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The Violin
By bob
illustrated by Robert g. Jerore The Violin It was an average size theater, capable of seating two hundred persons. Tonight it was filled to capacity. The variety of entertainment presented during this evenings program was very enjoyable. There had been two vocal solos; a small singing group; an orchestral presentation; twin pianos duet, and a flautist. The twenty minute intermission which allowed a comfort break was over, and the second half of the evenings program was near- 2 comments
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Lothlorien Poetry Journal - The Bridge at Tsavo, 1898
By David W. Parsley
Continuing to follow in Phil's footsteps. Longtime readers on PMO will recognize this one, but check out the illustrations chosen by the editors to accompany it. Lothlorien Poetry Journal: One Poem by David Parsley And of course it can also be found here with all the scintillating commentary and discussion by PMO members. An entry for the languishing Notes from the Common Era. - Dave- 2 comments
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This astoundingly cool performance by Ashphord Jackoway must not be missed in the official poetry video for The Poetry Verse.
By David N. Donihue
There’s not a person alive
proud of every word
Not a person alive
With a past pitch perfect
A stainless soul lying undisturbed
Not a person alive
Who has what they need
As needs are in the mind
With imagination, a rabbit hole unending
And there’s not a person alive
Satisfied with their shell
And there’s not a person alive
Who has not uttered life is hell
And there’s not a person alive
When free from shame or worry
That would bother inflicting misery
Takes the former, for pain to keep on feeding
And there’s not a person alive
Without prejudice
No matter who you are,
Someone's demeanor
could trigger your shit
And there’s not a person alive
Who’s never felt debt,
never felt useless,
never felt like a prick
And there’s not a person alive
Who has not failed many
Yet to experience true life,
Is to love endlessly
Praise the heavens for the day and night
Until gratefulness becomes greatness
And you’re giving the globe
your absolute everything
And there’s not a person alive
that doesn’t deserve love
Doesn’t deserve redemption
the chance to rise above
And there’s not a person alive
Who is not addicted to something
Whether positive or negative
Our routines keep moving
And there’s not a person alive
Who should have never lived
Yet if they’d chosen forgiveness
Then maybe the spiral of sickness
Would no longer exist
And there’s not a person alive
Like you in the morning
Whimsical smile though weary lids opening
And there’s not a person alive
Like you when you’re you
Pointless insecurities thrown aside
So the truth may shine through
And there’s a person alive
Like you
There’s not a person alive
Like you
•••
© copyright David Donihue 2023
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Dancing to the Music in My Soul
Before I wrote poetry I danced. I told stories with my hands. You might say as a poet I still tell stories with my hands as they float across the keyboard. I was recently prompted to write a blog about what kind of music made me want to get up and dance. Here is my response.
Storyteller
Time has flown since
humuhumunukunukuapuaha’a *
swam from my fingertips
as I danced
the tales I was taught.
These same hands
built a business,
showed horses how to trust
and the babe
in my arms how to love.
Now spotted with age,
my fingers float
across a keyboard
placing phrases on a page
to tell my stories.
~Judi Van Gorder
I dance to the music in my soul. If it has a beat, I can move to it. I have been a dancer all of my life.
My Mom said I danced before I could walk. By the age of 5 she put me in tap lessons, very popular in the 40s. I graduated to jazz and at the age of 7, the dance school offered a class in hula taught by a Hawaiian instructor. My Mom thought it would teach me grace and enrolled me, There were only 4 girls in our class, I was the youngest. Throughout my teens our little quartet toured with a troupe, dancing the hula and some Tahitian numbers. We were very popular and got pretty good.
Many years later when I first opened my insurance agency, an older woman came into my office for insurance. She had just moved to California from Hawaii. When I asked her occupation she said "hula dancer". And of course, I responded, "I can hula". She shook her head and politely laughed at the blonde houli on the other side of the desk and nicely told me that to be a good hula dancer you need to begin training at a young age. At that, I stood, slipped off my heels, walked around the side of the desk and went into a vamp. She could only respond, "You can hula!". Yes, I can.
A few years later while visiting the Island of Maui as a Soroptimist regional board member for an International Leadership Conference, other board members and myself were out for an evening and stopped at a nice bar for a drink after dinner. There were some locals at the bar, playing ukuleles and guitars and a woman from their group got up and began to hula. It happened to be a song I knew from when I was a kid so I took off my shoes and joined her. The local Hawaiians were delighted that I knew the dance and moved like a native. They wanted more and the woman and I obliged. My fellow board members were in awe and wanted to learn. Of course, I had to shake my head, politely laugh and nicely told them that to be a good hula dancer you need to begin training at a young age.
I may be old now, but my body knows how to move with grace and rhythm. I can still do the hula. I love to dance and don't need much encouragement to do so.
graceful hands
tell a story while hips sway
in rhythm
~~jvg
* Hawaii’s state fish shown through the hands of the hula dancer by extending the left hand, palm down and placing the right hand on top with thumbs protruding on each side. The hands then undulate while the thumbs rotate. “when the humuhumunukunukuapua’a come swimming by” ♬
Keep Writing!
~~Judi aka Tinker - 29