Going Home On The Northern Pacific
The way home for me was eastbound
on the Northern Pacific from California
riding coach (pillow furnished for a fee)
and reading paperback books -
everything from Robinson Jeffers
'...stones have stood for a thousand years,
and pained thoughts found the honey
of peace in old poems.'
to Denise Levertov's Illustrious Ancestors
'...poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.'
even the obscure Ray Durem
'...I cannot find those mild and gracious words
to clothe the carnage.'
I got off when the train reached Chicago
a soldier home from the war
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Related quotes
Going Home On The Train
The way home for me was eastbound
on the Northern Pacific from California
riding coach (pillow furnished for a fee)
and reading paperback books -
everything from Robinson Jeffers-
'...stones have stood for a thousand years,
and pained thoughts found the honey
of peace in old poems.'
to Denise Levertov's ILLUSTRATED ANCESTORS
'...poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with the needle in the air.'
including the obscure Ray Durem -
'...I cannot find those mild and gracious words
to clothe the carnage.'
I got off when the train reached Chicago-
an obscure soldier home from war.
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Illustrious Ancestors
The Rav
of Northern White Russia declined,
in his youth, to learn the
language of birds, because
the extraneous did not interest him; nevertheless
when he grew old it was found
he understood them anyway, having
listened well, and as it is said, 'prayed
with the bench and the floor.' He used
what was at hand--as did
Angel Jones of Mold, whose meditations
were sewn into coats and britches.
Well, I would like to make,
thinking some line still taut between me and them,
poems direct as what the birds said,
hard as a floor, sound as a bench,
mysterious as the silence when the tailor
would pause with his needle in the air.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Sound As A Bench
Poetry should be mysterious as silence
and as sound as a bench
and as hard as a floor
so I read in poems
by Denise Levertov
Poets are like worms
building from their innards
castles of metaphor
She advises poets to relearn
the alphabet
from anguish and ardor
through somnolent grotto
to the flank of Pegasus
and home to the present
I learn more from one line
about the twelfth letter
of the alphabet
according to Levertov
than most of the stuff
other people have drilled
into me since puberty!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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To The Stone-Cutters
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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There's More Where They Came From
There's more where they came from
The poems that were birthed from my heart
That is where my words have found their home
That is where my poems will always start.
There's more where they came from
Some may be lost through destructive forces
Still they are born from this breathing passion
And shared with love, to give happiness.
There's more where they came from
And perhaps they will only cease
When the poet in me has died and gone home
To my Father in heaven and I lie in peace.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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California
Sitting in a park in Paris, France
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They won't give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot are left to see
But I wouldn't want to stay here
It's too old and cold and settled in its ways here
Oh, but california
California I'm coming home
I'm going to see the folks I dig
I'll even kiss a sunset pig
California I'm coming home
I met a redneck on a Grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, California
California I'm coming home
Oh make me feel good rock'n roll band
I'm your biggest fan
California, I'm coming home
Chorus:
Oh it gets so lonely
When you're walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues
So I bought me a ticket
I caught a plane to Spain
Went to a party down a red dirt road
There were lots of pretty people there
Reading rolling stone, reading vogue
They said, how long can you hang around?
I said a week, maybe two,
Just until my skin turns brown
Then I'm going home to California
California I'm coming home
Will you take me as I am
Strung out on another man
California I'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
I'm coming home
Yeah
Take me as I am
Will you
Will you
song performed by by Wilson Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paperback Writer
(LennonMcCartney)
Paperback writer
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took me years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a novel by a man named Lear
And I need a job, so I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's the dirty story of a dirty man
And his clinging wife doesn't understand
His son is working for the Daily Mail
It's a steady job but he wants to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
It's a thousand pages, give or take a few
I'll be writing more in a week or two
I can make it longer if you like the style
I can change it round and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights
It could make a million for you overnight
If you must return it, you can send it here
But I need a break and I want to be a paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer
Paperback writer, paperback writer (fade out)
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back To My Work
It's time for me to write again
The poems were on pause
So as to ease my mind
Now I see it only took my emotions away
It was locked with the thoughts of new poems
Now I'm back and filled to the brim
Here come the poems
For so long tried to escape to paper
Blocked by procrastination and laziness
Welcome to the world new poems
May the paper caress you for years to come
Written January 31,2011
poem by Ryan Collins
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Poems About Poems About Poems
Poems about poems about poems-
More poems and more poems and more poems-
Poems poems poems poems poems-
How many poems?
How much poetry
Until there is no poetry at all?
But only 'words' and 'words' and 'words'
Until one goes far away
Where there was never a poem before-
And suddenly hears
“Let there be Light”.
And Poetry perhaps
Is born again.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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My Poems
When I sing poems, I sing for me and for me alone. As I read my poems, I see that I have much to perfect in this art. I force rhyme schemes, my rythm goes into off beat tangents, I have more song than substance, incomplete incongruous thoughts, terrible syntax, obscure, almost too obscure meanings but beauty I have and love, and an honest heart. I realize my poems are me, all my inconsistencies, flaws, beauty and love. That's why I sing poems, sing for me and me alone…
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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California
Sitting in a park in paris, france
Reading the news and it sure looks bad
They wont give peace a chance
That was just a dream some of us had
Still a lot of lands to see
But I wouldnt want to stay here
Its too old and cold and settled in its ways here
Oh, but california
California Im coming home
Im going to see the folks I dig
Ill even kiss a sunset pig
California Im coming home
I met a redneck on a grecian isle
Who did the goat dance very well
He gave me back my smile
But he kept my camera to sell
Oh the rogue, the red red rogue
He cooked good omelettes and stews
And I might have stayed on with him there
But my heart cried out for you, california
Oh california Im coming home
Oh make me feel good rockn roll band
Im your biggest fan
California, Im coming home
Chorus:
Oh it gets so lonely
When youre walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
Just gives you the blues
Just gives you the blues
So I bought me a ticket
I caught a plane to spain
Went to a party down a red dirt road
There were lots of pretty people there
Reading rolling stone, reading vogue
They said, how long can you hang around?
I said a week, maybe two,
Just until my skin turns brown
Then Im going home to california
California Im coming home
Oh will you take me as I am
Strung out on another man
California Im coming home
Chorus:
Oh it gets so lonely
When youre walking
And the streets are full of strangers
All the news of home you read
More about the war
And the bloody changes
Oh will you take me as l am?
Will you take me as l am?
Will you?
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eastbound Train
It was New Cross Station, I was going on home
Saw you get your ticket, standing on your own
Here come the train about 02:44
I couldn't get a smoker, you took another car
Yeah, the end of the line, we both had to change,
And you're standing right behind me,
I'm a feeling kinda strange
We got to Mile End Road, my heart skipped a beat,
Standing right behind me, I'm a shakin' in my seat
3-4 minutes and the train comes through,
I'm ridin' on the Central, I'm a-lookin' at you.
Woman on the eastbound train,
Sometimes I wanna see you again.
Now I couldn't read a paper, you couldn't read a book,
Kept on taking me another look,
You got off the train, you never looked behind
I tried, but I can't get you out of my mind.
Woman on the eastbound train,
Sometimes I wanna see you again.
Well I got one more thing I wanna say before I go
If you get the message on the radio
You can write a letter, get in touch with me,
Leave your number with the company, yeah.
Woman on the eastbound train,
Sometimes I wanna see you again.
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like So Many Poems I Read
LIKE SO MANY POEMS I READ
Like so many poems I read
These poems I am reading now
Are not poems to me.
They are too detached
Too abstract
Too up in the air.
I want to hear the words
Make a music of feeling
In my soul.
A poem must move me
If it is to be real.
Why then do I write these words
as if a poem?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Our Son
Our Son the Soldier
How great a man he must be
To be joined in the fight to
set another part of the world free
Our Son the Soldier
So very proud of you we are
To all of us who love you,
you will always be our shining star
Our Son the Soldier
So far from home and in a foreign place
Just close your eyes to
see a familiar smiling face
Our Son the Soldier
So very far away
We will all be waiting with open
arms on your coming home day
poem by Denise Girod
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Poems About.
There are poems that you will never see
Marked in a folder titled 'privacy'
Poems of hate and anger and personal pain
Poems about greed and hunger and personal gain
Poems about people I would love to see dead
Poems about women I met
Poems about relationships that have gone bad
Poems about issues with mom and dad
Poems about me, the person no one knows
Poems about places where only my soul goes
Poems I wish I could place in the clouds for all to read
Poems about lust, selfishness and greed
Poems I know will hurt those I hate
Poems I write by complete mistake
Poems I have hidden in my heart and my head
Poems about things that are better left unsaid
Poems I want to share and poems I want to retract
Poems of shame and how others might act
They stay in my psyche, they are a part of me
These poems I write, but you will never see.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Home, Sweet Home
Sharers of a common country,
They had met in deadly strife;
Men who should have been as brothers
Madly sought each other's life.
In the silence of the even,
When the cannon's lips were dumb,
Thoughts of home and all its loved ones
To the soldier's heart would come.
On the margin of a river,
'Mid the evening's dews and damps,
Could be heard the sounds of music
Rising from two hostile camps.
One was singing of its section
Down in Dixie, Dixie's land,
And the other of the banner
Waved so long from strand to strand.
In the land where Dixie's ensign
Floated o'er the hopeful slave,
Rose the song that freedom's banner,
Starry-lighted, long might wave.
From the fields of strife and carnage,
Gentle thoughts began to roam,
And a tender strain of music
Rose with words of "Home, Sweet Home."
Then the hearts of strong men melted,
For amid our grief and sin
Still remains that "touch of nature,"
Telling us we all are kin.
In one grand but gentle chorus,
Floating to the starry dome,
Came the words that brought them nearer,
Words that told of "Home, Sweet Home."
For awhile, all strife forgotten,
They were only brothers then,
Joining in the sweet old chorus,
Not as soldiers, but as men.
Men whose hearts would flow together,
Though apart their feet might roam,
Found a tie they could not sever,
In the mem'ry of each home.
Never may the steps of carnage
Shake our land from shore to shore,
But may mother, home and Heaven,
Be our watchwords evermore.
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The History Poems Have Not Been Written
The history poems have not been written
The poems after Milosz
The Wallace Stevens poems will never be written
I can’t come close
I have tried the Blake poems
But of course I am not near them either
I would like to the ironic intellectual poems
I might be able to do them
I could do a kind of surrealistic association mind poem a prose poem
But I don’t like that very much
The poems of Jerusalem have not been good enough
Poems of propaganda are awkward and unacceptable
The small poems that tell of my life
They are for me the chance at real poetry
And I will continue as best I can with them
The American poems I have not yet found the idiom for
I can be epigrammatic in Emerson Thoreau fashion
But not with the hard New England observing eye
Borges poems I love
And the stories of mind and literature
Making the drama of a life of a storyteller
Interest me
But I doubt I could truly do them well
Imitation can only take one so far
And through it one may lose one’s way entirely
I can really do only what I am
Not the Dickinson poems nor the Hopkins poems nor the Wordsworth poems nor the Keats poems nor the Amichai poems nor the poems of many others whose poetry I love
The Biblical poems have been tried
The poems of cosmic and scientific reflection
I could try to improve them
There are too many different kinds of poems to write
And I cannot write almost all of them
This is another poem about poems and poetry
I have written many for a long time now
Perhaps I need to go elsewhere and write in a new way
A way I have not dreamed or even remotely understood possible before.
The poems of the unknown poetry await me
I will go on but I am not sure now I know in which wa
poem by Shalom Freedman
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I wrote those poems for myself, as a way of being a soldier here in this country. I didn't know the poems would travel. I didn't go to Lebanon until two years ago, but people told me that many Arabs had memorized these poems and translated them into Arabic.
quote by June Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aware
When I found the door
I found the vine leaves
speaking among themselves in abundant
whispers.
My presence made them
hush their green breath,
embarrassed, the way
humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,
acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if
the conversation had ended
just before you arrived.
I liked
the glimpse I had, though,
of their obscure
gestures. I liked the sound
of such private voices. Next time
I'll move like cautious sunlight, open
the door by fractions, eavesdrop
peacefully.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Day After Day
Day after day
Miles and miles of railroad track
Night after night
Hummin of the wheels
Their hummin seems to say
Hell follow you someday
But someday seems a million miles away
Wish I could turn around
And run back home again
Ive had no mercy
Since the blues got on this train
Day after day
Make a dollar, need it twice
Night after night
Lie awake and dream
Of days of auld lang syne
Moonlight through the pine
And linen table cloths all stained with wine
Wish I could turn around
And run back home again
Ive been so empty
Since I caught that eastbound train
Day after day
Watch the hands move round the clock
Night after night
Searching for my soul
So this must be my fate
To sit and weep and wait
And pray my darlin comes before too late
Wish I could turn around
And run back home again
Ive been so lonely
Since I caught that eastbound train
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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