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 Poetry: February 17, 2010 Issue [#3563] |
  Poetry This issue's editor: stormyrene More Newsletters By This Editor   1. About this Newsletter 2. A Word from our Sponsor 3. Letter from the Editor 4. Editor's Picks 5. A Word from Writing.Com 6. Ask & Answer 7. Removal instructions  This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. stormyrene    The Dissolution by John Donne She's dead; and all which die To their first elements resolve; And we were mutual elements to us, And made of one another. My body then doth hers involve, And those things whereof I consist hereby In me abundant grow, and burdenous, And nourish not, but smother. My fire of passion, sighs of air, Water of tears, and earthly sad despair, Which my materials be, But near worn out by love's security, She, to my loss, doth by her death repair, And I might live long wretched so But that my fire doth with my fuel grow. Now as those Active Kings Whose foreign conquest treasure brings, Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break: This (which I am amazed that I can speak) This death hath with my store My use increased. And so my soul more earnestly released Will outstrip hers; as bullets flown before A latter bullet may o'ertake, the powder being more The Message by John Donne Send home my long stray'd eyes to me, Which O too long have dwelt on thee, Yet since there they have learn'd such ill, Such forc'd fashions, And false passions, That they be Made by thee Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Send home my worthless heart again, Which no unworthy thought could stain, Which if't be taught by thine To make jestings Of protestings, And cross both Word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. Yet send me back my heart and eyes, That I may know, and see thy lies, And may laugh and joy, when thou Art in anguish And dost languish For some one That will non, Or prove as false as thou art now. John Donne was born in London in 1572. When Donne was only four years old his father passed away leaving his mother to raise him and his two siblings. By eleven Donne entered the University of Oxford. Donne studied for three years there, then left to study for the following three years at the University of Cambridge. Donne would not receive a degree from either university. Donne would then studied law, in London, in 1952. He then became a private secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton, in 1598. Donne and Egerton's niece, Anne More secretly married in 1601. For this action Donne was dismissed from his position and was briefly imprisoned. Satirewas Donne's first book, written during his stay in London. Followed by his next book Songs and Sonnets which was published several years after being finished. Then came Divine Poems which was published in 1607. He wrote Anniversaries and An Anatomy of the World in 1611 and Of the Progress of the Soul in 1612. It was in 1615 when Donne became a priest of the Anglican Church. Tragically Donne's wife Anne died in 1617, at thirty-three, after giving birth to their twelfth child. It was in 1621 that Donne was named dean of St. Paul's Cathedral. As a preacher, Donne delivered sermons that were regarded as brilliant and eloquent. Donne's poetry echoed his religious views as well as a wide range of other subjects. Donne continued preaching until his death On March 31, 1631. It is said that his obsession with death lead to him reading his own funeral sermon Death's Duel just a few short weeks before he died. The Triple Fool by John Donne I am two fools, I know— For loving, and for saying so In whining poetry; But where's that wiseman that would not be I, If she would not deny? Then, as th' earths inward narrow crooked lanes Do purge sea waters fretful salt away, I thought, if I could draw my pains Through rhymes vexation, I should them allay. Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, For he tames it that fetters it in verse. But when I have done so, Some man, his art and voice to show, Doth set and sing my pain, And, by delighting many, frees again Grief, which verse did restrain. To Love and Grief tribute of verse belongs, But not of such as pleases when 'tis read; Both are increased by such songs, For both their triumphs so are published; And I, which was two fooles, do so grow three; Who are a little wise, the best fools be. Thank you all! stormyrene ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [13+] is:
A dusty path twists and turns ending at a mirror pool. Sunbeams gleam as golden rays bounce off the still water. Hidden in the brush are soft sounds of birds nesting and sweetly singing in morning light. Limbs of trees seem to raise up their arms in praise to God. Upon a hill overlooking the pool is a giant rock, a place where tiny creatures living there sun themselves. If you listen closely, you can hear the padded step of a small red fox that has come to this pool for his early morning libation. Honorable Mentions:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ These are the rules: 1)You must use the words I give in a poem. 2)They can be in any order and anywhere throughout the poem. 3)All entries must be posted in your portfolio and you must post the link in this forum "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [13+] by March 13, 2010.4)The winner will get 3000 gift points and the poem will be displayed in this section of the newsletter the next time it is my turn to post. (March 17, 2010) The words are: wishing crimson blithe blanket frost season warm comfort.  Good luck to all ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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