Debt

This poem, which I found in Volume II of "Crimson Trove," reminded me of someone very special to me, someone who I am forever indebted to for making me "sing again when all the songs were mute."

My debt to you, Beloved,
Is one I cannot pay
In any coin of any realm
On any reckoning day:

For where is he shall figure
The debt, when all is said,
To one who makes you dream again
When all the dreams dead?

Or where is the appraiser
Who shall the claim compute
Of one who makes you sing again
When all the songs were mute?

Jessie Rittenhouse

The Star-Spangled Banner

In honor of this day, and all that it represents to those who call freedom their own, I am displaying here a few verses which you are all familiar with. 

This poem, (for it was that before it was a song or our national anthem,) more than any other I know of, represents what America is all about. 

It's about young men who give up their lives so that people they've never met can sleep in peace at night; it's about the feeling that wells up in our hearts when we see our flag flying above our hometown; it's about the freedom to think, say, and be anything we believe in; but most of all, it's about putting our trust in the God who has "preserved us a nation" - it's about America, the land of the free, because of the brave. 

God Bless the USA!

Oh! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

 

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream.
'Tis the star-spangled banner. Oh! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever when free men shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation,
Blest with victory and peace, may the Heaven rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Francis Scott Key

The Echo

In the Old Testament, God called four times before the boy prophet Samuel heard his voice for what it was.  Many times we are like that, and something must call out to us repeatedly for us to really hear it.
The reason I bring this up is because of a poem I heard today in church services.  It is the third or fourth time I have heard it in a formal church setting in the past couple of months.  Each time, it has touched me at a slightly different level.  So I decided to post it here for you to see; who knows, perhaps it will be the voice of the Lord for you, calling again to be heard.

 

’Twas a sheep not a lamb

that strayed away

in the parable Jesus told,

a grown-up sheep that strayed away

from the ninety and nine in the fold.

And why for the sheep should we seek

and earnestly hope and pray?

Because there is danger when sheep go wrong:

they lead the lambs astray.

Lambs will follow the sheep, you know,

wherever the sheep may stray.

When sheep go wrong,

it won’t take long

till the lambs are as wrong as they.

And so with the sheep we earnestly plead

for the sake of the lambs today,

for when the sheep are lost

what a terrible cost

the lambs will have to pay.

C. C. Miller

Crimson Trove

Last July, while looking over a book sale at my local library, I stumbled across a literary treasure trove!  It was a set of six volumes of poetry, bound in red and gold.  Originally compiled and published in the 1920's by Edwin Markham, my memorial edition of the "Anthology of the World's Best Poems" was printed in the 1950's, and is all that it claims to be. 
Filled with good, ensightful, touching poetry from across the ages, this "crimson trove" as I'll call it was brand new, and cost $7!  I apologize for gushing, I'm still in shock when I think of the odds; for lovers of good old-fashioned poetry like myself, this is nothing short of a jewel.  I highly recommend looking it up in your local library or antique bookshop.
Anyway, I will from time to time be sharing poems I find inside its covers.  I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

P.S.  Here are two of the sites you can find the books at online.
http://www.amazon.com/Memorial-Anthology-selected-Markham-Volumes/dp/B000FNLYMU
http://www.iobabooks.com/books/171055940.html

Limericks

Poetry need not always be serious or contemplative; there is also room for humor and silliness within its bounds.  So, in keeping with that, here is a limerick I discovered.  It has absolutely no meaning or depth, but it has form, and hopefully it makes you smile.

There was an old man with a beard
Who said, "it’s just how I feared!
Two owls and a hen
Four larks and a wren
Have all built their nests in my beard."

Anonymous

P.S.  If you want to practice writing poetry yourself, limericks are an easy and fun place to begin.

Preconceptions

We all have preconceived ideas about different subjects, and this is especially true when it comes to poetry.  What is a poem?  What can it be about?  Who can write one?  What makes a poem good or bad?  The list could go on and on.
I won't try to answer all these questions with this post, but here is a short poem I wrote the other night that I'd like to share.  As you read it, please do so slowly, and pay attention to 1) what your thoughts are concerning it as you read; and 2) what your thoughts are after you have finished.  Did you have any inaccurate preconceptions?

'Twas a most unlikely couple,
none else could see the match;
and thought he was a daredevil
for such a plan to hatch.

But he mixed them both together,
with spice and chemistry;
and his faith, it was rewarded -
they fit so perfectly!

Sauteed zucchini and mushroom,
with garlic, butter, cheese;
he asked if they'd like seconds:
"Oh yes!  Yes, pretty please!"

David Jamison

A Little Too Kind

We've all had those days when every way we turned, somebody hurt us.  Sometimes it was unintentional, sometimes it wasn't.  I had one of those days this week.  And as I was thinking about it, I remembered this profound poem I had heard quoted by a man I look up to a lot.  It reminded me that the ball is now in my court so to speak, and what I do now is up to me.  May it touch you as it did me.

I have wept in the night

for the shortness of sight
that to somebody's need made me blind;

But I never have yet

felt a tinge of regret

for being a little too kind.

Anonymous

That's Poetic...

You don't have to be a poet or write poetry in order to have something strike you as poetic.  We all have those moments when we see, hear, taste, touch, smell or just feel something that makes us, well... feel something.  It strikes a cord with you, and you identify with it.
When we lose the ability to see past what is commonplace in the mundane, gazing into the heart of it and seeing a spark of the sublime, we lose a bit of what makes us truly alive.
So, what is a poetic thought that came to you recently?  What made you feel more alive and whole simply by experiencing it?

Seize the Day!

For my first poem I will share one of mine.  I wrote this one while enjoying the weather, despite the next day's forecast.  Enjoy, and seize the day!

Oh, beauty true and deep,
resurrecting spring!
Blossoms no longer sleep,
but life God doth bring.

The very air doth hum
with warmth and color.
hope, long dead, it doth come;
each breath is full-er.

Winter's stillness blows past,
giving way to birth.
Man and Nature at last
see a reborn earth.

What tomorrow will hold,
none can fully know;
it may turn quickly cold,
it may even snow.

If we fear tomorrow,
what then of today?
We won't its pure joys know,
they will blow away.

Control weather?  We can't;
but one thing we may -
let us love each moment,
let us seize the day!

David Jamison

Welcome to This Poet's Desk!

Greetings!  Welcome to my blog; the world's newest (as of this millisecond,) blog on poetry.  I have been writing and enjoying poetry for over a decade now, and decided to start my own blog on this, one of my favorite subjects.  My purpose here will be to share my love for good poetry with you and everyone else out there.  Here you will find some of my own poetry, poems that I've found and want to share, and my musings on poetry in general.  So feel free to look around, enjoy the world of poetry through my eyes, and return whenever you need a break from the race that we call life.