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Thursday is Blog Day at My Place



IMG_0740.JPGHi to any who stop by here.  I haven't been very active in the blog forum, not really sure what I should share here.  I am a student of poetry and what I have posted in the Reference Forum is simply me trying to make sense of it all. In future blogs I will be using parts of that Forum but If you want to know something from the reference section, all you need do is go there.  You don't need a blog to direct you. 

Lately I've been reading blogs at different poetry sites and I'm taking on a new perspective.  I am going to try a weekly post to Tinker's Blog and I've chosen Thursdays.  So here I am.  Thursday, the day of the week when everyone who wanted to get something done took care of it on Monday through Wednesday and the procrastinators are waiting for Friday afternoon to take care of their business.  This leaves Thursday with a little time on my hands to ramble on my Blog without too many interruptions.

Recently Tony has been activating new features here at PMO.  "Our Picks" is one feature, I loved his first 3 three picks.  They are well worth reading or rereading.  First he chose an article he wrote about iambic pentameter which I refer to almost every time I attempt a poetic structure with that meter. I have found it very helpful.  Second he chose my Shameless Plug for the Reference Section.  There is a wealth of information there, over fifteen hundred forms and genres.  Something just might spark a poem if you let it. And lastly, a super interesting discussion thread "Where is Your Place" with several responses which I apparently missed the first time around.  His last pick was one of the reasons I decided to start regularly posting in this blog.  This is my place.

So my place to write and share and read and connect with other poets is right here at PMO.  Do I do it elsewhere?  Sure, but Poetry Magnum Opus is home base for me. Every poem I've ever written is in Poet's Archives and I have 6 plus years of research in Explore the Craft of Writing from Around the World.  I'm always adding, improving, and correcting the information there.

And it is here where I can read some of the best poetry on the internet.  Some of our best are Poems of Place. Our most basic memories and experiences begin in a physical "place", where we are, where we've been, where we wish to be, where we love, where we feel at home, where we call home.  Read William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), Nantucket, Phil Wood's Walking from Cwmcarn to Fourteen Locks, William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), the Lake Isle of Innisfree, or one of my very favorite poems of place, Joy Harjo's (b.1951), Perhaps the World Ends Here.  Notice the detail that puts the reader right there with the poet.   James Wright (1927-1980) wrote The Secret of Life , another kind of place poem. James Galvin wrote this interesting article posted at Poets.org expanding on Wright's poem, what it means to write from your place.  Here are a few more poems of place.

Yacht Club, Sunday Night, 2 AM

Now, in the muffled thump-thud-thump of after,
a couple of Coasties, drinking, bump and grind.
Now, somewhere in a corner, nervous laughter
hints at her words which he was disinclined
to listen to, to parse, or understand.
While digging out a pearl he soiled that oyster --
it's something that just happened, wasn't planned -                                    -
and now it's getting harder to withstand
not touching her; he's jealous of her hand.
                             ~~Tõnis Veenpere aka TonyV














Ancient and Alive

Trees old enough
to remember
hearing the footsteps of God
rise into clouds
collecting rain
to quench their thirst.

Massive branches hang down
and out with tips up,
like an eagle stretching
to snatch the wind.

The sun filters through
mute-green needles
stitching lacy patterns on the forest floor.                                   

Blood brown trunks, nourished
by the bones
of the Pomo people
carry the scars of epochs
as they tower above the shaded ferns.
while roots spread deep and broad
anchored to the damp earth.

At the foot of a giant,
a broken twig lies in the scent
of mud, musk and decay,
a reminder of my mortality.
Here in the mist from the near-by Pacific
nature's cathedral is my sanctuary.
                ---Judi Van Gorder aka Tinker                                                    

On the Hill of Howth

High on the Hill of Howth,
abreast with the smacking winds,
I thought how I loved this country,
and knew I could not stay.

Ireland is small, reduced,
alive with its fierce and miniature dramas,
sucking out one’s spirit and blood,
returning songs and poetry, little else.

Life will return with action,
with movement across fields and prairies,
in the adoption of smiling moments,
the conquest of cities and towns.

Life is only fulfilled abroad,
in the clamour of the streets,
in heroic deeds at lonely outposts,
with the fatal squeeze on city councils.

We are everywhere,
in the manner of musical locusts,
and in bearing up people with song,
we carry the bruiséd world along.
                       ~~Brendan aka  Dedalus







See you next Thursday, in the meantime think about, where is your place right now?   Why not write a poem about it and share it in Member Poetry.      ~~ Tink

1 Comment

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Hi Judi,

I'm excited that you've decided to reanimate your blog.


… I haven't been very active in the blog forum, not really sure what I should share here ...

Anything you want! This is an exciting, well composed entry with some terrific links to onsite and offsite material. The first one I plan to investigate is the one directing to the WCW poem "Nantucket," since its setting is relatively close to home. 

Thank you for this rich entry. I finally have something to look forward to on Thursdays!


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