A Poem

Elle Cordova

Found poetry

A Poem

THE TRUTH AND THE LIE

Samantha Stephens

The Lie said to the Truth, "Let's take a bath together, the water is very nice."
The Truth, still suspicious, tested the water and found out it really was nice.

So they got naked and bathed.

But suddenly, the Lie leapt out of the water and fled, wearing the clothes of the Truth.
The Truth, furious, raced out of the pond to get her clothes back.
But the World, upon seeing the naked Truth, looked away, with anger and contempt.

Poor Truth returned to the pond and disappeared forever, hiding her shame.
Since then, the Lie runs around the world, dressed as the Truth, and society is very happy -because the world has no desire to know the naked Truth.

A Song

And So Begins The Task --Stephen Stills with Judy Collins

And so begins the task
I have dreaded the coming of
For so long
I wait for the sun
To remind my body
It needs restin'

And I must learn to live without you now
I must learn to give only part some how

Camping on the edge
Of your city I wait
Hoping someday
You might
See
Beyond yourself

The shadows on the ceiling
Hard
But not real
Like the bars that cage
You within yourself

And I must learn to live without you now
I must learn to give only part some how
And I must learn to live without you now
As I cannot learn to give only part some how

All of these cages
Must
And shall be set aside
They will only
Keep
Us from the knowing

Actors
And stages
Now fall before the truth
As the love
Shared
Between us
Remains
Growing

And I must learn to live without you now
As I cannot learn to give only part some how

Imaging A Poem

Worth repeating.

Making Peace

Denise Levertov

A voice from the dark called out,

‘The poets must give us

imagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiar

imagination of disaster. 

Peace, not only

the absence of war.’

But peace, like a poem,

is not there ahead of itself,

can’t be imagined before it is made,

can’t be known except

in the words of its making,

grammar of justice,

syntax of mutual aid.

A feeling towards it,

dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have

until we begin to utter its metaphors,

learning them as we speak.

A line of peace might appear

if we restructured the sentence our lives are making,

revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,

questioned our needs, 

allowed long pauses . . .

A cadence of peace might balance its weight

on that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,

an energy field more intense than war,

might pulse then,

stanza by stanza into the world,

each act of living

one of its words, each word

a vibration of light - facets

of the forming crystal.

Some Poetry

"The number one hardest thing we have to do as humans in this world is be subjected to the evil, and remain good despite the bullshit we go through."

For me this doesn't land as "Men's Rights Now!" or any of the other crapola coming from the toxic snowflakes who can't admit they've had it pretty fuckin' good for a long fuckin' time, and want us to believe that somehow men are being unfairly attacked (and "oppressed"- WTAF?) by those horrible feminists, and their evil woke incantations.

None of that. This guy is trying to tell us there are good reasons for all this hyper-macho bullshit, and we can address it early if we can figure out how to look honestly at each other - and ourselves - as men, as friends, as fathers, and as partners.

TSleeveless - "Teach a Boy to Cry"

Rhyming Out The Year

Today's Poem

Mary Oliver

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.

How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.

How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.

How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,

and bow their heads. 

A Quote

Between what is said, and not meant -

and what is meant, but not said -

most of love is lost.

--Kahlil Gibran

A Poem

A Poem

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep --Mary Elizabeth Frye

Today's Poem

Peace to those who are scared
those who watch the news & wonder
what is going on in this country
& those who always knew
Those who feel less safe
& those who never felt safe
Those whose bodies hold memories
Whose DNA holds memories
Which tell us clearly
That never again
Is now.

Jessica Kantrowitz

A Poem

I'm a sunflower I grew in the pocket Of a soldier Who died Knowing not why Or who He was fighting He spoke Russian I heard him He wasn't a bad person Had family Was a son To a loving mother She cries now Alone I hear her He and I One Life gone For the boy With seeds In his pocket

@HellBentVet

Black American History #26

Dr Clint Smith - Crash Course - Arts & Letters Of The Harlem Renaissance

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore - and then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags, like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

--Langston Hughes

Today's Poem

Meditations Before Kaddish, from the Mishkan T’filah

When I die give what’s left of me away

to children and old men that wait to die.

And if you need to cry,

cry for your brother walking the street beside you.

And when you need me, put your arms around anyone

and give them what you need to give me.

I want to leave you something,

something better than words or sounds.

Look for me in the people I’ve known or loved,

and if you cannot give me away,

at least let me live in your eyes and not your mind.

You can love me best by letting hands touch hands,

and by letting go of children that need to be free.

Love doesn’t die, people do.

So, when all that’s left of me is love, give me away

hat tip = @BlueGal

Bounty

I hear there’s a bounty on my womb.
A high price in the currency
of power and control.
In the currency
of violence
and cowardice.

You want to make a home in this body.
Penetrate it with your power and lust
and demand I carry the seed you’ve planted
pretending to protect the sacred
when we both know
your concern is for birth
and not for life.

I’ve seen the way you watch
as young mouths go unfed
as young arms are torn from their mother’s embrace
as young bodies are raped and ravaged and locked away
in the land of the free
and home of the brave.

You read me ghost stories
from the good book
about purity
and innocence
and all the ways my body is wrong
and all the ways my body does not belong to me.
But I prefer different fairy tales.
The ones that were woven from an
ancient mother’s womb
whispered to her from deep in the earth.
The ones that teach me
that I am fire and water
that I am land and thunder
that I am holy and sacred
that I am the great creator and destroyer
that I belong to me
and only me
and I alone
will decide.

I hear there’s a bounty on my womb
but you seem to forget
that I am the huntress
and I can smell the fear
dripping from your cowardly words
and I dare you to try and hold my fire
in your bare, trembling hands.

-- Gina Puorro

www.ginapuorro.com

Today's Quote

History says, Don't hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

- Seamus Heaney

A Poem

Feeding The Worms - from "Bonfire Opera"

Ever since I found out that earth worms have taste buds
all over the delicate pink strings of their bodies,
I pause dropping apples into the compost bin,
imagining the dark writhing ecstasy,
the sweetness of apples permeating their pores.
I offer beets and parsley,
avocado and melon,
and the feathery tops of carrots.

I'd always thought theirs a menial life,
eyeless and hidden,
almost vulgar - though now it seems,
they bear a pleasure so sublime, so decadent,
I want to contribute however I can,
forgetting, a moment, my place on the menu.

Today's Today

Into love and out again,

Thus I went, and thus I go.

Spare your voice, and hold your pen.

For well and bitterly I know

All the songs were ever sung,

All the words were ever said;

Could it be, when I was young,

Someone dropped me on my head?

--Dorothy Parker

Click a pic

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Today's Poem

Here's hoping we get to hear a lot more from this impressive young woman.

Today's Today

More than a hundred years ago, and holy crap how things have not changed:

Father

Edgar Guest - 1881-1959

My father knows the proper way 
   The nation should be run; 
He tells us children every day 
   Just what should now be done. 
He knows the way to fix the trusts, 
   He has a simple plan; 
But if the furnace needs repairs, 
   We have to hire a man. 

My father, in a day or two 
   Could land big thieves in jail; 
There's nothing that he cannot do, 
   He knows no word like "fail." 
"Our confidence" he would restore, 
   Of that there is no doubt; 
But if there is a chair to mend, 
   We have to send it out. 

All public questions that arise, 
   He settles on the spot; 
He waits not till the tumult dies, 
   But grabs it while it's hot. 
In matters of finance he can 
   Tell Congress what to do; 
But, O, he finds it hard to meet 
   His bills as they fall due. 

It almost makes him sick to read 
   The things law-makers say; 
Why, father's just the man they need, 
   He never goes astray. 
All wars he'd very quickly end, 
   As fast as I can write it; 
But when a neighbor starts a fuss, 
   'Tis mother has to fight it. 

In conversation father can 
   Do many wondrous things; 
He's built upon a wiser plan 
   Than presidents or kings. 
He knows the ins and outs of each 
   And every deep transaction; 
We look to him for theories, 
   But look to ma for action.