LONG STORY SHORT: POETRY PAGE

March 2012 Poetry Page

2012-03-04T12:30:00.000-05:00

"Even when the poet seems most himself...

he is never the bundle of accident and incoherence

that sits down to breakfast; he has been reborn as an idea, something intended, complete."

- William Butler Yeats

source

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POEM OF THE MONTH

PORTRAIT OF AN IRISH SON

by Stephanie Renae Johnson

To my generation, or at least to my prying eyes,

it seems the fifties are populated
with women in fur coats, Aqua Net hairspray,
and shivering legs, bare from the
mid calf down. The proof?
Crackling photographs creased into thinning albums.

There’s men, yes, but spread thin by Uncle Sam’s sweeping bingo aim.
When they exist, they are open coated, glaring at
the camera and the draft. It’s perpetually
late February in these sepia freeze tones—
or else early March.
Flat field under high heels.

Barren trees stretch sputnik fingers across the sky
and immigrant and second generation shadows
hung across the couple’s shoulders
by potato hungry parents, hidden behind the camera:
they shunt, crumbling sticks, in the corners of the photos.
They are the receivers of the pearl teeth twinned to earrings

and the glare of their son, gifted with the American name
they never could wrestle down and claim.
Mom and Dad hide here, making way for the bright colors,
swirling hips, sock hops, and everything the generation
will then give up for the upcoming flower children.

STEPHANIE RENAE JOHNSON is a recent graduate of Flagler College and now works as a production artist at Xulon Press. Previously, Stephanie worked as an editor assistant for Jason Cook at Ampersand Books. Stephanie's work has been published by Prick of the Spindle, poeticdiversity, danse macabre, writing raw, opiumpoetry, Orlando Sentinel Online, and The Flagler Review. Contact

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MARCH

by Susan Marie Davniero

March roars in

Bursting wind

Raising cane

Frosty pain

Nature laws

Warmth thaws

Days pass on

Over and gone

Winter bids adieu

Spring anew

SUSAN MARIE DAVNIERO is a published poet listed in "The Poet's Market 2011." She writes in traditional rhyme verse and has been published in various publications including Pancakes in Heaven, Coffee Ground Breakfast, Long Short Story, Great South Bay Magazine, Write On, The Poet's Art, Creations, Poetic Matrix, Pink Chameleon, Shemom, and others. She has also written essays and letters published in newspapers and magazines including the New York Times, Daily News, Newsday, Ladies Home Journal, and Saturday Evening Post. Her blog "Susan Marie" is her writing history. They don't know her; yet, by way of writing they might. She is never at a loss of words. She has found her place as a writer and a poet. With every poem published she is inspired to write more. Writing feeds her soul - literally food for thought. Contact

~~~~~

INDOLENT SUN

by Michael Lee Johnson

In early March

an indolent sun
persists in tossing
volunteer rays of
soft flickering sun silk
through dark desolate
willow tree branches-
melting remnants
of snow diamond crystals
from weathered wooden planks
on my balcony.
I’m starting to think life
is an adjective exaggerated
by the sway of seasons.
It’s normal feeding time.
Below two floors
wild Canadian geese
wait impatiently
for the tossing of morning feed;
the silent sound they hear-
no dropping of the seed.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: As a lover of nature on a daily basis, INDOLENT SUN reflects a typical imagery filled morning in late winter, early spring as it evolves slowly outside my balcony window. I feed the geese, and the bird daily and the old willow tree scatters part of the sun rays on my balcony.

INDOLENT SUN - Credit: Michael Lee Johnson

MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON is a poet, freelance writer and small business owner of custom imprinted promotional products and apparel: http://www.promoman.us/, from Itasca, Illinois. He is heavily influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams, Irving Layton, Leonard Cohen, and Allen Ginsberg. Michael has been published in over 24 countries. He is also editor/publisher of five poetry sites, all open for submission, which can be found at his website. All of his books are now available on Amazon.com. Contact

~~~~~

THE LITTLE TOWNS I LOVED

by Bill Roberts

are weed-choked now,
dead as Deadwood and Tumbleweed,
          no memorial service
except the glaring signs on the roads
          exclaiming McDonald's
and Burger King, employees mostly
          former residents of those
dead towns, sacrificing education for
          three squares a day, living
in trailers, if lucky, square in the
          middle of Tornado Alley.

America the Beautiful, where have
          you gone? Many potholes
pepper the roads, perhaps to slow us
          down so we'll pull into what's
left of the old towns, chain fat farms
          owned perhaps by those of
a foreign persuasion, just like
          much of the rest of America.
It was tiresome driving past you
          in the old days of plenitude,
but dammit, I miss you little guys now.

BILL ROBERTS writes at least one poem a day in fifteen minutes, coaches others on how to do it too, then prepare poems to go to market. He has been nominated both for a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, and currently does readings with friends on "Strong Voices, Strong Women: A Celebration of Women Poets." He, a wife of 53 years and two restless dogs live quietly in Broomfield, Colorado. Contact Website

~~~~~

INDEFINABLE TIME

by Gloria Watts

I can do without most things

but time, elusive and evading
all through the day, regardless of how I seek
but never find, yet it’s there, yes time
is the one problem in my life,
the rest I can do without, but time
waits for no man – so never waits for me.

GLORIA WATTS is a retired Further Education College lecturer, is an active participant in several writing forums, including the Muse Flash Success Board, Muse Prophets and Writing Friend. Her stories have been published at Bewildering Stories, Apollo's-Lyre, The Fiction Flyer, and Long Story Short. When not writing she likes to keep busy. She enjoys watercolour painting, playing piano, gardening and yoga. Contact

~~~~~

GABBY

by Joe Nance

Gabby! Like a sun, the northern star

Luminously glowing, shines in Denny's -
Her fearless individuality
Radiates a human happiness
That when she smiles -
Makes my heart smile as well -
And when she is distracted or displeased
And doesn't smile - my attitude feels dark,
The room is darker in comparison -
An Indian raised on a reservation
Who left home the day she was allowed
To be free - Her happiness is freedom -

To release the bondage of my soul -

JOE NANCE likes lots of poets and poetry, but nothing modern except maybe Edna St. Vincent Millay and Philip Larkin. He has had poems published in several magazines, most of them some time ago, and he was twice nominated for a Pushcart. Contact

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BLACK IS THE NEW TAIL FEATHERS

by Ronald Charles Epstein

Blackstone White,

in white turtleneck,
black sweater,
black trousers,
white socks,
white shoes,
watches Charlie Chaplin
on his monochrome console,
repudiating the NBC peacock.

RONALD CHARLES EPSTEIN was born in Bogota, Colombia in 1956 and has lived in Toronto, Ontario since 1959. His first publication appeared in Piedmont Literary Review in 1982. He has also been published in Harvard Review, The Antigonish Review, The Toronto Star and Expresso Tilt. Ronald has several DVD reviews published in VIDEOSCOPE and his latest book review appears on the PRAIRIE FIRE REVIEW OF BOOKS website. Contact

~~~~~

INNOCENT

by Melissa Fornoff

He knows not of poverty and pain, and ultimate greed
Of hunger, of war, or of desperate need
He knows not of hatred, religions, and race
Of disease and death, and Man's disgrace

Or cities choking in their own debris
Or countries fighting for their rights to be free
He knows not of stress, taxes, or bills
Of rush hour traffic, or society's ills

He knows not of anything unjust or unkind
For such things elude an Innocent mind
He is consumed with a world of peace
Of harmony and love, and joy's release

He is a child, fresh to the world
He is content, happy to be curled
Up in his blanket, quietly slumbering
Until the time comes when Truth comes lumbering

Barging into his Innocent life
To upset his little world, newly filled with strife

But for now, all is calm, and gentle and good
I would protect him from the Truth of the World

if I could
And so I shall, for as long as I can
Until the day my Little One becomes a Man

MELISSA FORNOFF is a thirty-eight year old Texan poet and writer. Her hobby and talent is writing which she has been doing since she first learned to put pen to paper. She loves writing nearly every day and covers just about any topic in all writing genres. As a beginning writer, she remains optimistic and hopeful in her goal of ultimately getting published. She received a first place award for a district-wide poetry contest when she was in the sixth grade which was published in her local newspaper. She has three wonderful children and a supportive husband. Melissa spends her free time writing, reading, watching television, listening to her favorite music, and visiting with close friends or family. Contact

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METRO

by Peter Franklin

Fixed stare straight ahead,

The stops ahead are largely meaningless to me…
#4 towards Mouton Duvernet.
Odeon. Mabillon. Saint-Sulpice.
I am aware of nothing. Yet everything.
Radar awareness…race through the underground.
You catch my eye and smile Bonjour.
I shrug.
I smile back Hello.
You shrug.
Subterranean language chasm swallows the moment.
Not a word spoken.
Nothing to be said.
Lurching, the doors gasp open. And close.
You are gone.
Fixed stare straight ahead,
The stops ahead are largely meaningless to me.

PETER FRANKLIN teaches English and Creative Writing at Swampscott High School (Swampscott, MA). Peter received a BA in English and Creative Writing from the University of California, Davis, and has a Juris Doctor degree from Concord Law School. He has been published in a variety of publications, including Long Story Short. He is working on a forthcoming anthology of poetry, Minutia Underwear. Peter resides in Marblehead, Massachusetts with his wife and two children. Contact

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LIBERTY OF LONDON FABRICS

by Lucy Wong Leonard

Never know what you’ll get,

Organize your masterpiece never excluding black or white shadings,
Different reflecting chromes seen on all surface areas: primary, secondary and tertiary,
Nuances showing psychedelic values, intensities and hues,
Open to change, diversity and reform.

Organize your masterpiece never excluding black or white to neutralize,
Light, dark, dull and bright,
Fabric that is sinfully expensive, though cotton drapes like silk,
Octagons, hexagons, pentagons, ovals, crystals, dichroics, and conics,
Yearn to learn your voice and focal point like Mondrian.

Different reflected chromes seen on all surface areas: primary, secondary and tertiary,
Truth found in duplicating patterns. There is beauty,
Reach for the 10 Degree Wedge ruler, the center line, the design board. REACH!
Exclaim expression, cubism, surrealism, Paul Klee’s Federpflanze,
Beauty waiting to be discovered by the chance in a lifetime.

Nuances showing psychedelic values, intensities and hues,
Imagination, insight, and inspiration embellishing the creative arts,
Liberate yourself to do the Zen thing,
Open to change,
Never know what you’ll get.

LUCY WONG LEONARD loves sewing and quilting more than life itself. She suffers from a condition called "Arts and Crafter Attention Deficit Disorder” even though she has endured an autoimmune disorder for over 25 years. She is a Desert Storm US Navy Veteran who served our country and any held positions in the private sector. She does what she can for the Disabled American Veterans Chapter 27 in Lake Havasu City, Arizona. She is a daughter of Chinese immigrants since the 1930s. She wrote her reflections growing up behind her Chinese Laundry which was published in "CHINESE LAUNDRIES – TICKETS TO SURVIVAL ON GOLD MOUNTAIN" by Dr. John Jung. She is a member of Havasu Stitchers, A Chapter of the Arizona Quilters Guild. She entered her “Old Glory” quilt to the Veterans Affairs Creative Art Festival contest which was held on February 14-15, 2012. You can also view her Hawaiian Quilt. Lucy is a bird crazy lover and her avian kids: Google, Yahoo, Calli and Dukie. Dukie is an African Grey parrot and an article entitled “One Smart Grey” was published in Bird Talk (August 2010). One of her first avian articles was published in Bird Crazy and her articles have also been published for California and Phoenix bird clubs. She has also been published in Offerings from the Oasis - Collected writings of the Lake Havasu City Writers Group, Veterans’ Voices, and the Annual Whipple Voices Writing Festival. Lucy lives in Arizona with her husband, William R. Leonard and their four parrots. Contact

~~~~~

AMBITION

by Shirley Securro

Ambition is a powerful drive

It can keep all of us alive

Ambition can soar like the eagles

Great minds are carried on its wings

Ambition can keep you up at night

It is self-discipline on a flight

It's like the butterfly effect: changes take place

discoveries are made, lives are saved

Climb with ambition to reach the top

Don't let it die; keep it alive, let it survive

Don't let it creep like you are asleep

it must be higher than you are

Ambition gets you through the door

Be ambitious of true honor

Reach the stars with your ambition

or your ability

It may be a lucky chance to shine

It's the drive that's kept alive

Look ahead and not behind

We are capable of greater things!

SHIRLEY SECURRO has been published in fourteen anthologies along with other poets and is currently working on her own manuscript for publication. She has designed/illustrated two book covers for other poets/writers and does poetry readings for churches, weddings, funerals, and meetings. Contact

~~~~~

SPIN CYCLE

by John Tzikas

My Laundromat was a pickup spot
(our body clocks did overtime)

all the pillow talkers at the end of the counter, kept dropping in for

a fluffing, providing excellent customer service can be a very thank-

less job (I was grateful for every compliment I got at the fault-line)

When we touched base initially, you were in a dilly of a pickle

Your seams were truly bursting and the tears trickled so freely

It always appeared, you were halfway through a spin cycle but

I gained your confidence fully and it eased your tensions a trifle

Then I rinsed emotional stains off your sleeve, I didn’t disappoint you in the least

when I was feeling worthwhile again, you buttoned up my totally unnecessary words

you said I was way too good, at adding lots of starch to your shirts, but I begged

to differ, the competition for your bleeding heart was getting stiffer and stiffer

And as I was holding my head up high

(finally about to see quarter 1)

the new tumbler moved in on my turf, giving similar

frills at a reduced price,
he made a name for himself in the

girl cleaning business, I washed my hands of you completely

JOHN TZIKAS is a Toronto, Canada based poet, lyricist, and free verse writer with a passion for classic literature and history. His poems have appeared in Long Story Short, Midwest Literary Magazine, Word Salad, Quill's, Ditch Poetry Magazine, Mused- the Bella Online, Hudson View Poetry Digest and Wordbridge Magazine. He has performed readings for more than five years in small coffee house settings, while living in Guelph and Kitchener, Ontario. Contact

~~~~~

THAT SAUCY WENCH

by Sandra H. Bounds

A saucy wench, Spring.

She flirts and teases,
plays hard to get.
One day a genial sun bounces
off grass, brown and sere.
The next, a nipping chill
compels us to scurry back inside.
A sudden flurry of robins appears
even as we build one more roaring fire.
Soon daffodils seductively peek
through silky green sheaths.
Fragrances of honeysuckle and wisteria
perfume the air.
At last, Spring’s unveiling
nudges us out of Winter’s despair,
quickens the pulse,
and revives the spirit.
That saucy wench has come to stay.

SANDRA H. BOUNDS has a Master of Arts in English and has taught in both high school and community college. An active member of the Mississippi Poetry Society, she was its 2005 Poet of the Year, and MPS published a chapbook of her poetry to honor that selection. She has won many awards in the annual contests sponsored by MPS, and she has been published in such journals as ART GULF COAST, THE LYRIC, THE ROAD NOT TAKEN, SHARING, THE WELL-TEMPERED SONNET, and WESTWARD QUARTERLY. Contact

~~~~~

CAPTURED

by Roger Singer

Dreams capture my feet from moving;

lions prowl and monkeys
find favor under my eyes
in worlds I make up.

A leather touch, full, yet rough,
like destitute cloth; burlap or hemp
press my chest for warmth.

Winds speak with voices. Gray shadows
stand tall without names.
A song of voices marks a beginning.

Legs under water run without speed.
Umbrellas open under a moon
of black skies.

Safety inhabits my heart under sheets.
My travels are distant. Exploring

my life in sleep.

ROGER SINGER served as a medical technician at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida for three and a half years during the Vietnam era. While stationed at MacDill, he attended evening classes through the University of Tampa. When discharged, he began studies at the University of South Florida and attained his Associate and Bachelor degrees. In 1977, Dr. Singer attained his chiropractic doctorate from Logan College of Chiropractic in St. Louis, Missouri. He has had over 500 poems published in magazines, on the Internet and in books. His poetry has appeared in Westward Quarterly, Black Book Press, Avocet, SP Quill, The Unrorean, Underground Voices, Language & Culture and The Tipton Poetry Journal. Contact

~~~~~

YESTERDAY

by Joan Griffin

Yesterday,

As I sat on my hotel balcony
I watched the sun set
Over the River Nile.
A glowing golden ball, it slowly sank below the horizon.
The river flowed on,
Heedless of the dark.
As I sat on my hotel balcony
Yesterday

JOAN GRIFFIN is married retired, and a member of a creative writing group. Contact

~~~~~

ADAPTING TO NURSERY SCHOOL

by David Fraser

In nursery school

I was caned for

splashing the big girls

in the puddles in the yard.

In nursery school

I was dragged across

the pavement toward

the canteen to finish

off my lunch,

the lunch I’d left,

the chunk of fat

I wouldn’t eat,

dragged by the ear

made to sit down

in front of the plate

made to chew the cold white fat.

In nursery school
I wasn’t liked.

Nursery school
I didn’t like.

DAVID FRASER lives on Vancouver Island. He is editor of Ascent Aspirations Magazine. His poetry has appeared in many journals and anthologies, including Rocksalt, An Anthology of Contemporary BC Poetry and Walk Myself Home. He has published four collections of poetry, Going to the Well (2004), Running Down the Wind (2007), No Way Easy (2010), and Caught in My Throat (2011). He is the artistic director for Nanaimo’s spoken-word series, WordStorm. Contact Website

~~~~~

THE INEVITABLE DEMISE
OF THE NICE GUY
by Alex Long Pham

Girls who see a nice guy

see someone without fortitude.
It's easy for them to say “hi then goodbye,”
rather than fall for his beatitudes.

Blesséd are they who mourn,
for they share other’s joys and sorrows.
For the nice guys who are born,
their memories will follow.

Girls like to have their chases,
with a guy that walks with pride.
For those guys it’s easy to hit the bases,
while nice guys stand in the shadows and hide.

When the time is right,
the girl's heart comes and cries.
While the nice guy opens his heart with might,
until she says her goodbyes.

As she runs away lightning fast,
he remembers that nice guys finish last.

ALEX LONG PHAM Contact

~~~~~

DEFINED

by Debbie Hilbish

My mirrored image is a marvel to me;

Eyes that used to seem so wide
with lashes long and the green
so brightly
centered in the white
have lost themselves somewhere
in folds of lids that accent
the depth of crow’s feet.

In youth I envied beauty marks
like you’d see on the big screen
just one at the corner of a mouth all sleek
and sexy
when skin knew nothing
of age spots
that can be connected like dot to dots.

Wrinkles flow around my lips now
like the pleats on the skirts
I loved in second grade
cascading down from the waistband
when age
was not yet so defined
and my forehead held no worry lines.
I can’t find the youth I used to be;

No chagrin
I feign earned serenity emanates
from these eyes, these lips,
this face that has lived
long enough for all this to embrace
how I am defined

DEBBIE HILBISH is a self taught poet who has been writing poetry since she was a young teen. Her poems “Sea of Emotions” have appeared in Poetry In Motion (1994) and “Decay” in Sound of Poetry (2004). Her poems have appeared in the poetry book FADING SHADOWS (“Cynical Side” and “Tiny Stitches,” 2009), and in two chapbooks, MAGNOLIA MOON (“Through My Eyes,” 2006) and COUNTING SPARROWS (“Bent,” 2006). Debbie also has two of her own works published BITS AND PIECES (2006) and LIFEDREAM COLLISIONS (2010), both of which include her artwork and photography. She has held poetry readings throughout the southwest and had seminars, sponsored by Arizona and New Mexico libraries, on poetry appreciation for young adults. Debbie also hosts an author’s fair for eight weeks (every January and February) at The Reader’s Oasis in Quartzsite Arizona. Five of Debbie’s poems appeared in Long Story Short in 2011 and her poem “At The Laun-Dro-Mat” was the featured January 2012 POEM OF THE MONTH. She was recently published in Itasca Illinois Poetry & Willow Tree Dreams for her poem “Grampa.” Contact

~~~~~

BUCKET LIST

by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

One night when a friend visited
they sipped red wine, nibbled cheese
and spoke idly of their bucket lists.
She listened to the exotic places
and tastes her friend yearned to savor,
mulled the life she’d already led.

Picturing the bucket in her mind,
wood staves with copper bands
and a bail with porcelain grip,
she smiled, saw it was full,
no need to cram in anything more.

PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has a longtime interest in 'healing writing' and the benefits people gain from writing and reading their work together. Her poems, stories and articles are widely published. Her chapbooks include “Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast Cancer,” “Voices on the Land,” and “End-Cycle: Poems about Caregiving.” Contact

~~~~~

LOSING THE MOON

by Joanna M. Weston

he took the sliding door

that used to open
to the balcony

shoved lifted
laid it against the stone wall
by the garage

for a year
it squashed lavender
and lemon balm

today we held its weight
on a dolly
guided up the drive

loaded it
with swearing
onto the trailer

last night we peered
through a small window

at the full moon

JOANNA M. WESTON has had poetry, reviews, and short stories published in anthologies and journals for twenty-five years. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes,' is published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Summer Father,’ is published by Frontenac House of Calgary. Contact

~~~~~

OH WHAT PEACE!
by Joseph Hart

Oh what peace! To sleep and never wake!
Not a death - disintegrating death -
But sleep - sleep - the other nothingness.
The body, mortal casket of the soul,
Gets old and feeble. Even genius dies.
Beloved voice that says a gentle thing
Makes the sinews and the mind relax
Until the peace of sleep has been achieved.
Griefs accrue and troubles multiply.
Not every problem yields to a solution.
And only the impoverished believe
That happiness is money. But it is.

JOSEPH HART became aware of poetry when he read "The Highwayman." His favorite poets are John Keats, Rupert Brooke Philip Larkin (when he can understand him), and Sappho (what little there is). His poems have been published in Light, Obsessed With Pipework, The Eclectic Muse, Audience Magazine, The Road Not Taken and others. Contact

~~~~~

SINGING IN THE SPRING

by Floriana Hall

Life is like a song in the spring

As a bluebird suddenly appears
And sings his lilting song
Let's join in and croon our tune
Love's time of sweet nothings
Whispered in eager ears.
What a joy to hear
A song of love
Melodious modulations of tones
Keeping pace with nature
Suddenly in tune with March endearment.
Uplifting voices
Sing along
The wonders of the season
As mankind swings and flings along

Let's all sing a happy song.

FLORIANA HALL is the author of twelve books, six nonfiction and six inspirational poetry books. She and her husband have been married for 63 years and they have five children, nine grandchildren and four great-grandchildren. Her nonfiction book, FRANCIS, NOT THE SAINT has recently been translated into Spanish (FRANCISCO, NO EL SANTO). Her poetry book SELECT SANDS OF RHYME AND REASON and young children's book SIMPLE PLEASURES are now available at Cyberwit.net and Amazon.com. She has published two new books including MISS FLOSSIE'S WORLD- Coping with Adversity During The Great Depression Then and the Recession Now (2011) and POEMS OF BEAUTIFUL OHIO - Then and Now (2011) which she compiled for THE POET'S NOOK. All of her books are available on Amazon.com. Floriana teaches poetry at www.LSSWritingSchool.com under YOU, ME, AND POETRY. Contact Website Website

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

march celebrity poet

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

nationality: irish

William Butler Yeats – Credit: Public Domain

source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._B._Yeats

TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES

Know, that I would accounted be

True brother of a company

That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,

Ballad and story, rann and song;

Nor be I any less of them,

Because the red-rose-bordered hem

Of her, whose history began

Before God made the angelic clan,

Trails all about the written page.

When Time began to rant and rage

The measure of her flying feet

Made Ireland's heart hegin to beat;

And Time bade all his candles flare

To light a measure here and there;

And may the thoughts of Ireland brood

Upon a measured guietude.

Nor may I less be counted one

With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,

Because, to him who ponders well,

My rhymes more than their rhyming tell

Of things discovered in the deep,

Where only body's laid asleep.

For the elemental creatures go

About my table to and fro,

That hurry from unmeasured mind

To rant and rage in flood and wind,

Yet he who treads in measured ways

May surely barter gaze for gaze.

Man ever journeys on with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

Ah, faerics, dancing under the moon,

A Druid land, a Druid tune.!

While still I may, I write for you

The love I lived, the dream I knew.

From our birthday, until we die,

Is but the winking of an eye;

And we, our singing and our love,

What measurer Time has lit above,

And all benighted things that go

About my table to and fro,

Are passing on to where may be,

In truth's consuming ecstasy,

No place for love and dream at all;

For God goes by with white footfall.

I cast my heart into my rhymes,

That you, in the dim coming times,

May know how my heart went with them

After the red-rose-bordered hem.

Read the entire poem at:

http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/william_butler_yeats/poems/10256

For the poet’s biography, see:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._B._Yeats

Quoted for educational purposes only.
All work the copyright of the respective authors.

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February 2012 Poetry Page

2012-02-04T10:05:00.000-05:00

"Poetry has been to me its own

exceeding great reward;it has given me the habit

of wishing to discover the good and beautiful

in all that meets and surrounds me."

- Samuel Taylor Coleridge

source

~~____________________________________________~~

POEM OF THE MONTH

IF ONLY...
by Jhinuk Sen

I want a tomorrow from a few years back, a yesterday from a few months and today in a few weeks- but only if loving you makes it easier.

I want the touch of your face from a few nights back, the smell of your skin from the mornings gone and the wavering thoughts from random conversations- but only if loving you makes it easier.

I want my lies wrapped around your fingers, the words placed like stones in your open palms and the haunting of doing without you- but only if loving you makes it easier.

I want you. Exactly the way happiness had placed you suddenly in my path and I had nowhere to turn but to you in the darkest part of night- just before dawn- but only if loving you makes it easier.

A blind despair clogs my senses- I am struggling inside. Fighting, crying, screaming- wanting so much to escape with you- while I should just stay here with you.

If only loving you makes it easier.

If only. love.

JHINUK SEN is a post graduate student based in Delhi, India. Writing poetry for her is a release of sorts. She writes in periodic spells and mostly settles on poetry for it creates the most tangible images. And she likes to believe that a word has more worth than all the actions in the world. She is struggling between passions and practicality. Basically - just waiting for the rabbit hole to show up some fine day. Contact

~~_______________________________~~

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

by Nell Berry

I gave my heart to you
the day we said “I do.”
I committed my life to you
and said “I love you too.”
You asked me to marry you
on St. Valentine’s Day,
I’ve been your Valentine
ever since and now I say,
“Will you be my Valentine
and pledge your love to me?”
I will promise to be yours
from now through eternity.

NELL BERRY resides in West Virginia and has been married to Louis B. Berry for sixty years. She is a mother of four, grandmother of nine and great grandmother of soon to be eleven grandchildren. Her hobbies include cooking, sewing, crocheting and writing. She is a published author of one book, GROWING UP IN MISSOURI AND OTHER SHORT STORIES about her growing up years. She is a Christian who writes all inspirational poetry, song lyrics and short stories. Contact

~~~~~

HEARTS 'N' FLOWERS
by Betti Bernardi

My heart knew full flower,
Given
Sunshine, laughter and care—
Nourished by you.

Add years of loving moments,
Daily
Joys ne’er hidden under
The weight duty demands.

Love’s safe harbor, winning
Comfort,
Demonstrated, precious and filling
My soul with happiness codes.

Flowers, still, the yearning
Psyche.
Satisfied, yet, by love’s fires
Burning bright bodies--ours.

Nourished, now, the love we
Honor
Grows in steady concert sung.
Sings, too, lofty notes to future.

BETTI BERNARDI is a Colorado freelance writer with a background in Behavioral Science. Her articles have appeared in Collector’s News, Writer’s Guidelines Magazine, Fathers, Brothers, Sons Magazine, Mothering Magazine, Indy’s Child Magazine, Moondance, Antiques and Collecting Magazine, and Antique Weekly. Additionally, she has an article published in an anthology, and a short story published in Moondance. Her poems have been published in Country Kids News, Writer’s Journal, Once Upon a Time, Our Journey, Beyond Katrina, Shemom, Nomad’s Choir, CC&D (soon to be published) on the World Peace Australia website, and Family Celebrations. They have also appeared in her local newspaper, as well as eight published in collections and anthologies. One of her poems placed in the Southwest Colorado Women’s Poetry contest, and was published in an anthology in the spring of 2011. Contact

~~~~~

FEBRUARY GLOOM

by Patricia Crandall

My son

attempts to play

the flute

while I sing silly songs

creating lace-doily valentines

before his round, expressive

eyes...one is put aside

for teacher.

PATRICIA CRANDALL has three books in print: a thriller, THE DOG MEN, a historical volume, MELROSE: THEN AND NOW, and a poetry book, I PASSED THIS WAY. She is currently working on an adventure/thriller novel and a book of bottle mining adventures. She lives with her husband on a lake in the Grafton Mountains in upstate New York. Contact Website

~~~~~

VALENTINE'S DAY AT THE POST OFFICE

by Susan Marie Davniero

Valentine Day’s around

Lovers are found

Taking their part

Messages of the heart

Spreading the love

By mailman’s rove

Cards, candy, flowers

In loving showers

Postal tender

Gifts of sender

Yet, coming next

The e-mail express

~~~~~

THE PATH OF OUR LOVE

by Mary Christina Morrissey

As we lie under the stars,
and the sky and on the leaves,
we realize what's truly ours,
and follow our unwanted dreams.
We wander 'round searching where to go,
with our dreams in mind,
no matter where our love will grow,
away from our same kind.
Without our love we'll surely lose
our own path and our way.
If you walk in my shoes,
that's where you'll surely stay.

Don't worry 'bout our love because you'll never be alone.

All I ask in return: Don't send me on my own.

MARY CHRISTINA MORRISSEY is fourteen years old and fairly new at poetry. She has recently begun submitting her work into magazines. Contact

~~~~~

BAT OF AN EYELASH

by Dean Prong

I’ve seen this look in this girl's eyes
and in the bat of an eyelash
I saw a million men
dressed in white tuxedos
bringing her a single red rose

and then I realized I couldn't live my life
in the bat of an eyelash
her eyes vanished so fast
I was left with only a cloudy picture
playing over and over in my mind
the same endless tune
a paradise of hopeless love

and if life could be a stage
where Romeo and Juliet lived to be eighty
and my feelings of love
were only within me
I'd sleep a lot better at night
tucking the brown eyes of my baby
deep in my sight

a feeling I feel is a thought in her heart
and when her eyelids shut
she tore my world apart
you can take away my beating heart
for one last look
at her long lost eyes.

ta da!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was previously published by the National Library of Poetry some time around 1997.

DEAN PRONGE is a forty-six year old writer who has lived in California his whole life except for a tour of duty with the U.S. Army in the late 1980's. He loves writing and is also very much interested in producing media, such as turning screenplays into film. Contact

~~~~~

THOSE SILLY SWEETHEARTS

by Edward Rodosek

It is so charming

to watch young couples promenading

along the park avenue holding hand in hand

embracing each other.

They don't care for crowds, all the others are ignoring.

Enchanted with the partner's eyes;

their talk is gently whispering or just tender smiling.

There is no number except two;

she is all his and he is hers too.

There is nobody but you.

Those silly couples are convinced

they undergo a unique miracle

that never occurred before

and which wouldn't happen any more

until the world exists.

They suppose that will last forever.

For their feelings are here to stay

nothing would chase them away

so they couldn't possibly fail.

Those silly lovers don't know

and also refuse to recognize:

life is not a luxuries banquet

as wise men realize long ago;

for each and every living soul

is bound to pay the price.

It's quite possible, however,

the youngsters are more clever

than all the sages who care only

how rich and famous they’d become.

Because just now is their charming time

more notable and fuller

than all the time to come.

EDWARD RODOSEK is a Senior College Professor at the University of Ljubljana in Slovenia, European Union. He is married and has one daughter and two grandsons. In addition to his professional work, he also writes fiction. More than a hundred of his short stories and about a dozen of his poems have been published in magazines in the US (including Long Story Short), UK, Australia and India. Recently, he published a collection of short stories in the US entitled “BEYOND PERCEPTION.” Contact

~~~~~

IF I HAD KNOWN...
by O.M. Grey

If I had known it would be the last
I would have held you longer,
Slipping my arms around you,
Pulling you close to me, too,
Placing my cheek on your chest,
Stroking your hair, watching you rest.
If I had only known.

If I had known it would fade so fast
I would have kissed you deeper,
Absorbing your lips’ softness,
Losing myself in your kiss.
Drinking in all your desire,
Refusing to quench the fire.
If I had only known.

If I had known it would be the last
I would have stayed through the night,
Holding on to every breath
As if it would mean my death
To let you go.

If I had only known.

O. M. GREY prefers to live in the cobwebbed corners of her dark mind writing paranormal romance with a Steampunk twist. Her premiere Steampunk Paranormal Romance novel, AVALON REVISITED, is an Amazon.com Gothic Romance bestseller. She also writes short stories, relationship articles, and angsty poetry. Contact

~~~~~

MORNING COFFEE

by Kathy Humenik

He'd shuffle to the kitchen
Feet cold against the floor
"Please go make the coffee"
She sweetly would implore

He'd pretend annoyance
But how could he resist
A small request, so simple,
embellished with a kiss

"Please go make the coffee
Then come back to me
And while the pot is brewing
I'll hold you tenderly"

Just like mornings past
As daylight slowly dawns
He shuffles to the kitchen
He puts the coffee on

In his mind he sees her
Hears her gentle voice
While he performs the ritual
More by habit than by choice

When the coffee's ready
He pours a single cup
And sits sadly at the table
To watch the sun come up

KATHY HUMENIK has written poetry off and on for years. After retiring, she has been re-energized about writing and is hoping to find positive publications that would be a good fit for her work. Besides writing, she enjoys traveling, gourmet cooking and a boisterous collection of grandchildren. Contact

~~~~~

LOVE
by Anna C. Romano

Love is not always easy.
Love is not always right.
Love is not always feelings.
Love will last through any fight.

Sometimes love is a choice.
Sometimes love is a must.
Sometimes love has its rewards.
Sometimes love is a bust.

I will always love you and I will always care.
You make it hard not to, you are always there.
You give me your all and you never give up.
Even when I'm unsure you do not stop.

I may at times be difficult, I know I often complain.
I may at times be fretful, I probably drive you insane.
But you are always there for me,
Making the unsure hard.

And that is why and how I know I love you.
No matter in what way, shape, or form,

For you, your love, and your heart.

ANNA C. ROMANO is a writer from Hammond, Indiana where she will be publishing her upcoming poetry book "STORIES FROM MY HEART," a 5,944 word collection of poems about romance, life and personal experiences. These poems have all been inspired by real life events. It is her hope that both current and next generation children and teens will find them to be inspirational. She also believes many adults seeking relaxation will appreciate the reminiscence her work inevitably prompts. These poems are intended to be uplifting. In a world where teenagers feel marginalized and as though they can't measure up to the standards with which they're flooded by our modern media, she believes that her poems will provide a contrasting vantage from which they can appreciate true beauty and see how relationships work in the real world. She has won a citywide essay competition sponsored by the Hammond Reads organization. Her poem "KISS," to which she has retained all copyrights, has been published in a compilation by the World Poetry Movement called "STARS IN OUR HEARTS." Another of her poems, "INK" was selected as a feature poem by the online organization poetrysoup.com. Anna was invited by the In Print group as a guest reader at the author book fair held at Barnes and Nobles in Rockford, Illinois on September 10, 2011. Contact

~~~~~

HERE'S TO ALL THE LOST GIRLS

by Bill Roberts

I tip my glass, half filled with a nice
Bordeaux tonight, to all the girls
I lost along the way, beauties all.

Their sweet faces I remember,
even to this day, half a hundred years
later, but names - not a chance.

But I tell you, and please believe me:
they were gorgeous. And spirited.
And smart. And, most of them, funny.

Always fun. I can still see each one
laughing out loud, at something I did
that was foolish, something I said.

How in the world did I lose them?
Was it something I said or did?
I did and said a lot of foolish things.

No. It was simply....they were meant
for others, not me. I was meant for
someone else. And I found her.

So long, girls. Don't recall that I ever
said a proper goodbye. I know it's
too late, but thanks for being there.

~~~~~

TO ONE WHO GRIEVES FOR A LOSS

by Abigail Wyatt

Love can't be lost or chased away;
its magic not undone;
it cannot shrink, or rust, or fade
but shines as bright as it began;
and, through the years and over miles,
love keeps a constant pace
however far you travel from
the sweetness of that place
when love first smiled
and spoke your name
and you beheld its face.
For love is never lost to death:
be still and you will hear
a breath that stirs the silence
to remind you he is near.

ABIGAIL WYATT writes for her life in the shadow of Carn Brea in Cornwall. Formerly a teacher, she now writes poetry and short fiction, performs with two theatre groups, and tries to stay out of trouble. She is a member of the POWOW Project which seeks to create and encourage creative opportunities for older women. Contact

~~~~~

DREAMSTRESS

by Jad Sheikali

Moist, velvet lips press firmly against my forehead.

Her dainty chin brushes against the bridge of my nose as she lowers

her face inches from mine, body pinned against my chest.

Her longing green eyes, staring deeply into my heart.

We disappear into an ocean of silk sheets and pillows,

our bodies flowing in perfect unison.

I whisper softly into her ear, kissing her neck and shoulders as I pull back.

Her longing green eyes, urging me to take control.

I wrap my arms firmly around her torso and slowly lay her on her back.

With my nervous hand I brush her long brown bangs behind her ears,

my other hand exploring her smooth, flawless skin.

Her longing green eyes, inviting and innocent.

Intense sensations begin to overcome her body,

her breath bouncing off my neck faster and faster.

An eruption of ecstasy momentarily leaves her paralyzed.

Her longing green eyes, relieved and exhausted.

I turn away from her. Need to get back to sleep.

For tomorrow I will wake up next to my lover,

and her longing brown eyes.

JAD SHEIKALI is a third year student at the University of Florida. He is currently in his first poetry class, and has really benefited from the content of A Long Story Short. Contact

~~~~~

LOVE HAS NO FAVORITES

by Helen Fischetti

Love has no favorites

Anyone can try

Love pays no never mind

Never ask you why

Love has no favorites

Winter, spring or fall

Love comes at any time

Anytime at all

One magic moment it takes

Be ready for Cupid sakes

With an enchanting glance

Will bring your big romance

When you seek a Valentine

Keep this thought in view

Love has no favorites

It’s all up to you

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem was written by Helen Fischetti and is submitted by her daughter, Susan Marie Davniero (Fischetti) in memory of her mother.

Helen Fischetti, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

Helen Fischetti, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

Mom’s Gift With Us - Helen Fischetti And Her Family,
Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

IN MEMORY OF HELEN FISCHETTI

by Susan Marie Davniero

I hear my Mother playing the piano. Motherhood was an art to my Mother, Helen Fischetti. My mother, Helen Fischetti, was very talented in writing music, plays and poetry. My mother worked full time as a Bank Branch Manager. Her hobbies also included designing and sewing clothes, reading novels and playing the piano. A woman of many words? she wrote the songs. All the sounds of talent danced around her. To leave comments for Susan Marie, please contact Susan Marie Davniero

~~~~~

COSTUME
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

The woman remembers those fly-the-world days,
choosing each costume for maximum impact.
Wearing curls in touched-up tresses,
earrings dangling or precious stones,
drapey clothes in feminine colors
to soften the juggernaut she knew she was.

Now she crops her gray hair short,
likes it wash ’n wear ’n ready.
First thing in the morning she tugs on jeans,
tops them with turtleneck and fleece in winter,
cotton with breast pockets in summer
to mask the un-bra’d mastectomy.

Not costume or trend-setting, just clothes.
But she does wear earrings.

PATRICIA WELLINGHAM-JONES has a longtime interest in 'healing writing' and the benefits people gain from writing and reading their work together. Her poems, stories and articles are widely published. Her chapbooks include “Don’t Turn Away: Poems About Breast Cancer,” “Voices on the Land,” and “End-Cycle: Poems about Caregiving.” Contact

~~~~~

NO I'M NOT!
by Joanne Oliver

I'M NOT IN LOVE no way not ever
It can’t creep on me I’m way too clever
Mastering any disguise at its will
Heartstrings remain so quiet so still

I'M NOT IN LOVE! It won’t get the better of me
From such nonsense I'm forever free
It can wail that he is the one I just won’t hear
Just won’t listen to how I should hold him near

I'M NOT IN LOVE it’s a trick of the light
Burning up a sweat it’s humid night
Pounding heart, sweaty palms I simply cannot sleep
I'M NOT IN LOVE! I would never fall this deep

I'M NOT IN LOVE! I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!
Like I'd react to a Mills and Boon type plot
It cannot happen not now not today
I'M NOT IN LOVE Please go away

I'M NOT IN LOVE why can’t you see?
Like he would even notice me!
DAMN IT! I am in love but what can I do
If there is a chance he might feel it too

JOANNE OLIVER is a 39 year old poet from Houghton Le Spring in the North East of England. She has been writing since she was four years old. She has been a member of three online writing groups for the past five years and has been published on Bookrix and Storywrite. She was a third place winner in the Momwriters Annual Halloween Competition in 2009, and was also a winner in the Yahoo Adult Creative Writing Group’s August and September's Monthly competition. Contact

~~~~~

MY VALENTINE DIVINE

by Nell Berry

You’re the Shepherd of my heart, Lord,

My Valentine Divine.

You’re the lover of my soul, Lord,

On whom I do recline.

In everything I do, Lord, in everything I see,

I pray, my first consideration, Lord,
of You will always be.

To live my life to please You, Lord,

To my cry, Thine ear incline,

You’re the focus of my being, Lord,

My Valentine Divine.

In You Lord, I put my trust,
of which there’s no repine,

No complaint, no murmuring,
I place my hand in Thine.

My hope is in You, Lord, on me,
cause Thy face to shine,

Give ear, my sweet Companion,

My Valentine Divine.

~~~~~

TOGETHER OUR LOVE GROWS STRONG

by James Piatt

Dead fallow fields often do dismay,
Flowers can wither and go astray, but
Amidst the dark days with their illusion
My love for you is without confusion, and
Our times together will always be gay.

When dreams are hollow and go away,
When another’s love lasts but a mere day,
When solemn oaths often become delusions,
Together our love grows strong.

In times of stress when love doth fray,
Our love for each other will never stray,
In months and years, with many intrusions,
We will continue to love without allusion, and
Our love will always be like a scented bouquet,
Together our love grows strong.

JAMES PIATT earned his B.S. and M.A. from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from Brigham Young University. He is a retired professor. Two of his relatives, John James Piatt and Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt, were prolific poets who wrote their poetry in the mid eighteen hundreds. Their poetry has inspired his poems. James was the featured poet in Word Catalyst Magazine in 2009, and Contemporary American Voices in 2010. Long Story Short selected one of his poems for the POEM OF THE MONTH in 2011; Phati’tude Literary Magazine in their spring 2011 issue featured an interview with him. He has had over 200+ poems, and twenty-four short stories published in over five dozen magazines during the past two years. His début book of poetry is forthcoming this year. Contact

~~~~~

VIOLETS

by Roger Singer

He wore a strong shirt under stars
of lights.
Burdened and standing full
he forms arbitrary thoughts.

His hands shine clean
like blank paper.
A thin tie separates his halves.
Polished shoes reflect
the curtains of dusk.

Crows from roof tops
voice repeated calls;
no one looks up.
Traffic moves and stalls.
Buses hiss to rough stops.

He has an elephant heart
and patient feet,
and a handful of violets
for someone.

~~~~~

CERTAINLY UNCERTAIN

by Patricia Crandall

The wind is springtime melodious

the sun, a reflection of light

yet on the ground late last evening

appeared a bonnet of winter white

~~~~~

LOVE YOU

by Debbie Hilbish

love you
when the sun comes up
and when the moon goes down
love you
in all fashions
love you
round n round
love you
in the corners
love you
up and down
love you
with a noisy heart
that does not make a sound
Never doubt my love for you
there is
no place
it can’t be found

DEBBIE HILBISH has been writing poetry for over thirty years. After retiring in 2004, Debbie and her husband became full time Rver’s, a lifestyle that has given her the opportunity to pursue her love of poetry, photography and art. She has poems in the poetry book, FADING SHADOWS, and in the chapbooks, MAGNOLIA MOON and COUNTING SPARROWS. Debbie also has two of her own works published BITS AND PIECES and LIFEDREAM COLLISIONS both of which include her artwork and photography. She holds poetry readings throughout the southwest and has had seminars, sponsored by various libraries, on poetry appreciation for young adults. Debbie also hosts an author’s fair for eight weeks (every January and February) at The Reader’s Oasis in Quartzsite Arizona. Five of Debbie’s poems appeared in Long Story Short in 2011 and her poem “AT THE LAUN-DRO-MAT” was the featured January 2012 POEM OF THE MONTH. Contact

~~~~~

HEART-SHAPED COCOON (For Denise)

by Jason Sturner

A folding of your wings;

home from gliding

across

the clouds.

You’re weeping—

you’ve discovered

that eternity

exists.

Now you understand

why we hurt so badly:

You saw love without its veil,

and the gossamer threads which lift you,

which pull you straight down;

which brought us together,

which tossed us apart.

But we’re still in love.

We always have been.

We’re only transforming our love

into something new,

into something better.

Hence our lonely days, our poetic hearts;

in separate beds, in perpetual dark.

I once had wings

and that same urge to fly.

And I did, and I stood at the edge,

and I wept your same tears.

Yes, I once had wings too—

who do you think gave them to you?

JASON STURNER was born and raised in the western suburbs of Chicago, and currently lives in Knoxville, Tennessee. He has published four books of poetry, and his work has appeared in Nomad’s Choir, Time & Space Magazine, and The DuPage Valley Review. Contact Website

~~~~~

TRUE LOVE TRIUMPHS

by Floriana Hall

True love is tender words of endearment

Never harsh words of harassment

True love is knowing yourself and being true

To the special person who tries to know you.

True love is gentle and does not expect too much

Beyond kindness and respect and caring ways.

True love makes the lover a better person

Because of who they become when they are with you

True love does not make you cry

True love takes your hand and touches your heart

But sets you free to be apart.

True love makes life worth living

And if you find it, you will be forgiving

When even true love makes minor mistakes

Like forgetting an anniversary

Or acquiring some irritating habit

Because no one is perfect.

As true love grows older, there is compassion

And understanding greater than action.

True love lives on forever.

~~~~~

MY VALENTINE

by Susan Marie Davniero

Here is my heart
Lest us never part
Love alters not
Passions of hot
No one ever loved
As my beloved
Wedded in time
My Valentine

VALENTINE CAT, Credit: Susan Marie Davniero

AUTHOR’S NOTE: For Valentine's Day I drew a cat illustration holding a heart sending the message of love. As a cat lover, cats can hold one's heart. The subject is love. Cat lovers and all lovers unite. Happy Valentine's Day to all!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

february celebrity poet

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

(1772 – 1834)

nationality: english

Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Credit: Public Domain

source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Taylor_Coleridge

LOVE

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame,

All are but ministers of Love,

And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,

When midway on the mount I lay,

Beside the ruined tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene

Had blended with the lights of eve;

And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the arm{'e}d man,

The statue of the arm{'e}d knight;

She stood and listened to my lay,

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!

She loves me best, whene'er I sing

The songs that make her grieve.

I played a soft and doleful air,

I sang an old and moving story—

An old rude song, that suited well

That ruin wild and hoary.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes and modest grace;

For well she knew, I could not choose

But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore

Upon his shield a burning brand;

And that for ten long years he wooed

The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!

The deep, the low, the pleading tone

With which I sang another's love,

Interpreted my own.

She listened with a flitting blush,

With downcast eyes, and modest grace;

And she forgave me, that I gazed

Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn

That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,

And that he crossed the mountain-woods,

Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,

And sometimes from the darksome shade,

And sometimes starting up at once

In green and sunny glade,—

Read the entire poem at:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173249

For the poet’s biography, see:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samuel_Taylor_Coleridge

Quoted for educational purposes only.
All work the copyright of the respective authors.

~~__________________________________________~~

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