Thank you for sharing...!

The 2 Billy's...

PERFECT WOMAN

by: William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

SHE was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

"John Muir" 1838 -1914 Scottish born
An American Environmentalist


Keep close to Nature's heart...
and break clear away,
once in awhile, and climb a mountain
or spend a week in the woods.
Wash your spirit clean.
John Muir (1838 -1914)

Living artificially in towns,
we are sickly,
and never come to know ourselves.
John Muir (1838-1914)

"Joyce Kilmer" (1886 - 1918) best known for his poem "Trees,"
it's captivating lyrical simplicity drives home this profound message: "we humans can never hope to surpass the awesome beauty of nature."

Trees
by Joyce Kilmer (1886 - 1918)

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

Theodor Geisel - might very well be the best educated to top it all.

Poetry can mean many different things to me. I write to keep from hitting people (anger), I write to keep from expressing myself (letting others in) and I write just for me.. just because i'm good at it and it reminds me of worth at times when I don't always feel of worth.

I love Poe and Thoreau and Whitman and even some of the early 1100's poetry by chinese women ( the name escapes me) that talk about oppression and sufferage. I'm not all that picky about poetry, I just don't like happy, go-lucky stuff where a writer seems to only see the word through fake googles of deception.

My muse can be my daughter, a break up, my horrible 10 year marriage seems to be a great muse and writing as helped me remember who I am through that and helped me forgive, grow and learn. But one day a stopper from starbucks was my muse and I used it as a metaphor about how we look and perceive things and how those are two totally different things.

I am no poet but I know why I play with words.It helps.Just like escaping into someone elses words or a book.It just helps.I suppose some of you must be here to find love but there will be others like myself that are just trying to figure out whether they want to put themselves through it again.I have enjoyed this because I can figure out what I want without damaging anyone else while I decide.Nice thread.

That's a great way to put it..here trying to decide if you want to go through it again..

Brug, I'm no poet but I love reading poetry, I admire and applaud the people who can.

I would like to see folks sharing their thoughts and reason for writing and if they write where their inspiration comes from. I look forward to seeing more of your writings/musings.

And do share a poem from a poet that you find inspirational.

I can be inspired by just a picture to write about ...
a feeling deep inside can come out ...
not sure if you call it poetry ...
but makes me feel free ...
to say words that have longed to be ...
with no rhyme or reason ...
I feel the art... of the expression ...
its time for me to leave ...

I liked this:

The very first poem I loved... Still do!
Thanks for this thread mowildflower

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


1794

I don't read or write poetry because it's cute; I read and write because I'm a member of the human race, and I'm filled with passion. Poetry is about feelings, beauty, romance, and love which the human race needs to stay alive. I read poetry because it makes me feel alive, I write poetry because I am alive.

...an American poet, essayist and journalist; A humanist.

I couldn't say it better, freedom comes from within.

Robin Williams ~ Dead Poets Society

when we are in love with what "sounds beautiful", we are always deceived, when we wish to hear what was called ugly, we have true wise knowing.