,
Shaking off the raindrops,
No umbrellas to spare,
Sitting on the dock in the rain.

Rain fallin down in buckets,
Pouring down the planks,
Every bench drenching wet,
Stranded here for awhile,
On an island with no cover,
Dampness creeping into my shoes,
Sea gulls flying against the wind,
Squawking around every bend,
Sitting on the dock in the rain,
Hoping for the ferry to come in.

By PL Fallin

A Devil's Darning Needle - Riddles from the Pond

Blue Devil’s Darning Needle

Ruling over water and air,
In warmth and sunlight,
Flies like the light,
Twisting, turning, upward,
Downward without fright,
Colors of divine creation,
A Mystical dragon of yore,
A snake healer and
Carrier of dead souls,
A blue devil’s darning needle,
A vision within life,
To see your own light.

By PL Fallin
"Riddles from the Pond"

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Hold My Hand In Remembrance

Hold My Hand at Dowdell's Knob

I came here often,
Sitting here alone,
I asked for no company,
Only quiet solitude,
Thinking about what to do.
The world was in chaos,
My power was great,
Decisions I had to make.
A heavy heart worn ed
From deciding men's fate.
My bones were weak,
My strength was fading
On a warm springs day,
Death came calling,
 And stopped at my gate.

Sitting here forever,
Smiling in quiet solitude.
As seasons change,
New generations are born,
They never knew me
or speak my name.
I have been waiting
For your company,
To share my history.
So young farm girl,
Who lived through the war,
Sit by me, hold my hand,
Share your memories,
Of days gone-by,
In remembrance of me.
On this pine mountain ridge.

(Dedicated to my mom)
By PL Fallin

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Delicate Butterfly, Why are you sitting on my knee?

Delicate butterfly
Why are you sitting on my knee?
Don't you have someplace to go?
A flower with sweet nectar,
Leaves on a lushly bush,
A breeze to sing you a song,
A delicate waltz in mid air,
Misty fountain to cool your wings.

Delicate butterfly
Why are you sitting on my knee?
We are both so still, so quiet,
No movement, like statues at a pond,
You don't make a sound,
Yet we hear noise all around,
I don't dare disturb
Or move your resting place,
Why do I enjoy your company so?

Delicate butterfly
Why are you sitting on my knee?
You are so graceful
Your touch is so light,
I feel peaceful and joy,
You selected me instead of a flower,
A special moment you grant me,
A treasury of splendor,
You have captured me!

By PL Fallin

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Witches Point on Smoky Mountains

It was a very misty, cloudy and rainy day on top of the Smoky Mountains.  It was difficult to see the mountain range.  Witches Overlook was a perfect place to stop to see the misty mountains below.  There was no smoke in the mountains on this day.  Misty rain was all around.

Witches Brew

On Misty Mountain
High in the clouds,
Bare trees, broken limbs,
Hanging purple sky,
Gusty winds,
Rushing waters below,
Cold, chilled bones,
Drizzling rain
Heavy Dew
Shadows all around,
A Witches brew.

By PL Fallin

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Beorn, Creature of the Night

Beorn, creature of the night,
Your path is far and wide,
Some say you growl with the tongue of bears,
Born from the ancient bears of the mountains,
Thriving on milk and wild honey,
Did you come from the Misty Mountains?
Do you hear your ancient people cries?
Friend nor foe have you,
Part man, Part bear
I hear the rustling of leaves,
Whistling voices in the wind,
I see you running through the darkness,
I dare not move but stand still like the trees,
You sit alone above the clouds,
Nightfall after nightfall,
Watching the moonlight sink,
Beyond the mountains silhouette,
Waiting to reclaim your ancient home.

By PL Fallin

Sunday, September 9, 2012

River of Muddy Blue Waters

River of Muddy Blue Waters

River of muddy blue waters,
With mysteries deep and wide,
Many a tale of folk lore,
Of Ships stranded and lost in the tide.
Oh River, I love you just the same,
I see your moonlight ripples,
Glistening in the rain.

Flowing past time like a wanderer,
Winding your way with no rest,
Through forest, hills, and meadows,
Twistin, turnin each bend
Headed for far-away shores.
Whether in rain or sunshine,
Oh River, I love you just the same,
I want to make you mine.

The muddy blue waters are swift,
Flowing over rocks and cliffs,
Washing away lowly creatures,
Carrying away their treasures.
What lays at your bottom floor?
Oh River, I love you just the same,
Sailing alone to seafaring shores.

By PL Fallin

Images of Tahquamenon River

Friday, September 7, 2012

The Clinging Tree

The Clinging Tree

Along the mountain trail
The living waters Flow
Gushing, Streaming,
Over the Rocks and Stones

Into the Big Meadows below.

Lingering on the River Bank
A Tree Sits all Alone
Beneath her stretched-out limbs,
Her Roots were matted In the Air
Twisted and Turning, Clinging
To the earth’s damp floor.

Twinges of pain in her path
Above my head vultures circle
Below my feet, dampness,
Mud, and thistles,

A full moon glows in the night,
I stood beneath her shadows

Staring at the tree’s desperate plight.

Through scars and pain she wept,
No protective mother’s coat,
Too many footsteps traveled this path,
Pity I felt for the Clinging Tree
Reaching out so desperately,

Grasping the earth’s muddy floor,
Surviving her fate at Nature’s door.

By PL Fallin

Saturday, August 25, 2012

A Mountain Goblin "Riddle in the Dark"

What has a root
that never grows?
Headless and cannot be heard,
What once was
can no longer be,
It lies beneath the sun,
the stars and moon,
With hallow legs in stillness hold,
Has arms that reach out to touch
but cannot feel?