barefootsong: bluebells and green grass (bluebells)
[personal profile] barefootsong
Ah, my poor neglected blog. Life has been a bit crazy so far this year, but it's never too crazy for [Poetry Month]! I'm a day late starting because I was attending the ACRL conference through noon today and I got home too late/tired last night to worry about posting a poem. So I'll post two today! Check back daily for new poems throughout the month! :)

I'm trying something new this year. I saw [an article] a while ago that suggested the idea of playing "poetry tag". I loved the idea, so I decided to go with it. I picked a random poem to start and from there I will use the last word of each poem to pick the next day's poem. I'm looking forward to finding lots of interesting new poems this way! Part of my poem-hunting will be accomplished using the Poetry Foundation's [awesome poetry app], which you should totally check out if you have an iPhone or iPod Touch.

Happy Poetry Month!


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His heart is like a boat that sets forth alone
on the ocean and goes far out from him,
as Aphrodite proceeds on her pleasure journeys.
He pours the gold down the runnels
into a great mystery under the sand.
When he pulls it up by the feet
and knocks off the scale, it is a god.
What is it she finds with those men
that equals this dark birthing? He makes
each immortal manifest. The deities
remain invisible in their pretty gardens
of grass and violets, of daffodils and jasmine.
Even his wife lives like that. Going on yachts,
speaking to the captains in the familiar.
Let them have it, the noons and rain and joy.
He makes a world here out of frog songs
and packed earth. He made his wife
so she contains the green-fleshed
melons of Lindos, thalo blue of the sea,
and one ripe peach at five in the morning.
He fashioned her by the rules, with love,
made her with rage and disillusion.

       ~ "Hephaestus Alone" by Linda Gregg

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[source]


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches Tigers
In red weather.

       ~ "Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock" by Wallace Stevens

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

[source]

About the girl

The random musings of a librarian with a passion for reading (duh), a vast curiosity about the world, and a penchant for noticing things most people don't (like the way sunlight falls through the leaves on a tree).

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