Friday, April 10, 2009
The Last Thursday Poetry Contest Winners
Congratulations are in order for Diane Lockward ..her delightful poem, "Organic Fruit" was the first week's winner and if you haven't read the poem, please take a look--Diane's layout is a winner in itself. Great job, Diane!
Next Friday, we'll be announcing the second week's winner.
Please go to the Last Thursday Contest site (http://mtplpoetry.wordpress.com/) and read this weeks entries and vote for your favorite poem--pass the word to other poets to vote too ..the more the merrier. If you haven't entered a poem yet, please do it now -we'd like to get it in time to post before April 30. Who knows, you may be harboring a winner!
Again, congratulations, Diane!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
"Trinity Celtic Band"
My name is a history of sheep herders,
farmers, singers, dancers
who heard words coming from a new land
and had the courage to seek and explore.
My name is a song of praise for those who dared,
a song of thanksgiving for the Irish Catholic lass
who sailed to marry her English bridegroom,
in a free country where it was possible.
My name is a quilt, a quilt of intricate design,
complex patterned pieces.
I am all my ancestors were, yet
there is so much more to be,
I will pay my dues for those ahead,
as mine were paid to me.
I'll write the verse
so they may sing the chorus.
Gloria Rovder Healy
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Last Thursday Poetry Contest
The poets who are eligible to have their poems on display are Renee Ashley, Svea Barrett, Laura Boss, Virginia Bryan, Carl Calendar, Wes Czyzewski, Emari De Georgio, Jessica DeKoninck, Cat Doty, Anna Evans, Frank Finale, Vera Gelvin, Jim Gwyn, Karen Haefelein, Lois Harrod, Penny Harter, Charles H. Johnson, Laine Sutton Johnson, Agbajah-Laoye Gina Larkin, John Larkin, Vincent Larkin, Deborah LaVeglia, Diane Lockward, Laura McCullough, Bob McKenty, Peter Murphy, Elaine Olaoye, Priscilla Orr, Alissa Pecora, Tom Plante, Wanda Praisner, Linda Radice, Edwin Romond, Bob Rosenbloom, Susan Rothbard, Nancy Scott, Michael Thomas, J.C. Todd, Madeline Tiger, Christine Waldeyer, BJ Ward, Paul Victor Winters, Gretna Wilkinson, Sander Zulauf and memberts of The Cool Women. Eligible poets may submit a new poem or have the library post a poem they previously submited for our pending anthology.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Happy Saint Patrick's Day
St. Patrick's Day is celebrated on March 17, his religious feast day and the anniversary of his death in the fifth century. The Irish have observed this day as a religious holiday for over a thousand years.
On St. Patrick's Day, which falls during the Christian season of Lent, Irish families would traditionally attend church in the morning and celebrate in the afternoon. Lenten prohibitions against the consumption of meat were waived and people would dance, drink, and feast—on the traditional meal of Irish bacon and cabbage. My family celebrated religiously...so to speak.
The Clan
My name is a memory
Seans, Bridgets
Maggies and Paddys
who came before me
to this new land.
My name is a song
A sea chantey
sung on Galway Bay
Danny Boy harmonized
ina Dublin Pub.
My name is a quilt
a kaleidoscope of green
kelly green shamrocks
emerald eyes of a lass,
nile green of the river Shannon.
A Ballyhauness Craig am I
great grand-daughter of
Irish Catholic Delia,
Irish Protestant Tommy
who came here to marry
when their love was forbidden.
Endowing their heirs with
sounds of joyous laughter
songs of ujnconditional love.
They wrote the verse
so we may sing the chorus.
Gloria Rovder Healy
Danny Boy
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying'
Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide
.But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow'
Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.
And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.
And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.
"Top of the Morning to You
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
More Snow
The Blizzard of 2009
Silently it came…
As if God pulled a thorn from His Son’s crown
and angrily pricked an innocent white cloud.
In minutes the earth disappeared,
so did the sun, moon, and stars.
Hibernating perennials were smothered and
stately sycamores bowed.
It whorled over the deck’s railing,
Rested briefly on the two seated glider,
then curled like an albino cub
on sheltered window sills.
It blanketed streets and sidewalks
Blocked cathedral doors, locked schools,
lung like gossip from telephone lines.
Familiar highways became
one-lane alley ways.
When His whitewashing was finished,
children, in coats of many colors, scaled
mountainous drifts to create snow angels
draped in tarnished gold roping.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Sander Zulauf's Eulogy
My friend the great language philosopher and poet Kenneth Burke, died fifteen years ago in 1993 at the age of 96. But he visited me the other night in a dream. He was in heaven. I said to him “KB, you look terrific!” “Yeah,” he said. “I gave up drinking a month ago!” In one of his essays, KB says “names temporize essence.”
A few days ago in the Times an op-ed piece appeared entitled “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?” It told of one writer’s mission to transform his typically anonymous neighbors into a neighborhood by asking if he could sleep over for a night at his neighbors’ houses.
His first sleepover was at the home of the widower surgeon who lived next door. The surgeon told him that most people usually asked him how long he had been married. His answer was “52 years,” and the inevitable comment that followed was “Ah—at least you had a good long life together.” To which his reply was “I was just getting to know her.”
Isn’t that the ecstatic sadness of our short lives?
—Sander Zulauf
Poet Laureate, Diocese of Newark
(St. James Catholic Church, Red Bank, New Jersey,
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Bob McKenty's Poem read at Day's Funeral Parlor
Do not go docile into your decease.
Storm heaven’s portals boldly, arms flung wide.
Rail, rail against religion’s “rest in peace.”
Run. Jump. Dance. Sing with childlike caprice,
Where pain’s unknown and where all tears are dried.
Do not go docile into your decease.
Enjoy the Banquet where no one’s obese,
And yet there is no appetite denied.
Rail, rail against religion’s “rest in peace.”
No terrorism here. No Canada geese.
No petty politicians to abide.
Do not go docile into your decease.
You’ve waited all your life for this release
From those corporeal bonds with which we’re tied.
Rail, rail against religion’s “rest in peace.”
What ear’s not heard, attend without surcease.
Soak in what mortal eyes have never spied.
Do not go docile into your decease.
Rail, rail against religion’s “rest in peace.”
© 2008 by Bob McKenty
(with apologies to Dylan Thomas)