Poem

Remembrance Sunday 2022

~ beetleypete ~ 36 Comments

For the Fallen

Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21 September 1914.

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Last Summer’s Affair – from the Poetry archive

~ beetleypete ~ 13 Comments

An evocative poem from that great writer, Frank Scarangello.

toritto

Laying my head on your stomach
while the sun streamed through the blinds
forming stripes caressing your contours
just for a moment I thought of biting the thighs
of your perfect body.

Your sea green eyes animate Summer
terns and gulls off the starboard bow
your smile raising the waves
structuring the water
billowing the sails of boundless passion.

Tonight I will undress you
still covered in sand
tasting of sweat, salt and Coppertone
remains of a day at the shore
where no one knows, for we two give no clue
while hiding in plain pose.

But  Autumn comes, the Summer’s gone
“it’s time for us to both move on”
just one last kiss, a last caress
it’s time to dress for fall.

.

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Guest Post: Kevin Morris

~ beetleypete ~ 36 Comments

I am very pleased to host a guest post from Kevin. He has a new book of poetry coming out, and has included one of the poems in his post.

The Last Day of August

The final day of August
Brings Autumn’s coming chill.
Perhaps this is the last
Of Summer’s new-mown grass.
The eternal breeze
Rustles the leaves
And my once brown hair.

(The above poem is taken from my forthcoming collection, Leaving and
Other Poems, which will be available from Amazon in late January/early
February 2022. My Selected Poems is available in paperback and Kindle
from Amazon and can be accessed here,

Links

Blog: https://kmorrispoet.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/drewdog2060_
Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@apollo2362

You can find out about Kevin’s forthcoming book and read more of his work by following the links above.

The Thoroughfares

~ beetleypete ~ 13 Comments

I rarely reblog poetry, but this powerful poem by a new follower struck a chord with me.

A Curious Becoming

The spurious hand
Of the curious girl
Explores odd intersections
Of the furious world

With the scenes always shifting
Because shadows exchange
The pretty puffs of prize poodles
For perverse pedigreed mange

Where the streets are all thoroughfares
Upon which motor cars drive
Where people always are going
And yet never they arrive

Bold, bizarre backwards bankers
Turn bonds into stocks
Leaving townspeople beholden
To fortunes predicted in probable rocks

Quiet houses sit empty
While paid closets of extra sit full
Where the rebellious and sickly
Are silently culled

From the counts in a census
And their beds on the street
Because where public meets private
The trading hands are discreet

Poor men of all colors
Are earmarked for jails
And the darker the hue is
The more hefty the bail

And dropping babies at sisters
Their fed up wives clean hotels
Raising cash to fight pipelines
Dragging children to…

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The World Ends When I End…

~ beetleypete ~ 24 Comments

A lovely poem from Indian blogger, Shaily.
https://fishinthetrees.home.blog/

Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective

The world ends when I end…

I am the sun, the moon, the stars.

I am the rains and starving winters.

I am the ground upon which all I know stands.

When I go, the world as I know it goes with me.

When I am not, none of this will be.

In reaction to Colin McQueens’s latest ‘discussion’

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The Difficulties of English Pronunciation

~ beetleypete ~ 62 Comments

My blogging friend David Miller of  https://millerswindmill.wordpress.com/ sent me this amazing poem that highlights the problems of learning how to pronounce words in English. It is a wonder that anyone is able to master it as a foreign language, and that’s even before you add regional accents into the mix. It is very long, but I hope you enjoy it.

The Chaos (by G. Nolst Trenité, a.k.a. “Charivarius”; 1870 – 1946)

Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,

I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse

I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.

Tear in eye your dress you’ll tear,
So shall I! Oh, hear my prayer,

Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!

Just compare heart, beard and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,

Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it’s written).

Made has not the sound of bade,
Say said, pay-paid, laid, but plaid.

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,

But be careful how you speak,
Say break, steak, but bleak and streak.

Previous, precious, fuchsia, via,
Pipe, snipe, recipe and choir,

Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.

Hear me say, devoid of trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,

Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles.
Exiles, similes, reviles.

Wholly, holly, signal, signing.
Thames, examining, combining

Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war, and far.

From “desire”: desirable–admirable from “admire.”
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier.

Chatham, brougham, renown, but known.
Knowledge, done, but gone and tone,

One, anemone. Balmoral.
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel,

Gertrude, German, wind, and mind.
Scene, Melpomene, mankind,

Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, reading, heathen, heather.

This phonetic labyrinth
Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.

Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet;

Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.

Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which is said to rime with “darky.”

Viscous, Viscount, load, and broad.
Toward, to forward, to reward.

And your pronunciation’s O.K.,
When you say correctly: croquet.

Rounded, wounded, grieve, and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive, and live,

Liberty, library, heave, and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven,

We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.

Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover,

Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police, and lice.

Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label,

Petal, penal, and canal,
Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal.

Suit, suite, ruin, circuit, conduit,
Rime with “shirk it” and “beyond it.”

But it is not hard to tell,
Why it’s pall, mall, but Pall Mall.

Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,

Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, and chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor,

Ivy, privy, famous, clamour
And enamour rime with hammer.

Pussy, hussy, and possess,
Desert, but dessert, address.

Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants.
Hoist, in lieu of flags, left pennants.

River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.

Stranger does not rime with anger.
Neither does devour with clangour.

Soul, but foul and gaunt but aunt.
Font, front, won’t, want, grand, and grant.

Shoes, goes, does. Now first say: finger.
And then: singer, ginger, linger,

Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, age.

Query does not rime with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.

Dost, lost, post; and doth, cloth, loth;
Job, Job; blossom, bosom, oath.

Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual.

Seat, sweat; chaste, caste.; Leigh, eight, height;
Put, nut; granite, and unite.

Reefer does not rime with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.

Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
Hint, pint, Senate, but sedate.

Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific,

Tour, but our and succour, four,
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.

Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria,

Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.

Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion.

Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay.

Say aver, but ever, fever.
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.

Never guess–it is not safe:
We say calves, valves, half, but Ralph.

Heron, granary, canary,
Crevice and device, and eyrie,

Face but preface, but efface,
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust, and scour, but scourging,

Ear but earn, and wear and bear
Do not rime with here, but ere.

Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,

Monkey, donkey, clerk, and jerk,
Asp, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation–think of psyche–!
Is a paling, stout and spikey,

Won’t it make you lose your wits,
Writing “groats” and saying “grits”?

It’s a dark abyss or tunnel,
Strewn with stones, like rowlock, gunwale,

Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict, and indict!

Don’t you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?

Finally: which rimes with “enough”
Though, through, plough, cough, hough, or tough?

Hiccough has the sound of “cup.”
My advice is–give it up!

Guest Post: Rupa Jambholkar

~ beetleypete ~ 63 Comments

Today I am featuring Indian blogger, Rupa. I am presenting a post from her own blog, a touching poem about her love for her husband.
Here is her own short bio.

“I am an engineer by degree. A home maker by choice and an artist by soul.

I live in Mumbai, India with my husband and two kids.”



Love needs no fancy flowers!

I pulled out the chair for you,
but forgot
you weren’t there.
I made your favourite chicken curry, spicy and hot, just the way you want.

I envisage, the way you relish it,
licking your fingers,
and asking for more.
You know and I know,
it’s too hot for you but you still love it.
And I wonder why?
I see the way you look at me ,
with your loving eyes.
Even though I look like a pallid soul.
And at that moment , I try to steal my glance away from you, but your eyes stay fixated on me.

And then you hum,
an old romantic song to compliment me,
but I pretend that I don’t blush nowadays
and I somehow manage to smile,
to hide the fact that, I still feel so shy.

I cannot elucidate to myself, how can you see beauty in me, especially now, when I fail to see it anymore.

AND HOW CAN YOU, AFTER SO MANY YEARS NOT BE BORED, OF AN INSIPID ME?

Yes I did hear the doorbell, my eyes have lit up, I know it’s you.
And you know that, I was thinking about you, waiting for you, so stop smiling and give me a hug.

The curry is still warm,
so is my heart and so are your arms,
And now I see what I saw, the same love to begin with.

You can read more of Rupa’s work on her own blog, Pans & Proses.
https://pansandproses.wordpress.com/

Please try to find some time to welcome Rupa into our wonderful blogging community.

A New Blogger: Karla Harris

~ beetleypete ~ 24 Comments

American blogger Karla has sent me a link to her blog and her poem.
Something to think about in these troubled times.

Out of Touch

Here is her own bio.

To best describe me, I’ll start with the basics. Born and raised in S.W. Missouri, I was fortunate to attend the same school for all 13 years. As a youngster I dreamed of being a teacher~and a Mom. Fresh out of college, I became both. Headstrong on completing every goal in front of me, I put the “pedal to the metal” on my career. Teaching and motherhood defined me. The truths learned under steeples, coupled with the great outdoors, have guided me most of my life. The river of life has had its share of rapids. Tossed about at times, I always tried to lean on lessons learned. What kept me floating was pure faith~even when I tipped my own canoe over many times~and felt like drowning.

And now, as I approach my half-century mark, there is more clarity on why living in the “unknown” is a period of growth. This is a beautiful period for me to walk hand-in-hand with my heavenly Papa as he shows me future paths. Trails that will be shared with my own grown children, grandchildren, other family members, and the simple souls I meet on this journey. And it’s through my writing, and connecting with others, that I’ll meet my most authentic self in the mirror each day. And hopefully, encourage others as we tread forward.

Please take time to visit her blog, to share your thoughts and give her some encouragement.