I Feel The Wind

I Feel The Wind

These eyes observe the twinkling stars shining in inky blackness above, on a long winter’s night, while standing on the frozen surface of the lake. The arctic wind brushes across my upward tilted face. Do others know this peaceful experience?

Standing in the wilderness clearing, the wind carries the scent of pine and cedar. I hear the cheerful birds singing on this warm spring day.

While sitting on the rocky cliffs above the sea, giant waves crash below me - telltale signs from a distant summer storm. I hear the thundering roar of the wind. My skin is cooled by the fragrant salty mist. Seagulls glide higher and higher.

Leaves are floating by on the diagonal autumn wind, while the colorful mountainside trees slowly become their naked color of gray. I wish i would have worn a sweater.

Tanka revisited

Tanka looks good married to an image.

Although it is the middle of September, beautiful flowers were blooming all around the Longfellow Statue on Longfellow Square Portland, Maine.

Looking down one of the streets from the square you see very old and new architecture in this old town nestled by the sea.

Tanka - have you ever tried Tanka?

Browsing my wife’s blog, I see her and her friends at One Deep Breath are exploring Japanese Poetry formats. Like Haiku, it is quite simplistic, but it stresses to follow a syllable format and allows you to give a more complete picture of an event or mood than Haiku. Tanka has been around for 1200 years or so, but relatively new to this country thanks to the Internet, Academia, and Individual Poets. I won’t go into the various degrees of how-to. Search Tanka on the web and you will find new information every day.

thirty-one syllables

line 1 - 5 syllables
line 2 - 7 syllables
line 3 - 5 syllables
line 4 - 7 syllables
line 5 - 7 syllables

my first try:

the poet statue
sits within the village square
year round tourist come
youthful memories inspire
journeys homeward quoting verse

Haiku - have you ever tried Haiku?

My wife and I learned how to write Haiku during the summer of 2001 - she is more creative at it than I am already. Its quite simplistic, but it stresses to follow the rules, which are not that hard to follow.

seventeen syllables
line 1 - 5 syllables
line 2 - 7 syllables
line 3 - 5 syllables

one moment (with the emotion of that moment)
present tense
every word counts
include strong use of nature and preferably, an allusion to a season

Haiku is a Japanese lyric verse form having three unrhymed lines of five, seven, and five syllables, traditionally invoking an aspect of nature or the seasons.

my first try:

lovers sipping tea
circles of water mingle
hot afternoon sun

then, you can enhance it when your wife|husband shows you up!

sweethearts sip iced tea
circles of water unite
erotic summer bliss

Here are some we did after enjoying a picnic lunch by the ocean one summer afternoon:
(it was freezing, while there was a dense fog!)

sea smoke hides the sea
while happy dog chases ball
summer at the park

in vanishing fog
the brush reveals on canvas
the cool august sea

distant horn blasting
islands hidding in the fog
careful summer ships

the fog horns echo
dark gray clouds touching the sea
sailors tilt their heads

sitting by the sea
the tired traveler rests
summer gulls glide by

Quarter of a mile from hell

Quarter Of A Mile From Hell

Out in the darkness a quarter of a mile from hell
Down a descending mountain was trouble I could tell
Sounds of crunching metal and shattering of the glass
Crashing upon the roadway the silence came at last

Ringing in my ears and stars within my eyes
Sharp pain within my body lives then quickly dies
Laying face down along the highway within the smell of gas
I heard church organ music and the praying of the mass

I lived on that night even dream I’m still alive
Roaring engine and squealing tires I was lucky to survive
Down a descending mountain was trouble I could tell
Out in the darkness a quarter of a mile from hell

If you’re too old to listen what your momma has to say
Out on the highway is a dangerous place to play
Some roads climb high and some roads descend
Healthy growing bodies don’t always want to mend

In search of adventure and living without a care
Who ever thought I’d spend the rest of my life in a chair
Down a descending mountain was trouble i could tell
Out in the darkness a quarter of a mile from hell

Columbine - a memorial

On April 20, 1999, two males walked into Columbine and opened fire with semi-automatic weapons, killing 12 students and one teacher, and injuring several others. But the effect of the Columbine shootings, described as the worst school shooting in the nation’s history, spread nationally beyond Littleton, Colorado.

* * * *
my thoughts of the victims through the surviver's eyes - written april 1999:

Students of Columbine

Within this silent moment,
Lifelong friends lying cold.

Despondent apocalypses fill the soul,
Reflection on our affliction,
Lamenting cries fill the wind.

Be still, my restless sorrow,
Despair I beseech thee go.

Placid glow embrace me,
Good bye my lifelong friends.

Penpal Poetry - 1960s

In my early years writing weekly air-letters to a penpal in Lancaster, England, I would describe my northwestern Maine wilderness of the United States and she would describe her English countryside. This is how I remember my long ago penpal.

———-
Oh dear friend of mine that I have never seen
Our joys and tears that time has passed between
Alone in darkness dreaming of distant shore
With English moon shining on an English moor

Though years of shallow friendships that come and go
Oh dear friend of mine, sincerely you I still know
Pulses of the heart and soul written with pen
With rising sun across the ocean we send

The freshness of our innocent lives we share
Never with the need of asking if we care
Your moors and my mountains together we blend
Continuous journey of words without end

———-

I remember how exciting it was to have a friend across the ocean.

Byron - minor Poem

George Gordon Byron (Lord Byron) born 22 Jan 1788, was an Anglo-Scottish Poet, as well as a major player in Romanticism. Byron died 19 Apr 1824.

I only mention the birth and death dates in blog posts to give a feeling how short the lives of the poets of Romanticism actually were.

With endless resources to document Byron's life, I will only focus on one minor poem that has attracted my attention since the day I first read it.

I have copied this poem to several friends with the hope it would attract their attention to poetry. I won't mention here how many of those friends sold every thing they owned and when out into the world in pursuit of Romanticism.

I found the words very mystical and powerful. How many times have we discovered someone we thought we would know forever and six months to a year later, we seldom remembered their name.

What does the following poem say to you?

To a Beautiful Quaker (1806)

Sweet girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain.
I would not say, "I love," but still
My senses struggle with my will:
In vain, to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies:
Perhaps this is not love, but yet
Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke.
The toungue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale in never feels;
Deceit the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreters, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt, rehearsed,
No spirit, from within, reproved us,
Say rather, "'twas the spirit moved us."
Though what they utter'd I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
This for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through day:
Awake, with it my fancy teems;
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams;
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight
Which make me wish for endless night:
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or woe my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.

Alas! again no more we meet,
No more former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer,
The dictate of my bosom's care:
"May heaven so guard my lovely quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'er forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker!
Oh, may the happy mortal, fated
To be by dearest ties related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 't is to feel the restless woe
Which stings the soul with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget!"

Stone Body of Longfellow

For the past thirty six years I have driven by Longfellow's statue in the village by the sea, Portland, Maine.

As the seasons change, he sits surrounded by springtime flowers and chirping birds, crowds of summer tourists stand around him in silence filled with awe, gray squirrels sit at his feet in the cool autumn air filled with twirling leaves, and the dark frigid days of the slanting snow his frosty stone body symbolizes the warmth of inspiration.

Ever wonder why poets become statues

Keats

John Keats was born of humble origin in London on October 31, 1795, and died of tuberculosis in Rome on February 23, 1821. He wrote some 150 poems and stands, as he hoped, "among the English Poets" for all time.

That is how the preface of the Book of the Heart - The Poetics, Letters, and Life of John Keats, by Andres Rodriguez, begins.

I read and re-read the Book of the Heart hot off the press in 1993. I have owned the Cambridge Edition of The Poetical Works of Keats since 1986. I discovered a copy of of Keats a Biography, by Andrew Motion while browsing in a bookstore on May 2001. I have read and studied it for weeks. Later in July 2001 I found The Cambridge Companion to Keats, edited by Susan J. Wolfson.

The Cambridge Companions to Literature are wonderful, I hope someday to own many more.

Now that I have blown the dust off the wonderful tomes, I'm ready to enjoy them again.

So who is this Keats anyway? You curiosity may lead you into the discovery of the Romanticism.

You will want to read Keat's letters, as well as his poems, and decide for yourself who is was.