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A Poet on a Magical Journey Home
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Tina Blue's Beginner's Guide to Prosody, exactly what the title says, and well worth reading.
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Save Point 0.8.1, a Portland, Oregon, exhibit, Aug. 13-Sept. 5, 2004, at Disjecta.
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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Song, by George Darley
SWEET in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,
Lull'd by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;
Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers
Breathed to my sad lute 'mid the lonely air.
Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming
My Eleventh Hour, by O'Conor
I pray the night falls before I see her face again
The one who wields a rapier of annihilation
Between the mournful howling of troubled winds
My ears twitch as she draws near with a piercing cry
Which cuts through the falling darkness
`The Love in her Eyes lay Sleeping', by William Forster
The love in her eyes lay sleeping,
As stars that unconscious shine,
Till, under the pink lids peeping,
I wakened it up with mine;
And we pledged our troth to a brimming oath
Lament of the Irish Emigrant, by Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin
I'M sittin' on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side
On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springin' fresh and green,
Invocation, by Clara Shanafelt
O Glass-Blower of time,
Hast blown all shapes at thy fire?
Canst thou no lovelier bell,
No clearer bubble, clear as delight, inflate me --
Worthy to hold such wine
A Caravan from China comes (After Hafiz), by Richard Le Gallienne
A caravan from China comes;
For miles it sweetens all the air
With fragrant silks and dreaming gums,
Attar and myrrh --
A caravan from China comes.
The Song of Tigilau, by Marcus Clarke
The song of Tigilau the brave,
Sina's wild lover,
Who across the heaving wave
From Samoa came over:
Came over, Sina, at the setting moon!
The Day before April, by Mary Carolyn Davies
The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And I sat on a stone.
I sat on a broad stone
The Heart's Country, by Florence Wilkinson
Hill people turn to their hills;
Sea-folk are sick for the sea:
Thou art my land and my country,
And my heart calls out for thee.
The bird beats his wings for the open,
Letty's Globe, by Charles Tennyson Turner
WHEN Letty had scarce pass'd her third glad year,
And her young artless words began to flow,
One day we gave the child a colour'd sphere
Of the wide earth, that she might mark and know,
By tint and outline, all its sea and land.
News, by Thomas Traherne
NEWS from a foreign country came
As if my treasure and my wealth lay there;
So much it did my heart inflame,
'Twas wont to call my Soul into mine ear;
Which thither went to meet
Our Lady and the Priest, by Kate Watkins Furman
Was on one cold dark winter's night
When fell a gentle rain,
I sat, alone, to rest inside
St. Katharine's Church in Wayne.
And where Our Lady stands against
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