tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post8009446373953841298..comments2024-01-18T05:29:43.265-05:00Comments on The Music In It: Adele Kenny's Poetry Blog: Prompt #142 – Celebrate SpringADELE KENNYhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-39758139760921091302013-03-29T08:44:59.205-04:002013-03-29T08:44:59.205-04:00Thanks so much Bob! Happy Easter!Thanks so much Bob! Happy Easter!ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-59191510371689626312013-03-28T12:18:54.022-04:002013-03-28T12:18:54.022-04:00A great prompt, great example poems, and a great p...A great prompt, great example poems, and a great picture (daffodils are one of THE symbols of spring).<br /><br />Happy Passover and Happy Easter to all!Bob's Mustangshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08029970139144589691noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-77739624325380757502013-03-28T09:09:28.118-04:002013-03-28T09:09:28.118-04:00To you, Adele, and to all your blog readers, I sen...To you, Adele, and to all your blog readers, I send my best wishes for a blessed and holy Easter.<br /><br />I offer this poem by Ireland's William Butler Yeats as a reminder to all how important it is to work toward peace in our world.<br /><br />Happy Easter!<br />Máire Ó Cathail (Ireland)<br /><br />Easter, 1916<br /><br />BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS<br /><br />I have met them at close of day <br />Coming with vivid faces<br />From counter or desk among grey <br />Eighteenth-century houses.<br />I have passed with a nod of the head <br />Or polite meaningless words, <br />Or have lingered awhile and said <br />Polite meaningless words,<br />And thought before I had done <br />Of a mocking tale or a gibe <br />To please a companion<br />Around the fire at the club, <br />Being certain that they and I <br />But lived where motley is worn: <br />All changed, changed utterly: <br />A terrible beauty is born.<br /><br />That woman's days were spent <br />In ignorant good-will,<br />Her nights in argument<br />Until her voice grew shrill.<br />What voice more sweet than hers <br />When, young and beautiful, <br />She rode to harriers?<br />This man had kept a school <br />And rode our wingèd horse; <br />This other his helper and friend <br />Was coming into his force;<br />He might have won fame in the end, <br />So sensitive his nature seemed, <br />So daring and sweet his thought.<br />This other man I had dreamed<br />A drunken, vainglorious lout.<br />He had done most bitter wrong<br />To some who are near my heart, <br />Yet I number him in the song;<br />He, too, has resigned his part<br />In the casual comedy;<br />He, too, has been changed in his turn, <br />Transformed utterly:<br />A terrible beauty is born.<br /><br />Hearts with one purpose alone <br />Through summer and winter seem <br />Enchanted to a stone<br />To trouble the living stream.<br />The horse that comes from the road, <br />The rider, the birds that range <br />From cloud to tumbling cloud, <br />Minute by minute they change; <br />A shadow of cloud on the stream <br />Changes minute by minute; <br />A horse-hoof slides on the brim, <br />And a horse plashes within it; <br />The long-legged moor-hens dive, <br />And hens to moor-cocks call; <br />Minute by minute they live: <br />The stone's in the midst of all.<br /><br />Too long a sacrifice<br />Can make a stone of the heart. <br />O when may it suffice?<br />That is Heaven's part, our part <br />To murmur name upon name, <br />As a mother names her child <br />When sleep at last has come <br />On limbs that had run wild. <br />What is it but nightfall?<br />No, no, not night but death; <br />Was it needless death after all?<br />For England may keep faith <br />For all that is done and said. <br />We know their dream; enough<br />To know they dreamed and are dead; <br />And what if excess of love <br />Bewildered them till they died? <br />I write it out in a verse—<br />MacDonagh and MacBride <br />And Connolly and Pearse<br />Now and in time to be,<br />Wherever green is worn,<br />Are changed, changed utterly: <br />A terrible beauty is born.<br /><br /><br />Máire Ó Cathail (Ireland)noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-32355262733148565292013-03-27T16:45:01.839-04:002013-03-27T16:45:01.839-04:00Thanks, Adele. The poetry group agrees.Thanks, Adele. The poetry group agrees.Risahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06554583053304327137noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-66361966793962914162013-03-26T18:01:25.967-04:002013-03-26T18:01:25.967-04:00I sense a much longer story underlying this poem! ...I sense a much longer story underlying this poem! A lot of nuance and suggestion. Thanks so much for sharing, Risa!ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-27477399066694054822013-03-26T11:34:10.310-04:002013-03-26T11:34:10.310-04:00The Hand-me-down
The new pink jacket
One long bre...The Hand-me-down<br /><br />The new pink jacket<br />One long breath away from shame<br />Nearly ruined springRisahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06554583053304327137noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-87513121262540463562013-03-25T13:10:40.205-04:002013-03-25T13:10:40.205-04:00Hey, Jago,
Great little poem about a first love a...Hey, Jago,<br /><br />Great little poem about a first love and spring. Funny, isn't it, how those early loves really were kind of "desperate" in their intensity.Rich Mandelnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-62702540865760036812013-03-24T14:01:39.160-04:002013-03-24T14:01:39.160-04:00Thanks so much, Jamie! Daffodils are also a welcom...Thanks so much, Jamie! Daffodils are also a welcome sign of spring here!ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-80103766532949175182013-03-24T08:48:44.584-04:002013-03-24T08:48:44.584-04:00First love and the early poems it inspired -- this...First love and the early poems it inspired -- this is wonderful, Jago! It reminds me of my own first love, all that young and wonderful intensity.Jamie Morrisnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-2994988380783432212013-03-24T08:46:30.373-04:002013-03-24T08:46:30.373-04:00Happy Palm Sunday, Adele!
This is a great, upbea...Happy Palm Sunday, Adele! <br /><br />This is a great, upbeat prompt, and I love the image. Here in England, daffodils are among the first signs of spring. Jamie Morrisnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-23471017501113563372013-03-24T08:37:17.229-04:002013-03-24T08:37:17.229-04:00Oh, I love it, Jago! Young love/first love—one of ...Oh, I love it, Jago! Young love/first love—one of the sweetnesses to remember when it's spring.<br /><br />Thanks so much for sharing this. I wish you a wonderful spring!ADELE KENNYhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09556261298519747516noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272430209314356497.post-37961250066762807622013-03-24T04:52:18.307-04:002013-03-24T04:52:18.307-04:00oh, Adele! With this post you made me remember a p...oh, Adele! With this post you made me remember a poem I wrote when I was a teenager; for the first love, maybe:<br /><br />for Cynthia<br /><br />Rosy clouds are sparkling<br />Desperate lovers<br />Primavera*<br /><br />* in Italian in the text: primavera means spring<br />Jagohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06894651945136263360noreply@blogger.com