Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Willis Beggs



Did I reach the pinnacle of success,
Friends of Spoon River?
Did thrift, industry, courage, honesty
used for the increase of the canning works
Become other than thrift, industry, courage, honesty
as applied to the canning works?
Are the mechantics of civilization
Civilization itself?
Or are they tools with which factories may be built,
Or Parthenons?
I fashioned my own prison, friends of Spoon River;
I put walls between myself and happiness,
Except the happiness of work.
And all the while I could look out of a window
upon an America perishing for life,
Never to be attained
by thrift, industry, and courage
Dedicated to the canning works!

Google.com

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Mitchell Vicyanew

This is my point:
Do what you can do to love,
Without calculating,
The season of harvest
will be on the calendar
in visual distance!

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Nobody Knows You when You Are Down and Out By Jimmie Cox

Once I lived the life of a millionaire
Spending my money and I didn't care
Taking my friends out for a mighty fine time.
Drinking high-priced liquor, champagne, and wine,
when I begin to fall, with poor money situations,
I didn't have a friend and no place to go.
If I ever get my hands on a dollar again,
I'm gonna hold on to it till the eagle grins.
.
Nobody knows you
When you're down and out
In your feet, not one penny,
And your friends, you haven'y any
But as soon as you get on your feet again,
Everybody wants to be your long lost friend,
It's mighty strange, without a doubt
Nobody knows you when you're down and out.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

The Writing Express in Me

I have been reading
roomful of books,
and have penned down
ocean of words,
on Heaven, earth,
you and me,
life or death.
.
Thoughts drive pass me
like cars on busy
streets, each has a
brand and races with
its unique direction
and impression,
making memories.
.
My pen has filled
papers with mountain
high lines,
some of my work
hop to computer
and speak to
strangers.
.
and I still feel the urge
to let the over-flowing
water run down my fingers.
and I dine
on the very favorite ones.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

For My People By Wendy Rose (Half Hopi, San Franscisco)

It was myself bloom
two leafs apart.
.
Growing closer
bolting at our shadows,
Loving on our feet,
Dying in our souls,
Losing one another...
Losing ourselves.
.
Finding.

Friday, November 9, 2012

The Tanka on My Friday View

Fridays keep me cool,
Phone calls, lessons, paper view,
Students, references,
The day to conclude my works,
What way to reflect each due...

Monday, November 5, 2012

Reveille By Thomas Lanier Williams




Google.com, nu faculty



Name? Rank? Regiment? Number?
They couldn't hear
guns, cannot tear their slumber,
Nor scare them away.
.
Shrapnel and rocket flare
burst in their eyes.
Twilight is a red scar
across the skies.
.
And yet in the tangled wire,
And shattered loam,
They rest more peacefully than ever
they felt at home.
.
Blow 4 them, bugler,
Loud notes and clear message!
Name? Rank? Regiment? Number?
They hear not at all.




qubit


wildcats

Google.com, president and his ties..



Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 76: October 31-November 7, 2012



Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Romantic and Exceptional Halloween Concert At SHS, OK!



 PikaChu


Monday night, High school,
Halloween concert, doors open
at 6:45pm, great!
.
Entrance, exits, hall,seats,
Audiences, music, stands, chain,
waiting for players.
.
Program sheets, roosters,
Violin, Viola, Bass, Cello,
8th, 9th, to 12th grade.
.
Thin air, moon lit night,
classical, traditional,
world wide fashions,Boo!




Google.com

Friday, October 26, 2012

Peaches (Tao)









I love ripe peaches,
Round, big, red, and so sweet,
What sunny desert.
.
In Beijing, peaches
are popular in June, you
get five pound per yuan.
.
I adore many things,
Peach is my favorite fruit
plus watermelon.


Image Credit: Google.com

Friday, October 19, 2012

Night and Day By Christabelle James




 Dark eyed Junco, Called An Yan Deng Chao Ya or Snow Bird


There's not much any young children
could conclude or do,
but say, "Life is awesome-It's great!"
They let time go by
without worries or fears,
They walk their life
being busy with schools,
Lessons, experiences,
Until then, they've got time
to look back, oops! It's too late-
Because they're mid-aged,
In their tired agenda daily,
Hope is young, but-
youth is, well all gone.

Image Credit: Google.com

Saturday, October 13, 2012

My Love Is Ya! (Poetry and Short Story Slam Week 29)




Google.com


Thursday Short Story Slam Week 29: Dramas and Freedom


My love is as merry
as kids at play,
My love is as juicy
as finger fruits in a tray.
.
My love is a rhythm
pure of the bell sound,
My love is a tom-tom drum
that is unbeatable all around.
.
My love is the Sheng
whistling through the hall beyond walls,
My love is the piano (Gang'Qin)
tic toc toe along the keys on boards.
.
My love is You,
because you are every breath I take,
and every step I move and make,
I love you for our own sake.

Friday, October 5, 2012

October Humor: Laughter Does Matter!













Life is a vacation
if you choose relaxation,
simply do what is offered to you,
Keep monkeys and pigs in different wood,
Update your knowledge as much as you could,
smile at cartoons, jokes, and be in a stellar mood,
Get up early in the morning,
Exercise your body for the day's pure satisfaction,
Leave the rats and cats alone to their own battling,
a cup of coffee, plus some favorite tea would add joy to affection.


Image Credit: Google.com










Sunday, September 30, 2012

Snowflakes By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [ 1807 - 1882]




Judy Underwood, Chasing Rainbow, Google.com


Thursday Flash Fiction Week 28: Innocence and Dreams



Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
the grief in feels.
.
This is the poem of the sir,
Slowly in silent syllables recording;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.