Sunday, May 29, 2016

Poetry Pantry #304

Photographs of city of Castlemaine -
Victoria, Australia
by Rosemary Nissen-Wade

The historic Market building, now the Visitors' Information Centre

The streets are full of trees

Some lovely old houses are now in use as offices

The old shop buildings, featuring "iron lacework" are still used

There is lovely lead-lighting

Beautiful old doorways and arches

Many historic crafts still thrive in Castlemaine, as people 
decorate well-preserved old homes in keeping with their era

Greetings, Friends.  And happy Memorial Day weekend to those of you who live in the USA. I personally am looking forward to a barbecue with family on Monday.  Memorial Day really is the unofficial beginning of summer here.  Parades, picnics, barbecues abound.

Today we are featuring photographs by Rosemary Nissen-Wade. She says that Castlemaine is full of beautiful old buildings and includes for us this excerpt from Wikipedia: "Castlemaine is a small city in Victoria, Australia, about 120 kilometres northwest by road from Melbourne and about 40 kilometres from the major provincial centre of Bendigo. Castlemaine began as a gold rush boomtown in 1851 and developed into a major regional centre, being officially proclaimed a City on 4 December 1965, although since declining in population. It is home to many cultural institutions including the Theatre Royal, the oldest continuously operating theatre in mainland Australia."  Thank you very much, Rosemary, for your photos which allow us to see Castlemaine through your eyes!

This past week was a wonderful week at Poets United.  if you haven't read Sherry's interview of Jae Rose last Monday, DO take a look back!  And nice to see SO many of you at Susan's prompt 'Picnic' at Midweek Motif last Wednesday. And Rosemary a delightful share for her I Wish I'd Written This feature.  She shared a poem by Angie Walker who may be familiar to some of you, as she blogs at Angieinspired.

Tomorrow be sure to visit Poets United, as Sherry has a chat with a very long time participant in both Midweek Motif and Poetry Pantry.  I always look forward to his poem each Sunday in the this Aussie is always one of the very first to post.  (No more clues, but DO come back!)

Susan's Midweek Motif prompt Wednesday is Parents, Guardians, Important Adults in the Lives of Children......if you want to get a head start writing to the topic.

With no further delay, let's share poetry today.  Link your one poem below.  Share a comment with us.  And visit the poems of other poets who have posted.  Check back throughout today and tomorrow for more poems to visit.

Friday, May 27, 2016

I Wish I'd Written This

Returning From a Flower Viewing
by Angie Walker

If you make tea for people returning from a flower viewing, displaying a painting of flowers or birds, or a flower arrangement in the tearoom is inappropriate. – Sen No Rikyu
But, if someone’s strumming a harp’s G-string in a concentrated, concerted effort in the tea room, as if it were a guitar G trying to make out like a mock machine gun, well even this is a luminous labor of afternoon love-making compared to the halting slap-in-the-face from coming in from the out-of-doors fully drenched in leggy flowers, the jazz of bees, pistils and petals, to face a fragmentary and ridiculously pasty-painted landscape some hack thought encompassed all. It cannot encompass all. I’ve just seen the stamen and pistil, for God’s sake.


This is another of the poems I fell in love with during April Poetry Month. There were many more, of course, and I don't propose to treat you to them all, particularly as you may well have seen them already anyway. But this one is so deliciously quirky and different, whilst at the same time so succinct and sane, I simply couldn't resist it.

Above all I love her delight in the real beauty of nature. What the quotation that served as her prompt conveys obliquely and with restraint, she says uncompromisingly, exuberantly.

Angie, who blogs at angieinspired says of herself:

"I am a writer. I like words. I especially enjoy temperamental verbs and nouns duking it out in alliteration and assonance. Twenty-six characters (the ABC's if you must call them that), rearranged in a gazillion different ways make me happy. But remember, it don't mean a thing if it ain't got that swing...and a good tap shoe finish!"

And if you haven't caught up with her blog yet, it's full of good stuff!

Material shared in 'I Wish I'd Written This' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings remain the property of the copyright owners, usually their authors.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Picnic

Breakfast in the Open by Carl Larsson 1919

“I’ll affect you slowly as if you were having a picnic in a dream. 
There will be no ants.  It won’t rain.” 

― Richard Brautigan

"Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic." 

. "Society is the picnic certain individuals leave early, the party they fail to enjoy, the musical comedy they find not worth the price of admission."
 Joyce Carol Oates

Pierrot's Repast: Deburau as Pierrot Gormand by Auguste Bouquet c. 1830.

Midweek Motif ~ Picnic

When I was young, picnics involved food and parks with lakes to swim in and trails to walk in along cliffs with great views.  I loved them.  But lately, I only hear the word "picnic" in metaphor— something is or is not "a picnic"— meaning "easy."  I don't remember picnics being easy to prepare, but I remember feeling holiday in the air. Now, picnics for me are either solitary outdoor eating during walks or mass potluck church outings. What about you? Do you now or have you ever picnicked?

Your Challenge:  
Take us to a picnic in a new poem.

from Rubaiyat: "A Book of Verses underneath the Bough"

Related Poem Content Details

. . . . 
A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
A Jug of Wine, A Loaf of Bread—and Thou 
Beside me singing in the Wilderness— 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow! 
. . . . 
(Only quatrain 11; read the entire poem HERE.)

            by Rita Dove

The Day? Memorial.
After the grill
Dad appears with his masterpiece –
swirled snow, gelled light.
We cheer.  The recipe’s
a secret and he fights
a smile, his cap turned up
so the bib resembles a duck.

That morning we galloped
through the grassed-over mounds
and named each stone
for a lost milk tooth.  Each dollop
of sherbet, later,
is a miracle,
Read the Rest HERE.

I Ask My Mother to Sing

Related Poem Content Details

She begins, and my grandmother joins her. 
Mother and daughter sing like young girls. 
If my father were alive, he would play 
his accordion and sway like a boat.

I’ve never been in Peking, or the Summer Palace, 
nor stood on the great Stone Boat to watch 
the rain begin on Kuen Ming Lake, the picnickers 
running away in the grass.
. . . . 
Read the rest HERE.

* * * * 

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others 
in the spirit of the community.

 (Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ Parenthood 
(Parents, Guardians, Significant Adults in the Lives of Children)