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Poems
Mar 13, 2019 10:10:20 GMT -5
Post by Phaedrus on Mar 13, 2019 10:10:20 GMT -5
I get the Writer's Almanac emails daily from Garrison Keillor, he has a poem in it every day, most of them I don't pay attention to, but today's poem hit me.
Work by D. H. Lawrence There is no point in work unless it pre-occupies you as well as occupies you. When you are only occupied, you are an empty shell. A man needs to be independent at his work, so that he can put his own self into it. When a man puts his own self into his work he is living, not merely working. When men wove with their hands and their soul’s attention the cloth they wore, they lived themselves forth, like a tree putting out woven leaves and it made them happy, and the woven cloth of their hands came from them living like leaves from the tree of their life and clothed them with living leaves. And as with cloth, so with all things, houses, shoes, wagons or cups, men used to put them forth sensitively like boughs, leaves, fruits, flowers from their tree of life, and villages, whole cities lived, lived as true bowers of men It will be so again, for man will smash all his machines again at last, and for the sake of clothing himself in his own leaf-like cloth, issued from his life and dwelling in his own bowery house, like a bird in a bush and drinking from the cups that have flowered from his own fingers he will cancel again these machines we have got. “Work” by D. H. Lawrence. Public domain.
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Poems
Mar 13, 2019 14:17:21 GMT -5
Post by Wolfgang on Mar 13, 2019 14:17:21 GMT -5
One of my New Year's resolutions is to compose a VT post in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet -- 3 quatrains and a couplet. And, rhythmically, I have to think in iambic pentameter: da DUM, da DUM, da DUM,...
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Deleted
Deleted Member
Posts: 0
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Poems
Mar 13, 2019 15:30:05 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 13, 2019 15:30:05 GMT -5
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Poems
Mar 13, 2019 16:59:43 GMT -5
Post by Wolfgang on Mar 13, 2019 16:59:43 GMT -5
You can't have just one poetry thread, and you can't have just one guy named Fred.
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Poems
Mar 13, 2019 17:52:19 GMT -5
Post by mikegarrison on Mar 13, 2019 17:52:19 GMT -5
Pornagrapher's Dream Suzanne Vega
She's a pornographer's dream: he said I knew what he meant But it made me imagine: what kind of a dream He would have, that hadn't been spent?
Would he still dream of the thigh? Of the flesh upon high? What he saw so much of? Wouldn't he dream of the thing that he never Could quite get the touch of?
It's out of his hands, over his head Out of his reach, under this real life Hidden in veils, covered in silk He's dreaming of what might be (dreaming of mystery)
Bettie Page is still the rage With her legs and leather She turns to tease the camera, and please us at home And we let her
Who's to know what she'll show of herself In what measure? If what she reveals, or what she conceals Is the key to our pleasure?
It's out of our hands, over our heads Out of our reach, under this real life Hidden in veils, covered in silk We're dreaming of what might be (dreaming of mystery)
It's out of our hands, over our heads Out of our reach, under this real life Hidden in veils We're dreaming of mystery
She's a pornographer's dream, he said I knew what he meant But it made me imagine: what kind of a dream He would have?
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Poems
Mar 21, 2019 9:26:21 GMT -5
Post by Phaedrus on Mar 21, 2019 9:26:21 GMT -5
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. Public domain.
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Deleted
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Poems
Mar 25, 2019 20:33:13 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Mar 25, 2019 20:33:13 GMT -5
I always take the road not traveled at all. More of a path. Or just a stupid mistake where I end up walking into a tree.
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Poems
Apr 28, 2019 13:02:26 GMT -5
Post by Wolfgang on Apr 28, 2019 13:02:26 GMT -5
Today is April 28 and I just found out that April 2019 is National Poetry Month. Oops!
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Poems
Apr 28, 2019 16:04:55 GMT -5
Post by mikegarrison on Apr 28, 2019 16:04:55 GMT -5
Wolfgang has found out This month is poetry month But just at the end
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Poems
May 1, 2019 19:00:36 GMT -5
Post by hammer on May 1, 2019 19:00:36 GMT -5
Now it is May ... and May is Correct Your Posture Month
How to Observe
Good posture comes with practice.
It’s important to stretch and move every 30 minutes if you work at a desk. Strengthen your core muscles. Work on your balance and take the stairs. Check your ergonomics. Are you able to reach the floor easily in your chair? Is your keyboard too high or too low? Is your car your office? Is part of your body vertical? Do you have a pulse?
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