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Poetry Magnum Opus
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    • March 21, 2019

      March twenty-first
      is World Poetry Day!
      What would this world be
      without the beauty
      of words artfully
      placed upon a page for someone to read,
      exploring, condensing a poet's soul?

      March twenty-first
      also heralds in Spring!
      Applaud the vibrant
      colors of new life,
      sweet reverdie's pledge
      to paint images in vivid phrases.
      I pen the season's display on a scroll.
                            ~~Judi Van Gorder
                                  Verse Form: Duodora

    • Although you may think you have nothing to say,
      you always have words that with which you can play
      so pull out your pen
      go into your zen
      and scribble some lines for St. Paddy's Day.

                                    ~~Judi Van Gorder


Our community blogs

  1. Tinker
    Latest Entry

    IMG_0074(1).jpgI Wandered Lonely As a Cloud

    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    I wandered lonely as a cloud
    That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
    When all at once I saw a crowd,
    A host, of golden daffodils;
    Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
    Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle on the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company:
    I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.
                   ~~William Wordsworth

    Hi,  Happy Spring~~

    Spring is about renewal, new life.  Hope is reborn.   Funny, it's hard to find a Spring poem without it being about flowers or with a referral to flowers somewhere in the poem.  Daffodils, lilac, and here in California, poppies are in full bloom right now.  The fields are blanketed with color.  Delicate blossoms tentatively open in orchards across the land.  Spring inspires by virtue of the vibrant colors, the newness that springs up everywhere you look.   Poets have long tried to capture its message.

    The Reverdie (Old French - re-greening) is a genre of verse from the Middle Ages that welcomed the arrival of Spring. It celebrates the new green of the fields, the return of the birds singing and the traditional time of love. Emphasis is on the diminutive or small things. Often Spring would be symbolized by a young maiden, similar to the Irish Aisling in which a woman symbolizing Ireland described her plight. 

    With Spring comes Easter and some poets use the genre to celebrate the resurrection comparing the coming of Spring with the longing for heaven or using the verse to praise of the Virgin Mary. Later Occitan troubadours extended the genre to the coming of other seasons. The frame is at the discretion of the poet. However, poets have often used the frame of the Chanson in 5 or 6 stanzas without refrain.



    Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
    When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;                       
    Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
    Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
    The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
    The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
    The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
    With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

    What is all this juice and all this joy?
    A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
    In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
    Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
    Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
    Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.







    Lines Written in Early Spring

    I heard a thousand blended notes,
    While in a grove I sate reclined,
    In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts                    
    Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

    To her fair works did Nature link
    The human soul that through me ran;
    And much it grieved my heart to think
    What man has made of man.
    Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
    The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
    And ’tis my faith that every flower
    Enjoys the air it breathes.

    The birds around me hopped and played,
    Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
    But the least motion which they made
    It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

    The budding twigs spread out their fan,
    To catch the breezy air;
    And I must think, do all I can,
    That there was pleasure there.

    If this belief from heaven be sent,
    If such be Nature’s holy plan,
    Have I not reason to lament
    What man has made of man?
                  ~~ William Wordsworth


    I never knew the earth had so much gold—
    The fields run over with it, and this hill
    Hoary and old,
    Is young with buoyant blooms that flame and thrill.

    Such golden fires, such yellow—lo, how good
    This spendthrift world, and what a lavish God!
    This fringe of wood,
    Blazing with buttercup and goldenrod.

    You too, beloved, are changed. Again I see
    Your face grow mystical, as on that night
    You turned to me,
    And all the trembling world—and you—were white.

    Aye, you are touched; your singing lips grow dumb;
    The fields absorb you, color you entire . . .
    And you become
    A goddess standing in a world of fire!
                                         ~~~Louis Untermeyer












    Take a walk where ever you may be, breathe in the flowers and welcome Spring with your own poem.

    Have a happy Spring day,     Tinker aka Judi Van Gorder

    I smile
    when the daffodils bloom,
    Spring's happy face.

  2. badger11
    Latest Entry

    By badger11,

    I have a poem appearing here...




  3. General Discussion Blog

    Latest Entry

    By YarnSpinner,

    A short spell between carrying out necessities brought on by illness here at home. The future is still a blur, however it does not seem to be getting worse. You might say it's like watching sand flow in a damaged hour glass. The grains of time will be deterred from passing through in a steady stream. Every now and then one grain plugs it up. That's when you have to wait to see what, when, where, and how soon the natural flow of life will continue once more. The stepping stones of life become a bit less stable as the years pass by.

    Reference to my poem SNOW STORM and the recording that was made for me. It has been 3 years now, and the recording studio that made the recording is holding out for more dollars.. to proceed. I have taken the liberty to send it to another recording studio to see what they think, and how much they hold out for further production.

    I am going to leave again.. my physical presence is now needed once more. My days are no longer planned... they become a happening.

    Bless all of you until I get another fleeting moment. R. G. Jerore (YarnSpinner)




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