baseball poem by kirby olson entitled: BASEBALLPARK ESTIMATES

I threw the pitch
Unlike Nietzsche
The will to power
Even the flower
The ball hit the kid
In the head
He dug in deep
I felt the thread
& hit his head
(Anew)
He saw stars
I threw a strike
He belted it good
I heard the wood
Hit the leather
(Saw the)
Ball as it flew
Into the blue.

hope in a measure

A POEM WITHOUT A SINGLE BIRD IN IT


What can I say to you, darling,

When you ask me for help?

I do not even know the future

Or even what poetry

We are going to write.

Commit suicide. Go mad. Better people

Than either of us have tried it.

I loved you once but

I do not know the future.

I only know that I love strength in my friends

And greatness

And hate the way their bodies crack when they die

And are eaten by images.

The fun’s over. The picnic’s over.

Go mad. Commit suicide. There will be nothing left

After you die or go mad,

But the calmness of poetry.

        - Jack Spicer

One by Dylan Thomas

   

 

 

      

 

       I See the Boys of Summer

 

I I see the boys of summer in their ruin Lay the gold tithings barren,                 Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils; There in their heat the winter floods Of frozen loves they fetch their girls,                 And drown the cargoed apples in their tides. These boys of light are curdlers in their folly, Sour the boiling honey; The jacks of frost they finger in the hives; There in the sun the frigid threads Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves;                 the signal moon is zero in their voids. I see the summer children in their mothers Split up the brawned womb’s weathers, Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs; There in the deep with quartered shades                 Of sun and moon they paint their dams As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads. I see that from these boys shall men of nothing                 Stature by seedy shifting,                 Or lame the air with leaping from its heats; There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse                 Of love and light bursts in their throats. O see the pulse of summer in the ice.                                                       II But seasons must be challenged or they totter Into a chiming quarter Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars;                 There in his night, the black-tongued bells                 The sleepy man of winter pulls,                 Nor blows back moon-and midnight as she blows. We are the dark deniers, let us summon Death from a summer woman,                 A muscling life from lovers in their cramp, From the fair dead who flush the sea The bright-eyed worm on Davy’s lamp, And from the planted womb the man of straw. We summer boys in this four-winded spinning, Green of the seaweeds’ iron,                 Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,                 Pick the world’s ball of wave and froth To choke the deserts with her tides, And comb the country gardens for a wreath. In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,                 Heigh ho the blood and berry,                 And nail the merry squires to the trees; Here love’s damp muscle dries and dies,                 Here break a kiss in no love’s quarry.                 O see the poles of promise in the boys.                                  III I see you boys of summer in your ruin.                 Man in his maggot’s barren. And boys are full and foreign in the pouch.                 I am the man your father was. We are the sons of flint and pitch. O see the poles are kissing as they cross. .

147

 





  My love is as a fever longing still,
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
Th' uncertain sickly appetite to please:
My reason the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve,
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest,
My thoughts and my discourse as mad men's are,
At random from the truth vainly expressed.
For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.


            -the bard of stratford on avon








...

for crying out loud

http://hcl.harvard.edu/poetryroom/listeningbooth/poets/bronk.cfm


william bronk reading in 1956 the year i was born

of things we must hear

The White Buffalo Prophecy


In the words of Chief Arvol Looking Horse:

"So
we carry
these messages
up to this day

& the belief
[Lakota words]
that some day
there's going to be some signs.

And so the elderly people
have been praying
for the return
of the white

buffalo calf.
And but so
these signs
that we see,

they said there's gonna be like
four
white buffalo calves
to be born

during this time,
& today
there's three of them
that were born. [& now,
in the spring of 1998,
the fourth white buffalo calf
was born in Michigan]


2

Back in 1890
a way of life
they say
the sacred hoop was broken

at Wounded Knee
&
for a hundred years
we could not practice this way.

And once again,
in 1990,
the seventh generation,
that's when

our way of life,
the sacred hoop
would be mending
the mending

of the sacred hoop
we have to
complete ourself
spiritually.

The last one hundred years
we re not sharing,
there's so many things that
we do not tell,

so we have this
because we are not sharing
everything
is so closed in

& in the seventh generation
once again
people would start
to feel this.

So we live in that time when
the seventh generation
since 1890
the mending of the sacred hoop

is once again
start sharing
& start understanding
this way of life, because

when we do this
in our way, we say that
when somebody is not sharing
& when they carry that pain

then it turns to violence,
anger,
hatred,
& jealousy,

& all the things that
because
we are not teaching it,
we are not sharing them.

But
when we start
doing
the ceremonies,

we let go of that pain,
& we feel good
inside,
spiritually.

So these spiritual
connections
that we have
today,

we have to really
think about
not only ourselves, but
all things

the two-legged,
the four-legged,
the winged ones,
the ones that crawl.

We say
Mitakuye Oyasin
To All
My Relations

So I m really thankful
that there's a lot of good things
that's happening,
& I m very thankful to be here


3

This is an historical moment
for First Nations. For our people,
the birth
of the female white buffalo calf

signifies
that many changes
are coming
to the world.

In 1890,
when the 7th Cavalry
massacred my relatives
at Wounded Knee,

the sacred hoop
of our Nation
was broken. The prophecies
also tell us

that seven generations would pass
before we would be strong enough
to begin mending
the sacred hoop.

We are in the 7th generation
today. In this generation,
healing will begin
not only for ourselves,

our families,
our nations,
but also
for the whole world. We pray

to never see
another Wounded Knee happen
to any peoples
anywhere.


4

The birth
of the white buffalo calf
tells us the time
to begin this mending
of the sacred hoop
is now. Elders
have declared June 21st
to be World Peace

& Prayer Day. On this day,
people around the world
will gather
at their sacred sites

whether it be a church,
a temple,
a mosque,
or a mountain, they will pray

for world peace. If we do not do this,
much hardship is ahead
for all peoples
of all races. We have a short time

to return
to our spiritual roots
& begin respecting our Mother
who we depend on

for the sustenance
of life. Our Mother Earth
is needing to cleanse herself
& it is our duty

to also pray for her
so that we may see life
for our grandchildren
in the 7th generation."

      John Sinclair  (b.  1941)