Tag Archives: Poetry

Nothing gold can stay

One of my favorite poems ever written is by Robert Frost.  Each autumn I post his poem, Nothing gold can stay.  It is obvious that Frost was inspired by the fall foliage in New England when he wrote this poem back in 1923.  Nothing gold can stay won the 1924 Pulitzer prize for poetry.

I hope you enjoy the poem as much as I do.

Nature’s first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

All humor aside, it is going to be a beautiful day here in Boston, which will only add to the festivities. It also gives me an excuse to post an Irish blessing, which I’m sure many have heard before, and I’ve always liked.

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
For those who do regularly visit my blog, thank you for your patience. This week has been busier than I would have anticipated.

Urban limericks

St. Patrick’s Day is around the corner and The Boston Globe has listed popular limericks submitted by readers from last year. Limericks are typically witty poems (sometimes naughty) that follow the A-A-B-B-A rhyme pattern.

I’m sure most Americans (certainly anyone from New England) are familiar with the notorious limerick, Man from Nantucket, but I opted to share one of my favorite limerick’s submitted to the Globe last year by Christopher Russo of Boston.

From A Red Sox Fan (an optimist)
A summer we’ll spend at old Fenway,
Watching our team win both night and day.
What pitching! What defense!
It’s only commonsense–
Print the World Series tickets today!

If you feel inspired, include a favorite limerick in the comments section.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

I have a soft spot for poetry. Its not a form of prose often recited, and much of it often goes over my head, but when I connect with a particular poem or on the rare occassion I write a poem it usually resonates in a way that other literature does not. Here is a beautiful poem written by one of my favorite poets, Robert Frost.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening was first published in 1923. Although there are no woods to speak of in my neighborhood, Boston received its first snowfall this week – in fact there are flurries falling as I type this.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

I think we can all identify with Frost’s ending “And miles to go before I sleep.” He meant it quite literally in his poem, but “miles” could just as easily be a euphemism for all the errands and resposibilities we have. I hope that if you do indeed have miles to go that you take time to stop as the gentleman in the poem did to pause, reflect and enjoy the moment.

Nothing gold can stay

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

According to Wikipedia, this poem by Robert Frost was first written and published in the Yale Review in 1923. It is one of my favorite poems and each autumn I like to post this to share the beauty of Frost’s words.

A limerick in honor of St. Patrick’s day

Lim’ricks are the naughtiest prose
Dirty rhymes we love to compose
Men from Nantucket
Shouting, “Go $uck it!”
Are fun to write I suppose

If you have a Limerick you’d like to share, I’d enjoy hearing it.  Feel free to e-mail me or leave it in the comments section. Oh yeah, and Happy St. Patrick’s day – it’s practically a holy day of obligation here in Boston.

Urban limericks

In a nod to St. Patrick’s day which is fast approaching, The Boston Globe is soliciting new poems for their annual “urban limerick” contest.  Interested? Submit your poem here.

I’ve included one of my favorites from last year.

A drink for every occasion
A young colleen from West Roxbury,
On ale was loving and merry,
She dallied with sin,
On vodka and gin,
But was rigid and frigid on sherry.

By: saigon (Laurie Swope)
You can read other popular limerick submissions from 2009 by visiting here.

Precious to me

Time together is precious to me
Because away and apart is hard to be
I do amire and truly love thee
Simply because you are precious to me

A Haiku for You

Casual encounters

a random meeting
the handsome smile is trouble
temptation abounds

This was a poem I wrote quite a long time ago which I found while reorganizing files on my PC.  Since I’ve been posting a bit of poetry lately, I thought I would include it.

Nana’s poetry

My grandmother, “Nana” loved to write poetry, but I never realized this until I opened an e-mail from my mother with the poem below. It is dated February 29, 1988 and was written shortly after our family had visited our grandparents who were at that point spending each winter in sunny Florida.
According to my mother, Nana was always writing poems.  It is amazing to think how much she continues to touch my heart even though she is no longer here. 
Little Drummer Boy where did you go?
The tv is quiet don’t you know
You all left so quickly or so it seemed
We loved all you children to break the beam
Of quiet that’s here or so it seems
And quiet Robbie who is creating a story
And sweet dear Beth who’s doing her own thing
Susan like a record who goes round and round
Helps Tim tap with a rythmical sound.
It really was quiet on the following day
No kids to talk to and show them the way
to keep on loving us we hope and pray
As we love you all every day.

Haiku time

Recently I posted one of my favorite poems from Frost entitled “Nothing gold can stay” and I was pleasantly surprised to receive a comment from Todd X who lives in San Francisco.  I follow Todd’s blog Iced Tea & Sarcasm but I did not realize he maintained an additional blog called Just 17 Syllables.

Todd’s insightful comments about “Nothing gold can stay” leads me to believe that he is quite an enthusiast for this particular form of expression too.  His second blog is a nod to a form of poetry originally from Japan, called a haiku.  This form of poetry is distinguished by the fact that it consists of 17 syllables written in three lines: 5 syllables; 7 syllables; 5 syllables. 

Back in August I first mentioned what a haiku is in my entry, Bathroom poet, because I noticed a particularly humorous (if not often recited) haiku above a urinal at the Beehive (a local restaurant and lounge). Todd X has some slightly more creative expressions check them out if you too enjoy a good haiku.  The poems range from political statements like, “Proposition 8″ & “Hillary” to the more humorous, “Spam squared” and he even has a few about San Francisco like, “Foggy morning”. However, I think my personal favorite is the untitled haiku, which I’ve included below.

My ambivalence
trumps your suffering because
I care less than you.
Source /Author: Just 17 Syllables / Todd X

Nothing gold can stay

Autumn in New England is a beautiful place to be and it is that time of year again so I thought I would share this poem from Robert Frost – one of my personal favorites.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Bathroom poet

Earlier this week I had to pay a visit to the bathroom while I was having dinner at the Beehive and although this is not the first time I’ve read this particular haiku, I did think it was funny to see it scrawled at eye-level in front of the urinal. I am more accustomed to seeing various graffiti, the random phone number or epithet.

Haikus are easy
but sometimes they don’t make sense

What is an haiku? An haiku is a form of Japanese poetry, consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively.

Wild Nights

In honor of Valentine’s Day which just passed, I’ve included a poem about love. I am no poet, so I’ve chosen a poem from Massachussetts native, Emily Dickinson. Her words ring true some 150 years later showing love endures.

Wild Nights
By Emily Dickinson

Wild nights. Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port
Done with the compass
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden.
Ah, the sea.
Might I but moor
Tonight with thee!

Provincetown Winter Night

I have just returned from a relaxing few nights in Provincetown where I spent the New Year’s holiday with my other half and another couple. I plan on sharing a few pictures from our trip but in lieu of writing what we did I took a stab at expressing myself through poetry. There is no disputing the the final result may indeed embarass me in time when I look back at this entry but I thought I would share this attempt at creative expression.

Provincetown Winter Night

The laughter and sounds of summer are gone
Just an echoing memory ’til next year.

The howling winter winds now own the night
Their screams buffet our house and all you can hear.

Winter’s full fury keeps Commercial Street quiet
But in a few months the sun and warmth will return.

And then the crowds will too as they always do
But only after winter has had its turn.