Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Commitment

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"Commitment is an act, not a word."---Jean- Paul Sartre

""In journalism just one fact that is false prejudices the entire work. In contrast, in fiction one single fact that is true gives legitimacy to the entire work. That's the only difference, and it lies in the commitment of the writer. A novelist can do anything he wants so long as he makes people believe in it."---Gabriel Garcia Marquez

"Blind commitment to a theory is not an intellectual virtue: it is an intellectual crime."---Imre Lakatos

"We cannot be sure of having something to live for unless we are willing to die for it."---Ernesto Che Guevara

                     Midweek Motif ~ Commitment

Commitment is "the state or quality of being dedicated to a cause, activity etc.". This is the dictionary-definition of commitment.

So it stops us from being selfish, being occupied with only ourselves. Rather it takes us to a broader context of life and motivates at try out things that are worth to be committed for.

It is a process of growth ensuring a life with purpose.

Let's see what you are committed to this week.


Write your poem on Commitment to whatever you wish....Relationship, Work, God, Nature, Excellence, anything.


A few poems to inspire you:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Sonnet XXVVII

by Pablo Neruda


I do not love you as if you were salt-rose or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between thee shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers,
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Friendship IXX

by Khalil Gibran


And a youth says, "Speak to us of Friendship."
Your friend is your needs answered.
He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving
And he is your board and your fireside.
For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the "nay" in your own mind, nor do you withhold the "ay".

                                                         (The rest is here.)



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

(Next week Susan's Midweek Motif will be ~ (Wind Power )

The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

The Last Mowing
By Robert Frost (1874-1963

There's a place called Far-away Meadow
We never shall mow in again,

Or such is the talk at the farmhouse:
The meadow is finished with men.
Then now is the chance for the flowers
That can't stand mowers and plowers.
It must be now, through, in season
Before the not mowing brings trees on,
Before trees, seeing the opening,
March into a shadowy claim.
The trees are all I'm afraid of,
That flowers can't bloom in the shade of;
It's no more men I'm afraid of;
The meadow is done with the tame.
The place for the moment is ours
For you, oh tumultuous flowers,
To go to waste and go wild in,
All shapes and colors of flowers,
I needn't call you by name.

It occurred to me that I hadn't yet featured Robert Frost, considered one of the greatest � if not THE greatest � of American poets. I didn't want to use the ones that are most well-known, so had a hunt and found this one which was new to me. I hope it may be new to some of you as well.

I like it because of the way the speaker so exults over the wildflowers he anticipates in the discarded meadow. There is an exuberance, both about the imagined flowers and in the speaker's voice. It's rather a nice follow-on from Angie Walker's celebration of flowers in 'I Wish I'd Written This' last week.

There is a long article on his poetics at The Poetry Foundation, detailing his interesting position as neither strictly a traditionalist nor yet a modern free-versifier. Rather, he worked to make metrical verse convey current rhythms of spoken language � particularly that of the New England he inhabited.

Wikipedia has a briefer account of his life and work, including such highlights as his four Pulitzer Prizes, his teaching and farming careers, and the fact that he was chosen to deliver a poem at President Kennedy's Inauguration.

I am going to have to leave you to research these further yourself, as I am having internet problems due to wild weather, and need to schedule this post while I can. I imagine many of you do already know a lot about Frost, and perhaps learned about him in school.

Material shared in 'The Living Dead' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings remain the property of the copyright owners, where applicable (older poems may be out of copyright)

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Design

Stourhead in Wiltshire, England, designed by Henry Hoare (1705�1785)

�design is so important because chaos is so hard�? Jules Feiffer

�The evil plan is most harmful to the planner� ? Homer

�If I had asked people what they wanted, they would have said faster horses.� 

� Henry Ford 

Elaine Lemon

Midweek Motif ~ Design

Following up Sumana's color motif from last week, let's tackle design.  

I design midweek motif prompts as collages to stimulate a diversity of responses. Besides writing poetry, I love designing window displays and conferences, websites and embroidery patterns. And I love reading between the lines to discover the intent of another's design.

What do you do by design?

Your Challenge:  Please write a brand new poem about design or about how a specific design succeeds or fails.

Design

BY BILLY COLLINS

I pour a coating of salt on the table

and make a circle in it with my finger.

This is the cycle of life

I say to no one.

This is the wheel of fortune,

the Arctic Circle.

This is the ring of Kerry

and the white rose of Tralee

I say to the ghosts of my family,

the dead fathers,

the aunt who drowned,

my unborn brothers and sisters,

my unborn children.

This is the sun with its glittering spokes

and the bitter moon.

This is the absolute circle of geometry

I say to the crack in the wall,

to the birds who cross the window.

This is the wheel I just invented

to roll through the rest of my life

I say

touching my finger to my tongue.

Billy Collins, �Design� from The Art of Drowning. 

Eve's Design

BY MOIRA LINEHAN

Then there's the Yemeni legend   

of Eve in the Garden knitting   

a pattern on the serpent's back,   

the snake unfinished like the rest   

of creation, the first woman   

thinking to add design, a sheath   

of interlocking diamonds and stripes   

along that sensuous S,   

knitting giving her time to learn   

what's infinitely possible   

with a few stitches, twisting cables,   

hers a plan to mirror the divine   

inner layer that can't be shed   

no matter what it rubs up against.

Source: Poetry (June 2001).

Design

BY ROBERT FROST

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,

On a white heal-all, holding up a moth

Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth--

Assorted characters of death and blight

Mixed ready to begin the morning right,

A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,

Like the ingredients of a witches� broth--

And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What brought the kindred spider to that height,

What had that flower to do with being white,

The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?

If design govern in a thing so small.

Then steered the white moth thither in the night?

What but design of darkness to appall?

From The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem.

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Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below, 

and please visit others in the spirit of the Poets United community.

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(Susan's next Midweek Motif ~Joy~ will appear on the first Wednesday in 2016.)

We'll see you in Sunday's Poetry Pantry in a few days.  

Happy Holidays, Poets United!

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Fire

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Midweek Motif ~ Fire

"Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the single candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.": Gautama Buddha

"Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, called conscience.": George Washington

"When one burns one's bridges, what a very nice fire it makes.": Dylan Thomas

Fire can both be a foe or a friend depending on the choice of looking at it. It warms us in our time of need, dispels darkness but also burns, consumes and devastates.

Kindling a fire may symbolize inspiration, regeneration.

Many cultures view fire as an emblem of wisdom and enlightenment.

It is a symbol of divinity, purity as well as damnation in many faiths around the world.

Fire has not lost its symbolic significance to modern man also. Freud saw fire as an aspect of the libido (sex drive) representing forbidden passions.

Mother Nature also uses fire both as an agent of destruction and regeneration. Many native plants in American west and south west and elsewhere around the world cannot germinate without the scorching heat of a wild fire.

Now, a couple of poems on today's theme Fire:

Fire and Ice

by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Phenomenal Woman

by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonders where my secret lies.

I am not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size

But when I start to tell them,

They think I am telling lies.

I say,

It's in the reach of my arms,

The span of my hips,

The stride of my step,

The curl of my lips,

I'm a woman

Phenomenally,

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man,

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees.

Then they swarm around me,

A hive of honeybees.

I say,

It's the fire in my eyes,

And the flash of my teeth,

The swing in my waist,

And the joy in my feet.

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That's me.

              (The rest is 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 ~ Gravity)