39th Virtual Poetry Circle

Are you ready for the 39th Virtual Poetry Circle this week?  I hope you are because this one's special.  It's the first of the VPCs that fall during National Poetry Month.

If you missed my earlier announcement this week (don't worry, it's a sticky post), you can check out the 2010 National Poetry Month Blog Tour details here.

Today, we're going to travel back in time for a classic poem.

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's poem comes from Osip Mandelstam.

The Stalin Epigram (translated by W.S. Merwin)

Our lives no longer feel ground under them.
At ten paces you can’t hear our words.

But whenever there’s a snatch of talk
it turns to the Kremlin mountaineer,

the ten thick worms his fingers,
his words like measures of weight,

the huge laughing cockroaches on his top lip,
the glitter of his boot-rims.

Ringed with a scum of chicken-necked bosses
he toys with the tributes of half-men.

One whistles, another meows, a third snivels.
He pokes out his finger and he alone goes boom.

He forges decrees in a line like horseshoes,
One for the groin, one the forehead, temple, eye.

He rolls the executions on his tongue like berries.
He wishes he could hug them like big friends from home.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

***

Please also stop by today's National Poetry Month Blog Tour stop at Regular Rumination on Claudia Emerson.

© 2010, Serena Agusto-Cox of Savvy Verse & Wit. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Savvy Verse & Wit or Serena's Feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

38th Virtual Poetry Circle

Today is the 38th Virtual Poetry Circle and we're going to jump back into contemporary poetry.

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

From Sarah Gridley's book Green is the Orator, which I picked up at this year's Split This Rock Poetry Festival (click for my recap of the event):


Sonnet on Fire

Is it the space,

if let inside of, you would remember having lived in
for a particular time?  That thump

was a bird meeting vertical glass.  Something in here
collides with elision.  Your eye apprehends what had never

had walls.  Mind curls                      (night falls)

and afterward, forgets the problem.  Much of the blueprint

is rooted to death.  Much of the glass

has attributed feeling.  In the faltless iris
of a random swamp
some of the cabin

          could disappear.  Especially in sundown all its surface
is stunning.  Except when it rains,

or grasses move, the walls make no                appreciable sound.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure: Clicking on title and image links will lead you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary, though appreciated.

© 2010, Serena Agusto-Cox of Savvy Verse & Wit. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Savvy Verse & Wit or Serena's Feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

37th Virual Poetry Circle

Today, we're returning to classic poets, and boy am I reaching back in time for the 37th Virtual Poetry Circle.  We're going back to a time before Christ and during the Roman Empire for today's poem.

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Our classic poem is from Ovid, which was translated by Christopher Marlowe:

EITHER SHE WAS FOOL ...

ITHER she was fool, or her attire was bad,

Or she was not the wench I wished to have had.

Idly I lay with her, as if I loved not,

And like a burden grieved the bed that moved not.

Though both of us performed our true intent,

Yet could I not cast anchor where I meant.

She on my neck her ivory arms did throw,

Her arms far whiter than the Scythian snow.

And eagerly she kissed me with her tongue,

And under mine her wanton thigh she flung,

Yes, and she soothed me up, and called me "Sir,"

And used all speech that might provoke and stir.

Yet like as if cold hemlock I had drunk,

It mocked me, hung down the head and sunk.

Like a dull cipher, or rude block I lay,

Or shade, or body was I, who can say?

What will my age do, age I cannot shun,

When in my prime my force is spent and done?

I blush, that being youthful, hot, and lusty,

I prove nor youth nor man, but old and rusty.

Pure rose she, like a nun to sacrifice,

Or one that with her tender brother lies.

Yet boarded I the golden Chie twice,

And Libas, and the white-cheeked Pitho thrice.

Corinna craved it in a summer's night,

And nine sweet bouts we had before daylight.

What, waste my limbs through some Thessalian charms?

May spells and drugs do silly souls such harms?

With virgin wax hath some imbast my joints?

And pierced my liver with sharp needles' points?

Charms change corn to grass and make it die:

By charms are running springs and fountains dry.

By charms mast drops from oaks, from vines grapes fall,

And fruit from trees when there's no wind at all.

Why might not then my sinews be enchanted,

And I grow faint as with some spirit haunted?

To this, add shame: shame to perform it quailed me,

And was the second cause why vigour failed me.

My idle thoughts delighted her no more,

Than did the robe or garment which she wore.

Yet might her touch make youthful Pylius fire.

And Tithon livelier than his years require.

Even her I had, and she had me in vain,

What might I crave more, if I ask again?

I think the great gods grieved they had bestowed,

The benefit: which lewdly I foreslowed,

I wished to be received in, in I get me:

To kiss, I kissed; to lie with her, she let me.

Why was I blest? why make king to refuse it?

Chuff-like had I not gold and could not use it.

So in a spring thrives he that told so much,

And looks upon the fruits he cannot touch.

Hath any rose so from a fresh young maid,

As she might straight have gone to church and prayed.

Well I believe, she kissed not as she should,

Nor used the sleight and cunning which she could.

Huge oaks, hard adamants might she have moved,

And with sweet words caused deaf rocks to have loved.

Worthy she was to move both gods and men,

But neither was I man nor lived then.

Can deaf ears take delight when Phaemius sings?

Or Thamyris in curious painted things?

What sweet thought is there but I had the same?

And one gave place still as another came.

Yet notwithstanding, like one dead it lay,

Drooping more than a rose pulled yesterday.

Now, when he should not jet, he bolts upright,

And craves his task, and seeks to be at fight.

Lie down with shame, and see thou stir no more,

Seeing thou would'st deceive me as before.

Then cozenest me: by thee surprised am I,

And bide sore loss with endless infamy.

Nay more, the wench did not disdain a whit

To take it in her hand, and play with it.

But when she saw it would by no means stand,

But still drooped down, regarding not her hand,

"Why mock'st thou me," she cried, "or being ill,

Why bade thee lie down here against thy will?

Either thou art witched with blood of frogs new dead,

Or jaded cam'st thou from some other's bed."

With that, her loose gown on, from me she cast her,

In skipping out her naked feet much graced her.

And lest her maid should know of this disgrace,

To cover it, spilt water on the place.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure: Clicking on title and image links will lead you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary, though appreciated.

© 2010, Serena Agusto-Cox of Savvy Verse & Wit. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Savvy Verse & Wit or Serena's Feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

36th Virtual Poetry Circle

Wow have I been busy with the Split This Rock Poetry Festival in Washington, D.C.  I'm going to the festival a little bit later this morning, just so I can get up this week's Virtual Poetry Circle.

And since, I've been immersed in contemporary poets and poems of witness, I thought I would share with you a poet from the festival for the 36th Virtual Poetry Circle.

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's contemporary poem is from Sinan Antoon's The Baghdad Blues:

A Photograph (Of an Iraqi boy on the front page of the New York Times) (Page 41)

he sat
at the edge of the truck
(eight or nine years old?)
surrounded by his family:
his father,
mother,
and five siblings
were asleep
his head was buried
in his hands
all the clouds of the world
were waiting
on the threshold of his eyes
the tall man wiped off the sweat
and started digging
the seventh grave.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure: Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary.

© 2010, Serena Agusto-Cox of Savvy Verse & Wit. All Rights Reserved. If you're reading this on a site other than Savvy Verse & Wit or Serena's Feed, be aware that this post has been stolen and is used without permission.

35th Virtual Poetry Circle

Before I get to the virtual poetry circle for this week, I wanted to say that this next week coming up is going to be a busy poetry week with the Split This Rock Poetry Festival in Washington, D.C.

I'll be headed downtown midweek for the festival rather than work.  I just love taking odd vacation days for fun festivals, especially those involving poetry.  I'll keep everyone posted about the festival and be sure to at least do a wrap-up post.

OK, here we are, the 35th Virtual Poetry Circle.  It's time to visit with a classic poet, and please share your reactions, analyze, and interact.

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's classic poem is from Walt Whitman:

A Noiseless Patient Spider

A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Also, check out this video:



Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure: Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary.

34th Virtual Poetry Circle

I'm back from my mini vacation.  I hope to have a bunch of reviews for you this week.  It was great visiting with my cousin and her girls.  I think we all had a great time, though now I wish we lived closer and could hang out more!

If you guys are interested in some of the photos I took while they were here, please feel free to check the right sidebar photo slideshow or you can click here.

It's the 34th Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to visit with a contemporary poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggestions at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's contemporary poem is from John Wareham in his Sonnets for Sinners, though he really creatively took the words, sentences, and utterances of public figures and fashioned them into a sonnet.  Look for my review of this book next week.

Tiger Balm (using Tiger Woods' words; Page 14)

You want a partner to witness your life;
a someone I never found, not even
at home -- yet, suddenly, you're touching sides
of me I never knew; why didn't we find
each other years ago? It's brutal that
you can't always be with me.  I want you
next to me, on me -- I need to gaze at
you.  Yet do I truly know who you are?
Will I just be fifth on your list? One more
person who just happens to be famous?
Well, my brain says yes, but my heart says no.
I hate feeling so weak, I'm tougher than this.
Get it together and get on the flight;
we can have make-up sex after we fight.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.


FTC Disclosure:  Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary.

33rd Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 33rd Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to visit with a classic poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggestions at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's poem is from William Carlos Williams:

Spring and All

By the road to the contagious hospital
under the surge of the blue
mottled clouds driven from the
northeast-a cold wind.  Beyond, the
waste of broad, muddy fields
brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

patches of standing water
the scattering of tall trees

All along the road the reddish
purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy
stuff of bushes and small trees
with dead, brown leaves under them
leafless vines-

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches-

They enter the new world naked,
cold, uncertain of all
save that they enter.  All about them
the cold, familiar wind-

Now the grass, tomorrow
the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined-
It quickens:  clarity, outline of leaf

But now the stark dignity of
entrance-Still, the profound change
has come upon them:  rooted, they
grip down and begin to awaken

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

32nd Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 32nd Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to visit with a contemporary poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggestions at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

From Say Uncle by Kay Ryan:

Among English Verbs (page 52)

Among English verbs
to die is oddest in its
eagerness to be dead,
immodest in its
haste to be told--
a verb alchemical
in the head:
one speck of its gold
and a whole life's lead.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure:  Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary.

31st Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 31st Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to visit with a classic poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggestions at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today, we'll be taking a look at a canto from Dante Alighieri's epic poem The Divine Comedy.  Be prepared this is a long one.

Canto 1 

Midway upon the journey of our life
  I found myself within a forest dark,
  For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
  What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
  Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;
  But of the good to treat, which there I found,
  Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
  So full was I of slumber at the moment
  In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain's foot,
  At that point where the valley terminated,
  Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,
  Vested already with that planet's rays
  Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted
  That in my heart's lake had endured throughout
  The night, which I had passed so piteously.

And even as he, who, with distressful breath,
  Forth issued from the sea upon the shore,
  Turns to the water perilous and gazes;

So did my soul, that still was fleeing onward,
  Turn itself back to re-behold the pass
  Which never yet a living person left.

After my weary body I had rested,
  The way resumed I on the desert slope,
  So that the firm foot ever was the lower.

And lo! almost where the ascent began,
  A panther light and swift exceedingly,
  Which with a spotted skin was covered o'er!

And never moved she from before my face,
  Nay, rather did impede so much my way,
  That many times I to return had turned.

The time was the beginning of the morning,
  And up the sun was mounting with those stars
  That with him were, what time the Love Divine

At first in motion set those beauteous things;
  So were to me occasion of good hope,
  The variegated skin of that wild beast,

The hour of time, and the delicious season;
  But not so much, that did not give me fear
  A lion's aspect which appeared to me.

He seemed as if against me he were coming
  With head uplifted, and with ravenous hunger,
  So that it seemed the air was afraid of him;

And a she-wolf, that with all hungerings
  Seemed to be laden in her meagreness,
  And many folk has caused to live forlorn!

She brought upon me so much heaviness,
  With the affright that from her aspect came,
  That I the hope relinquished of the height.

And as he is who willingly acquires,
  And the time comes that causes him to lose,
  Who weeps in all his thoughts and is despondent,

E'en such made me that beast withouten peace,
  Which, coming on against me by degrees
  Thrust me back thither where the sun is silent.

While I was rushing downward to the lowland,
  Before mine eyes did one present himself,
  Who seemed from long-continued silence hoarse.

When I beheld him in the desert vast,
  "Have pity on me," unto him I cried,
  "Whiche'er thou art, or shade or real man!"

He answered me: "Not man; man once I was,
  And both my parents were of Lombardy,
  And Mantuans by country both of them.

'Sub Julio' was I born, though it was late,
  And lived at Rome under the good Augustus,
  During the time of false and lying gods.

A poet was I, and I sang that just
  Son of Anchises, who came forth from Troy,
  After that Ilion the superb was burned.

But thou, why goest thou back to such annoyance?
  Why climb'st thou not the Mount Delectable,
  Which is the source and cause of every joy?"

"Now, art thou that Virgilius and that fountain
  Which spreads abroad so wide a river of speech?"
  I made response to him with bashful forehead.

"O, of the other poets honour and light,
  Avail me the long study and great love
  That have impelled me to explore thy volume!

Thou art my master, and my author thou,
  Thou art alone the one from whom I took
  The beautiful style that has done honour to me.

Behold the beast, for which I have turned back;
  Do thou protect me from her, famous Sage,
  For she doth make my veins and pulses tremble."

"Thee it behoves to take another road,"
  Responded he, when he beheld me weeping,
  "If from this savage place thou wouldst escape;

Because this beast, at which thou criest out,
  Suffers not any one to pass her way,
  But so doth harass him, that she destroys him;

And has a nature so malign and ruthless,
  That never doth she glut her greedy will,
  And after food is hungrier than before.

Many the animals with whom she weds,
  And more they shall be still, until the Greyhound
  Comes, who shall make her perish in her pain.

He shall not feed on either earth or pelf,
  But upon wisdom, and on love and virtue;
  'Twixt Feltro and Feltro shall his nation be;

Of that low Italy shall he be the saviour,
  On whose account the maid Camilla died,
  Euryalus, Turnus, Nisus, of their wounds;

Through every city shall he hunt her down,
  Until he shall have driven her back to Hell,
  There from whence envy first did let her loose.

Therefore I think and judge it for thy best
  Thou follow me, and I will be thy guide,
  And lead thee hence through the eternal place,

Where thou shalt hear the desperate lamentations,
  Shalt see the ancient spirits disconsolate,
  Who cry out each one for the second death;

And thou shalt see those who contented are
  Within the fire, because they hope to come,
  Whene'er it may be, to the blessed people;

To whom, then, if thou wishest to ascend,
  A soul shall be for that than I more worthy;
  With her at my departure I will leave thee;

Because that Emperor, who reigns above,
  In that I was rebellious to his law,
  Wills that through me none come into his city.

He governs everywhere, and there he reigns;
  There is his city and his lofty throne;
  O happy he whom thereto he elects!"

And I to him: "Poet, I thee entreat,
  By that same God whom thou didst never know,
  So that I may escape this woe and worse,

Thou wouldst conduct me there where thou hast said,
  That I may see the portal of Saint Peter,
  And those thou makest so disconsolate."

Then he moved on, and I behind him followed.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure:  Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary.

30th Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 30th Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to visit with a contemporary poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggestions at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Here's a contemporary poem from Reb Livingston from her book Your Ten Favorite Words:

No Bra Required(Page 11)

Someone scrawled
funny words
on our underwear.

Our underwear,
way too loose

on our rascal asses.
We must realize ourselves
into those big britches,

you declare.  Love
in a handbasket.  Hell
in my heart.  My camisole,

yours, evermore.  Never
have I believed in polygamy
more than I do rising this

daybreak.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have
a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

FTC Disclosure:  Clicking on title links or images will bring you to my Amazon Affiliate page; No purchase necessary. 

29th Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 29th Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to revisit a classic poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggests at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Why Should a Foolish Marriage Vow
by John Dryden

Why should a foolish marriage vow, 
  Which long ago was made,
Oblige us to each other now
  When passion is decay'd?
We loved, and we loved, as long as we could,
  Till our love was loved out in us both:
But our marriage is dead, when the pleasure is fled:
  'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

If I have pleasures for a friend,
  And farther love in store,
What wrong has he whose joys did end,
  And who could give no more?
'Tis a madness that he should be jealous of me,
Or that I should bar him of another:
For all we can gain is to give our selves pain,
When neither can hinder the other.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have
a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

28th Virtual Poetry Circle

It's the 28th Virtual Poetry Circle, and it's time to revisit a contemporary poet, but before we do that, I wanted to thank everyone who has participated in this project thus far.  Feel free to spread the word.

Additionally, you should start noticing some small changes here on the blog, including possible article suggests at the end of my posts (Thanks Bloggiesta for calling this widget to my attention) and some share buttons, which I'm not overly thrilled with, but they'll do for now.

I would also love to get a new three-column template that meshes better with my header, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please email me.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today's poem is from Diana Raab's latest collection, The Guilt Gene:

The Guilt Gene (Page 21)

The day before my birth
on the second Sunday in May

when the moon was full
and the stars already

twinkled in my father's eyes,
a little fella appeared from

a dark corner of my womb-yard,
poked his head out

from between the bushes
and demanded that I ask for

forgiveness before I even knew
what the word meant.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have
a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

27th Virtual Poetry Circle

It's a new year and a new classic poem for the 27th Virtual Poetry Circle.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Beloved, my Beloved . . . (a sonnet)
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Beloved, my Beloved, when I think 
That thou wast in the world a year ago, 
What time I sate alone here in the snow 
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink 
No moment at thy voice ... but, link by link, 
Went counting all my chains, as if that so 
They never could fall off at any blow 
Struck by thy possible hand ... why, thus I drink 
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful, 
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night 
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull 
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white 
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, 
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have
a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

26th Virtual Poetry Circle

Here we are, Virtual Poetry Circle #26.  I know I have winners to announce from the big 25th Virtual Poetry Circle giveaway.  I hope you all took advantage of your possible 25 entries.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

We're back to contemporary poets again this week.  Since we've had the pleasure of meeting Liz Gallagher, it's only fitting that we share one of her poems from her collection The Wrong Miracle.

A Bruising on the Bone (page 2)

I saw my shoulder's skeleton today.  Under the headlights
the bone's shadow migrated into the half-crumbling step

it had bashed against.  I saw how a bone can bruise
and how my fear of a capsule sticking in the windpipe

cannot be swapped for a sachet of powder.  I recognised
by heart, the act of letting my shirt tails out.  The deep

breathing in the room did not stop.  I removed
the red wristwatch and the red bra-straps

and tilted my head.  She slammed the door shut.  And I
became a recumbent body being passed overhead,

hand over hand, right up to where the Edge was
playing.  I dreamt about stripping down to my

unlaced shoes.  I had glossy, bouffant hair and improvised
a Modus Vivendi.  All around me, I heard pleas

for every last result to go under the microscope.  I began
to recognise the tipping points.  Afterwards, I wore

a windbreaker and stopped pointing with my feet.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

25th Virtual Poetry Circle

It's here!  The 25th Virtual Poetry Circle.  Today is the day everyone who has commented on these weekly events will have an opportunity to win some poetry for yourself.  I'll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  All you have to do is keep commenting.  Easy right?!

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today, we're returning to the classics.  Let's talk haiku and Basho Matsuo!  Haiku has a number of characteristics, including the use of nature and the syllable count of 5-7-5.  Because Haiku is a short form of poetry, we'll take a look at a few of his poems:

Bush clover in blossom waves
Without spilling
A drop of dew.

The sound of hail --
I am the same as before
Like that aging oak.

an ancient pond
a frog jumps in
the splash of water.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

***Giveaway Details*** 3 Winners!!!  Anywhere in the World!!!

1.  Comment on the Virtual Poetry Circle posts about each poem for one entry.

Deadline is Dec. 18, 2009, 11:59PM EST

Prize Pack #1 (Click links for my reviews)

1.  One copy of Poet Lore, a magazine of The Writer's Center in Bethesda, Md.
2.  A copy of John Amen's At the Threshold of Alchemy and More of Me Disappears
3.  Fair Creatures of an Hour by Lynn Levin
4.  Carta Marina by Ann Fisher Wirth
5.  Green Bodies by Rosemary Winslow
6.  One book of classic poetry (your choice)

Prize Pack #2

1.  Apologies to an Apple by Maya Ganesan
2.  Becoming the Villainess by Jeannine Hall Gailey 
3.  Rubber Side Down Edited by Jose Gouveia
4.  Mainline to the Heart & Other Poems by Clive Matson
5.  One book of classic poetry (your choice)

Prize Pack #3

1.  Dear Anais by Diana Raab
2.  City Above the Sea & Other Poems by Stephen Alan
3.  Human Dark With Sugar by Brenda Shaughnessy
4.  One book of classic poetry (your choice)

Depending on the number of entrants, there could be additional, single volumes of poetry to runners up.

24th Virtual Poetry Circle

Welcome to the 24th Virtual Poetry Circle!  We're one Virtual Poetry Circle away from the big giveaway.  Are you ready?

On December 12 everyone who has commented on these weekly events will have an opportunity to win some poetry for yourself.  I'll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  All you have to do is keep commenting.  Easy right?!

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

We're back to contemporary poetry again today.  Today's poem comes from Holocaust Poetry compiled by Hilda Schiff:

If
by Edward Bond (Page 155)

If Auschwitz had been in Hampshire
There would have been Englishmen to guard it
To administer records
Marshall transports
Work the gas ovens
And keep silent
The smoke would have drifted over these green hills

It's not that all men are evil or creatures of instinct
We -- even our subjective self -- are products of history
Of political change
In history two things join
Our will and things beyond our will
We change what we are as a means of controlling these things
That is:  we create a new culture
We remain human only by changing
Each generation must create its own humanity

And the smoke will drift over these green hills
Our culture makes us barbarians
It does not allow us to live humanely
We must create a new culture
Or cease to be human

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

23rd Virtual Poetry Circle

Welcome to the 23rd Virtual Poetry Circle!  I'm amazed that this project has been successful.  I really had no hope for it at all.  I thought each week would have zero comments.  I'm amazed.

So, if we all continue to do well, I'll host a giveaway on the 25th Virtual Poetry Circle, which will fall on December 12, for all of you who've commented on these weekly events.  I'll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  Easy right?!

And all you have to do is comment on these posts with your reactions to the poem posted.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today, we're going to return to classic poetry, and in honor of Thanksgiving, we're going to take a look at "The Pumpkin" by John Greenleaf Whittier, a 19th Century poet.

The Pumpkin
by John Greenleaf Whittier

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, 
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, 
And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, 
With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, 
Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, 
While he waited to know that his warning was true, 
And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain 
For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. 

On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden 
Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; 
And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold 
Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; 
Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, 
On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, 
Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, 
And the sun of September melts down on his vines. 

Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, 
From North and from South comes the pilgrim and guest; 
When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board 
The old broken links of affection restored; 
When the care-wearied man seeks his mother once more, 
And the worn matron smiles where the girl smiled before; 
What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye, 
What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie? 

Oh, fruit loved of boyhood! the old days recalling, 
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling! 
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin, 
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within! 
When we laughed round the corn-heap, with hearts all in tune, 
Our chair a broad pumpkin, - our lantern the moon, 
Telling tales of the fairy who travelled like steam 
In a pumpkin-shell coach, with two rats for her team! 

Then thanks for thy present! none sweeter or better 
E'er smoked from an oven or circled a platter! 
Fairer hands never wrought at a pastry more fine, 
Brighter eyes never watched o'er its baking, than thine! 
And the prayer, which my mouth is too full to express, 
Swells my heart that thy shadow may never be less, 
That the days of thy lot may be lengthened below, 
And the fame of thy worth like a pumpkin-vine grow, 
And thy life be as sweet, and its last sunset sky 
Golden-tinted and fair as thy own Pumpkin pie! 

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

22nd Virtual Poetry Circle

Wow, 22 Virtual Poetry Circles!  I'm amazed that this project has been successful.  I really had no hope for it at all.  I thought each week would have zero comments.  Surprised me!

So, if we all continue to do well, I'll host a giveaway on the 25th Virtual Poetry Circle, which will fall on December 12, for all of you who've commented on these weekly events.  I'll pop your names in a hat and choose a winner.  Easy right?!

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Contemporary Poet John Amen is also a musician and editor of The Pedestal Magazine.  This poem is from his most recent collection At the Threshold of Alchemy:

At The Funeral (Page 17)


The floorboards exhaled,
walls slept for the first time in years.

Grandma slouched in the foyer, 
her belly mounding in her lap, makeup streaked.
I distracted myself in the basement, thinking
of Ms Gilham, my face in her cleavage.

Upstairs, aunts and neighbors -- the mercenaries
of resilience -- cooked, cleaned, scrubbed
until the house could have passed for a delivery room.

I reemerged, 
dad and his brother gnawing the gristly silence.
No one noticed the stain on my corduroys
or saw me put a silver spoon in my pocket.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.

21st Virtual Poetry Circle

I think we all know the routine by now, but just in case you don't, here's the spiel again.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Today, its a return to classic poet.  John Keats' Ode on a Grecian Urn is one of my favorites from the romantic period in poetry.

Ode on a Grecian Urn
by: John Keats

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? what maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty'--that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion. 

20th Virtual Poetry Circle

Don't forget about the Verse Reviewers link I'm creating here on Savvy Verse & Wit.

Send me an email with your blog information to savvyverseandwit AT gmail DOT com

And now, for the twentieth edition of the Virtual Poetry Circle.  I can't believe we've made it this far.

OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis:

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

We're returning to contemporary poetry this week, and today's poem if from Lynn Levin's poetry collection, Fair Creatures of an Hour (review forthcoming):

Helium (page 9)

I was happy as one
who offers her heart
and doesn't care
if it's accepted or not.
I was less, not more.
I skipped my stupid resentments
like stones across the river, 
forgave those who walked off
while I was speaking,
owed me money,
blamed me for things I didn't do.
If spirits could rise like helium,
then my spirits rose like helium.
I couldn't tell my breath
from the new-mown grass,
the scent of the white azalea.
You said that I thre myself away.
You said that resistance
would have been nobler
than resignation.  I began
to fear that you were right
for in the morning my heart was lighter
than air, but in the evening
I felt insolid and grew frantic.

Let me know your thoughts, ideas, feelings, impressions. Let's have a great discussion...pick a line, pick an image, pick a sentence.

I've you missed the other Virtual Poetry Circles, check them out here. It's never too late to join the discussion.