Tootfinder

Life must go on,
And the dead be forgotten;
Life must go on,
Though good men die;
Anne, eat your breakfast;
Dan, take your medicine;
Life must go on;
I forget just why.
2/2
#Poetry --EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

Listen, children:
Your father is dead.
From his old coats
I'll make you little jackets;
I'll make you little trousers
From his old pants.
There'll be in his pockets
Things he used to put there,
Keys and pennies
Covered with tobacco;
Dan shall have the pennies
To save in his bank;
Anne shall have the keys
To make a pretty noise with.
...cont. 1/2

This improvised (spontaneous, unedited) poem by Stan Stewart is titled "Strange Parables". Everything else you need to know is in the poetry.
#improvised #poetry

Strange Parables - an #improv #poem
Stan Stewart - @muz4now

“Pity the nation whose people are sheep,
and whose shepherds mislead them.
Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced,
and whose bigots haunt the airwaves.
Pity the nation that raises not its voice,
except to...acclaim the bully as hero”
-- Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 1958
#poetry

Sam Rasnake (@samrasnake.bsky.social)
“Pity the nation whose people are sheep, and whose shepherds mislead them. Pity the nation whose leaders are liars, whose sages are silenced, and whose bigots haunt the airwaves. Pity the nation that raises not its voice, except to...acclaim the bully as hero” Lawrence Ferlinghetti, 1958 #poetry

#Poetry
Fear, by Kahlil Gibran
It is said that before entering the sea
a river trembles with fear.
She looks back at the path she has traveled,
from the peaks of the mountains,
the long winding road crossing forests and villages.
And in front of her,
she sees an ocean so vast,
that to enter
there seems nothing more than to disappear forever.
But …

This machine, constantly nagging
Gnawing at the edges of my being
A wheel, a treadmill, whatever this is
No reward but to keep limping
#poetry #mastoprompt #nag

A kind editor had pity upon me:
#poetry

Upon a Single Fact
Upon a single fact is life supported: I-AM exists and works and speaks, before All time began, when space and earth were sorted, His plan completed, the Fartherest Edge and Core. The human mind cannot fully know The only limitless God whose spiritual Being Is Air to breathe and Wind that chooses to blow Wherever he desires, and no man seeing. This central truth: the eternal One not only Speaks but writes as well: his plan revealed, The unknown explained, the deepest secret unsealed- He lays the…

I thought suffering kept things interesting. How funny
that I called it love and the whole time it was pain.
--Ada Limón,
from the poem "Calling Things What They Are",
from the book "The Hurting Kind"
#Poetry

was just sent this and I think it’s quite nice
#writing #poetry @… @…

was just sent this and I think it’s quite nice
#writing #poetry @… @…

Draw elixirs of songs
Right from my tongue, and
Right from my brow, and
Right from my arm.
Now I can't give them
For promise, or
For solace, or
For freedom.
And I can't take them back.
#Poetry

A stable reference is not necessary for meaning.
If ancient poems have no current similar meanings to use for construction or deconstruction, we all yet understand them as communications. Even over the years, and spaces.
Sometimes their meanings multiply.
#Poetry #Philosophy

One card from Maria Popova's book of cards. They're also available as stationery cards.
#Poetry

Birdy with a yaller bill
Hop up on my windy sill
Cock his shiny eye and said
Ain't you shamed you sleepy head?
-- Robert Louis Stevenson translated by Walt Kelly, re-translated by my worn memory bits
#Poetry

FORGIVENESS

May the tide
never tire of its tender toil
how over and over
it forgives the Moon
the daily exile
and returns to turn
mountains into sand
     as if to say,
you too can have
this homecoming
you too possess
this elemental power
of turning
the stone in the heart
into golden dust.
— Maria Popova
#Poetry

A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring;
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Alexander Pope, Essay on Criticism
#Poetry #Philosophy