A Blessing: Yol Bolsun

May the road rise to meet you,
May the wind be always at your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields and,
Until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

scatterednotebooks's avatarScattered Notebooks

May there be a road
May your path always be clear
May your journey never fail
May your trail not disappear

May there be a road
May your burdens all be light

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Author Connection 7

There is strength in numbers. Individually we are one drop but together we are an oceanI’m fascinated with creating poetry whether it be from a quote or an excerpt from another poet that inspired me or simply a blank page compelling me to write. If you think about it are our pages blank. We have ghosts of other poems, songs, catchphrases, even those silly tv jingles cast shadows on our blank page.

Do you remember that famous T.S. Eliot quote “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different.”

I love making something from something else. Think of it as recycling creativity into a different creativity. Poetry, crafts, cooking, photography and other hobbies or passions it’s something as artists we share in common by deriving pleasure from old things to new things or vice versa.

A boiled corn beef dinner with potatoes, carrots, cabbage and onions for St. Patrick’s Day dinner. Hash on Saturday with diced beets added. Healthy eating. 🙂

Yards of fabric cut up and pieced back together a quilt. That same quilt invites the best cuddles ever on a cold evening.  I’ve got two different ones in progress, I love learning new patterns.

Where does inspiration take you?

 

Quote About the Purpose of Poetry

Arc by Mike Green is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.W.S.Merwin says it the best,  “I think there’s a kind of desperate hope built into poetry now that one really wants, hopelessly, to save the world. One is trying to say everything that can be said for the things that one loves while there’s still time. I think that’s a social role, don’t you? …We keep expressing our anger and our love, and we hope, hopelessly perhaps, that it will have some effect.”

What the CBO Report on the American Health Care Act Actually Says

Informed decisions require a lot more effort than the old days with all the changes happening daily.

Vic Crain's avatarCRAIN'S COMMENTS

rollover082712
Photo Courtesy of Holden Police Department

By now. most people have seen headlines or soundbytes about the report.  The Congressional Budget Office is a nonpartisan group. The head of the CBO was actually appointed by the GOP. The purpose of the office is to provide Congress with a source of “objective” information about the financial impact of legislation that is independent from information provided by the Executive Branch. In a complex world, this actually makes sense.

What the CBO report actually says:

  • Health insurance costs for individuals will under the new act (the AHCA is also known as “Trumpcare”), will increase through the year 2020 and may decrease after that.  The CBO expects increases in health insurance premiums under the new law of between 15% and 20% for 2018 and 2019 under the new law.  However, the CBO argues that by 2026, premiums might be 10% lower than under…

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Quote

“People are afraid to empty their minds fearing that they will be engulfed by the void. What they don’t realize is that their own mind is the void.” ~ Huang Po

As a poet,

I read a lot of different styles of poetry every day. I believe the key to writing good poetry is to immerse one’s self. This particular one by Collins I find stimulating because I love how Collins uses descriptive phrases like sunflash of trumpets, rows of roadside trees, the huge blue sheet of the sky, into a pasture of high grass than drops the reader at the dizzying cliffs of morality. Life is definitely too short to miss all the sun-flash and dazzle of life.

The Parade by Billy Collins
How exhilarating it was to march
along the great boulevards
in the sunflash of trumpets
and under all the waving flags–
the flag of desire, the flag of ambition.
So many of us streaming along–
all of humanity, really–
moving in perfect sync,
yet each lost in the room of a private dream.
How stimulating the scenery of the world,
the rows of roadside trees,
the huge blue sheet of the sky.
How endless it seemed until we veered
off the broad turnpike
into a pasture of high grass,
heading toward the dizzying cliffs of mortality.
Generation after generation,
we shoulder forward
under the play of clouds
until we high-step off the sharp lip into space.
So I should not have to remind you
that little time is given here
to rest on a wayside bench,
to stop and bend to the wildflowers,
or to study a bird on a branch–
not when the young
keep shoving from behind,
not when the old are tugging us forward,
pulling on our arms with all their feeble strength.
My own attempts are feeble in comparison to Collins, but wth practice I will become better.
sunrise_over_water
At The Lake’s Edge by Lyn Crain
The long rocky shoreline had rough water tonight
this breezy spring twilight in April.
I came to watch the evening sun set on the water.
I heard the loons crooning to their mates.
My tranquility was disrupted by a child’s screech and
two young people paddling hard in a canoe.
An elderly man fished on the opposite shore while
a woman read a book in her chair on the dock.
I shivered as the waves swished against the beach
and the cold spray hit my leg as I sat on the rock.
I struggled to regroup my thoughts, to close this day
The peace in my world was jeopardized so
I sought the calm of my beautiful beach haven.
I ached to find my composure once more
As I immersed myself in the beauty at the lake’s edge.
My mind rambled to the times when I brought my children
to swim and play in the chilling water in the summer’s heat.
Those moonlit nights on my way home from work when I swam
successfully working out stress in my own way.
I committed to memory the reasons why I must pick me up once more,
I need another sunrise, to gaze at another sunset on the lake’s edge.
The troubled emotions, I felt when I arrived have dissipated because
the lake’s rippled water refreshed my essence.
I heard the soft call of a loon, the woeful song was
a gentle reminder of my lover who waits for me
Good night, my lakeside haven!
Thank you for giving me sanctuary,
I am okay now because of you.
As you go about your day, I hope you find time to appreciate your surroundings and those in your life. Maybe read a poem while you’re there. ❤

A Poet, I enjoy

Late Fragment by Raymond Carver
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.

And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

Happiness by Raymond Carver
So early it’s still almost dark out.
I’m near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren’t saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other’s arm.
It’s early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn’t enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

Carver wrote powerful poetry that reminds us to live in the moment.

Roles of a Writer: The Manager

Initially, I squawked about setting deadlines for myself but I soon discovered I was writing less and letting distractions overwhelm me. Deadlines are the necessary evil to being the best we can be as a writer. Grab your calendar and set them now, you’ll become a more productive writer.

A Poet that Inspired Me

Carl Sandburg writes free verse with a creative twist defining modern poetry styles as “ear wigglings”.  I love writing free verse because I can rhyme or not, I can repeat lines at will because there are no boundaries to define me.”Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during a moment.”~Sandburg What I love is how his poems continue to attract new audiences every day.

Mask

Fling your red scarf faster and faster, dancer.
It is summer and the sun loves a million green leaves,
masses of green.
Your red scarf flashes across them calling and a-calling.
The silk and flare of it is a great soprano leading a
chorus
Carried along in a rouse of voices reaching for the heart
of the world.
Your toes are singing to meet the song of your arms:

Let the red scarf go swifter.
Summer and the sun command you.

Fog By Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

“Richard Crowder notes in Carl Sandburg, the poet ‘Had been the first poet of modern times actually to use the language of the people as his almost total means of expression…. Sandburg had entered into the language of the people; he was not looking at it as a scientific phenomenon or a curiosity…. He was at home with it’.”

“Sandburg, Pulitzer Prize–winning poet and biographer of the quite sensible Abraham Lincoln, remains one of the great unrecognized writers of nonsense. Rootabaga Stories, Sandburg’s widely read but critically ignored collection of abstruse stories, is most often—but maybe dismissively—considered children’s lit. Sandburg, on the other hand, considered his so-called Rootabaga country for readers “5 to 105 years of age.”

“The Rootabaga stories were,” Sandburg wrote, “. . . attempts to catch fantasy, accents, pulses, eye flashes, inconceivably rapid and perfect gestures, sudden pantomimic moments, drawls and drolleries, gazings and musings—authoritative poetic instants—knowing that if the whir of them were caught quickly and simply enough in words, the result would be a child lore interesting to child and grown-up.”

Nonsense has come to connote a style of nursery rhymes, little comic vignettes, or limerick-y sketches; it is not primarily a genre but a device. It functions in two primary ways: by defying logic with paradox and confusion (“the red brick is blue”) or with semantics, ignoring fundamental grammar rules such as subject-object relationship. Sandburg’s stories fall into the former category—they explore anti-logic rather than anti-grammar. Sentences look like sentences, but they read like something else altogether.”

Sources:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/carl-sandburg

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/69463