+ 'Mending Wall'

by Robert 'Grandpa Robert' Frost

SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,
But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father’s saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

+ 'O Captain! My Captain!'

by Walt 'Odd Uncle Walt' Whitman

1
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

3
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

+ 'There Is Another Sky'

by Emily 'Aunt Emily' Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

A new idea

Last time I did this, I kept getting behind. This time, when I find myself without enough time in the day--like this week--I will post poems that have inspired me.

Levity

For each step
That beats down
Into seriousness
And listlessness,
There must be
Something to bring
Back up into gaiety.
TV can bring levity.

14 Hours at Work

First one here today
At nine thirty I sit
In my red chair to play
And to work myself commit.

I wake my lamp from sleep,
Warm the computer from night
From my books I hear not a peep
Their eyes not yet seen light.

Grinding through the day
Catching up from behind
I strive to lay aside play
And concentrate my mind.

Now its eleven thirty two--
Shaky eyes and dreary hands.
There's not much more I can do
Despite works continuing demand.

Further and further see,
And more and more it burns,
That nasty law that be
The Law of Diminishing Returns.

Imaginary Mannequin Meal

Me? Today?
Three books I read.
I went to a lunch lecture,
Listened there while I was fed.

I won't sleep tonight
I've too much to do.
I'll also think all night
Of how much I miss you.

Between you and school,
Friends and work,
Human contact,
I'm beginning to shirk.

We're apart;
We planned it so.
But the next two years
I'd gladly forgo.

And friends that're here,
They're the same as me.
A Masters Degree holder
They're striving to be.

It's not that I'm sad,
Really I'm not.
My life is in
A rather nice spot.

There's just no contact
No one with whom to talk.
In free bits of my day,
I my shadow begin to stalk.

So this evening,
Instead of dining alone.
With an imaginary mannequin I ate
To keep insanity postponed.

Choices

It's the forks in a tree
That make us out to be
Uniquely individual,
A one and only me.

Dreams

Like birds
Dreams float into my room
Into flowers
They grow and then they bloom
Far away
I skip and travel to
Forest twilight
Sunbeams sneaking through
Backlit canopy
The umbrella of light and green
From under
Veins of trees can be seen
Iridescent life
Pumping through each living thing
Melodic themes
To every life it brings
Restive dreams
Marching through woods silent still
Moving heart
Letting minds move at their will

A Cool Summer Day in February

There's lots and lots of work
That's sitting, waiting on me.
Books are queued up on the table
Grumbling and waiting to be read.
Emails flagged for completion
Entertain themselves in boredom.
The keyboard and mouse at work
Fell asleep together again in peace.
I ignore their groanings and silent pleas.
Today, there's clouds you see,
And they're my favorite
That fluffy grey quilt laid over blue sky.
It is so much more gentle
To lay our thoughts upon.
The air is damp and cool and clean.
It creates reverence, a holiness
None are willing to disturb.
Footsteps fall softer.
Wheels turn slower.
Birds sing only peace and calm
As they list in the branches
With heavy eyelids
And sleepy feet.
All I want is to continue.
I want to sit still
In this oft' neglected chair
In my cold cave home.
It feels and looks so natural:
The walls are a cave,
And water drips in the back
From the faucet,
Plip
Plop
...
Plip.
And electricity has deserted;
The appliances are stone dead.
In their sleep they are eternal
Maybe having slept there
For one thousand years plus one.
The cold floor kissing bare feet.
Skin to skin they cuddle
On this cool summer day
In February
As I sit.

Lazy Saturday

High sun and warm breeze
Forsaking homework
Working on rest
Cleaning up self
Not concentrating
Enjoying the weather
Trying to relax
Finding solace
In seas of stress

Language

Learning to speak a language,
It's like watching the fog lift.
You can't understand the whole,
But little by little
One begins to perceive
Portions of periphery.
Bit grows into parts,
Parts into most,
And most into whole,
But the process,
The process is beauty.

The Sound That's In My Ear

A signal strong and proud I hear.
From far away it transmits sincere,
That sound that's in my ear.

And though it rings so loud and clear
No one else can hear the sonorous sound
That's singing in my ear.

Bit by bit the waves to me endear;
The emotions, thoughts, and Love I hear.
There's longing also in my ear.

A signal that's free of knee-bending fear.
No jaded side of Love is there here
In the voice whispering to my ear.

From opposing sides of the blue sphere,
I speak to her, and she to me here.
Sending from my heart into her ear.

Only with strength that won't disappear
Can voices carry steadily year to year
From heart to ear and heart to ear.

It's through this that we persevere;
It's through this that will persevere--
Heart to heart and ear to ear.

You

You're half a world a way,
And every single day
My thoughts begin to stray.
Concentration does not stay.

I often think of you
Until sky's no longer blue.
Mind wandering ensues;
Your face emblazoned true.

My days are dreary yellow;
I'm no longer mellow.
My heart plays sad cellos;
I can't connect with fellows.

In sun I see but fog.
Each day will but bog
As sun slowly jogs
Just as a tired dog.

Will it ever come true,
And suddenly eschew
A day no longer blue
That brings a sigh, a "Phew!"?

Will future present shove
Afar and away all of
The pains I'm sick of
And so impatient of?

It is but only you
That will bring fruition to
Happiness yet undue;
And dreams will be made true.

Here we go again...

It was about this time last year that I started and didn't finish but a little. I'm going to start again.?