Sunday was made for poetry. It is the supreme fiction after all. We have a few published poets in our ranks. Bill, in junior high, and Steve, shortly. If "I think, therefore, I am" then "I think, therefore I write poetry." Everyone writes. It would be great fun to see some poetry on the site on Sunday.
Last week Myk got Bill to remember some old favorites about 1) shapes rolling and 2) the earth. I'd love to start out Poetry Sunday with those two poems. So this is a shout out to Bill to post them. Anyone else, also please consider posting a poem of yours (or from someone else, recognized or not) for Poetry Sunday, today or any Sunday.
4 comments:
Do we have to wait until Sunday?
Yes, unless there is some hardship involved.
I emailed Bill to try to get him to post, but he emailed me back, so I'll post for him…sort of. These are famous, but famous because they were done in Jr High. As Bill says of the Physics of Shapes, he doesn't really remember so he just made one up in a minute. My memory is different so I'm editing his submission. But the point, that Bill's modesty doesn't permit, was the idea, like Peter's classic "Bang" tapestry. Everyone in Jr High writes poetry about feelings, Bill takes a different path.
Physics of Shapes
When watched hoops go
They roll so slow.
When disks go passed
They're pretty fast.
When spheres go by
They fly.
The World
The World
is hurled
Through so much space
At such a pace,
That earth,
Whose birth
Was long ago
And oh so slow,
is old
And cold.
I just received the following poem as a submission from I forget who:
UNTITLED
--ANONYMOUS
Have you noticed I’m fading away?
Nobody there by the end of the day
Becoming transparent--from colors to grey.
I feel like I’m just about gone.
I may look like I’m here but I won’t be for long,
All that is left are the words to this song,
I feel that I may disappear.
You may not recall that I used to be here.
Used to be noticed by those far and near.
Loved and respected by those I held dear.
I may just dissolve into mist.
Remembered? Perhaps but maybe not missed.
I was somebody once who had fervently kissed
A warm willing mouth with moist luscious lips.
You may say, as I fade out of sight,
“Was someone here recently, maybe last night?
We can’t quite remember his bulk or his height
Or whether his hair was black, brown or white.,
But we seem to recall that he duly performed
All we expected so he could conform
To his place in the world without ever transforming
It however slight.”
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