Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers

Twilight of a Mystical Evening

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Wed, 15 May 2013 00:15:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Verlaine P., Celestial, Nature,Night--

(Poèmes Saturniens: Paysages Tristes II, Crépuscule du Soir Mystique)

Memory with Twilight glows
And trembles on the fiery horizon
Of burning Hope that shrinks and grows
Like some mysterious partition
Where the flowers in profusion
– Dahlias, lilies, tulips and marigolds –
Fly round a trellis in their circulation
Among the heady exhalation
Of heavy perfumes, whose warm poison
– Dahlias, lilies, tulips and marigolds –
Drowning my senses, soul and reason,
Mingles in their immense confusion
Memory with Twilight’s glows.

Paul Verlaine

--Did You Know: (30 March 1844 – 8 January 1896) Verlaine was a French poet associated with the Symbolist movement. He is considered one of the greatest representatives of the fin de siècle in international and French poetry. Born in Metz, he was educated at the Lycée impérial Bonaparte (now the Lycée Condorcet) in Paris and then took up a post in the civil service. He began writing poetry at an early age, and was initially influenced by the Parnassien movement and its leader, Leconte de Lisle. Verlaine's first published poem was published in 1863 in La Revue du progrès, a publication founded by poet Louis-Xavier de Ricard. Verlaine's first published collection, Poèmes saturniens (1866), though adversely commented upon by Sainte-Beuve, established him as a poet of promise and originality. Read more at: Paul Verlaine

--Word of the Day: daven \DAH-vuhn\, verb: / to pray.
Example:
There, day or night, everyone — the men, the women, even the children — could daven nonstop.
-- Erica Lann-Clark, "The Goats Know the Way," The Healing Heart, 2003

--Quote of the Day: There are choirs singing in your head.
If you listen, you will hear the music.
It is the song of angels.
Pay no attention to the sounds of the world.
They are just noises, and even when
added up all together
they have no value, make no sense.
Strain to hear the song of angels.
Listen to the melody within your soul.
- Neale Donald Walsch

--Language Arts-ITALIAN: biglietto: ticket / noun.

Example sentence: Scusi, dove possiamo comprare i biglietti dell'autobus?
Translation: Excuse me, where can we buy bus tickets?

* Please also visit fellow poets on our: ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~

Current Poet: Donal Mahoney
Current Poem: Lady Goulds

Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.. We are also found on Pinterest and Google+.

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Am I To Lose You?

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Mon, 06 May 2013 22:42:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Bevington L.S., Friendship, Life, Love--

‘Am I to lose you now?’ The words were light;
You spoke them, hardly seeking a reply,
That day I bid you quietly ‘Good-bye,’
And sought to hide my soul away from sight.
The question echoes, dear, through many a night,—
My question, not your own—most wistfully;
‘Am I to lose him?’asked my heart of me;
‘Am I to lose him now, and lose him quite?’

And only you can tell me. Do you care
That sometimes we in quietness should stand
As fellow-solitudes, hand firm in hand,
And thought with thought and hope with hope compare?
What is your answer? Mine must ever be,
‘I greatly need your friendship: leave it me.’

Louisa Sarah Bevington

--Did You Know: (5/18/1845-11/28/1895) Louisa Bevington was born into a Quaker family on 18th May 1845, in St. John’s Hill, Battersea. The occupation of her father was described as a “gentleman”. She was the oldest of eight children, seven of whom were girls. She started writing verse at an early age. Not long after she published her second volume of poems in 1882, she went to Germany and in 1883 married a Munich artist Ignatz Felix Guggenberger. The marriage lasted less than 8 years and she returned to London in 1890. She began to frequent anarchist circles, restarting her career under her maiden name. By the mid-1890s, Bevington knew many London anarchists and was recognized as an anarchist poet. She probably became acquainted with anarchism through meeting Charlotte Wilson, who had jointly founded the anarchist paper Freedom in 1886. Read more at: L. S. Bevington

--Word of the Day: imprest \IM-prest\, noun:
an advance of money; loan.
Example:
By law the whole of the seafaring population of Britain was liable to serve the King at sea, and if a man was given an "imprest" or advance payment by a King's agent — "taking the King's shilling" — he had to serve.
-- Dudley Pope, Decision at Trafalgar, 1999imprest \IM-prest\, noun:

--Quote of the Day: Whatever you can do, or dream you can, Begin it.
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it, Begin it now.
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

--Language Arts: une broutille (broo-tee) / a trifle, a small matter, a little thing, nothing
Example:
Ils se sont disputés pour une broutille. They got in a fight over a little matter.

* Please also visit fellow poets on our: ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~

Current Poet: John Sibley Williams

Current Poem: V.

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Love One Another

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 00:15:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Gibran K., Love, Peace--

Love one another, but make not a bond of love.
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone.
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together.
For the pillars of the temple stand apart.
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Khalil Gibran

--Did You Know: (January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931) Gibran was a Lebanese American artist, poet, and writer. Born in the town of Bsharri in modern-day Lebanon, as a young man he emigrated with his family to the United States where he studied art and began his literary career. He is chiefly known for his 1923 book The Prophet, a series of philosophical essays written in English prose. An early example of Inspirational fiction, the book sold well despite a cool critical reception, and became extremely popular in 1960s counterculture. Gibran was born in the Christian Maronite town of Bsharri (in modern day northern Lebanon) to the daughter of a Maronite Catholic priest. His mother Kamila was thirty when he was born; his father, also named Khalil, was her third husband. As a result of his family's poverty, Gibran received no formal schooling during his youth. However, priests visited him regularly and taught him about the Bible, as well as the Arabic and Syriac languages.

--Word of the Day: percipient \per-SIP-ee-uhnt\, adjective:
1. having perception; discerning; discriminating: a percipient choice of wines.
2. perceiving or capable of perceiving.
noun:
1. a person or thing that perceives.
Example:
"You're more percipient than you look," she said with a grin. "And percipient enough not to use that word instead of perceptive, which is what it really means."
-- Carolyne Aarsen, Love Is Patient and A Heart's Refuge, 2010

--Quote of the Day: If you see ten troubles coming down the road,
you can be sure that nine will run into the ditch before they reach you.
- Calvin Coolidge

--Language Arts: bicchiere: (drinking) glass / noun
Example sentence: In quel locale servono la birra in bicchieri di plastica.
Translation: In that pub they serve beer in plastic glasses.

* Please also visit fellow poets on our: ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~

Current Poet: Catherine Broughton
Current Poem: She left

** Please also visit fellow poets on our ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~ .

Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.. We are also found on Pinterest and Google+.

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Two Streams

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Mon, 22 Apr 2013 00:21:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Holmes O.W., Aging, Life--

BEHOLD the rocky wall
That down its sloping sides
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending as they fall,
In rushing river-tides!

Yon stream, whose sources run
Turned by a pebble's edge,
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun
Through the cleft mountain-ledge.

The slender rill had strayed,
But for the slanting stone,
To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid
Of foam-flecked Oregon.

So from the heights of Will
Life's parting stream descends,
And, as a moment turns its slender rill,
Each widening torrent bends,--

From the same cradle's side,
From the same mother's knee,--
One to long darkness and the frozen tide,
One to the Peaceful Sea!

Oliver Wendell Holmes

--Did You Know: (August 29, 1809 – October 7, 1894) Holmes was an American physician, professor, lecturer, and author. Regarded by his peers as one of the best writers of the 19th century, he is considered a member of the Fireside Poets. His most famous prose works are the "Breakfast-Table" series, which began with The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table (1858). He is recognized as an important medical reformer. Born in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Holmes was educated at Phillips Academy and Harvard College. After graduating from Harvard in 1829, he briefly studied law before turning to the medical profession. He began writing poetry at an early age; one of his most famous works, "Old Ironsides", was published in 1830. Following training at the prestigious medical schools of Paris, Holmes was granted his M.D. from Harvard Medical School in 1836. He taught at Dartmouth Medical School before returning to teach at Harvard and, for a time, served as dean there. During his long professorship, he became an advocate for various medical reforms and notably posited the controversial idea that doctors were capable of carrying puerperal fever from patient to patient. Holmes retired from Harvard in 1882 and continued writing poetry, novels and essays until his death in 1894. See more at: Oliver Wendell Holmes

--Word of the Day: plethoric \ple-THAWR-ik, -THOR-, PLETH-uh-rik\, adjective:

1. overfull; turgid; inflated: a plethoric, pompous speech.
2. of, pertaining to, or characterized by plethora.
Example:
He is a plethoric sleeper: literally a sleeper having an excess of red corpuscles in the blood (the opposite of anaemic), suggesting "unhealthy repletion", but here a "heavy" sleeper.
-- Arthur Conan Doyle, The Return of Sherlock Holmes, 1903

--Quote of the Day:One piece of log creates a small fire, adequate to warm you up, add just a few more pieces to blast an immense bonfire, large enough to warm up your entire circle of friends; needless to say that individuality counts but team work dynamites. ~Jin Kwon

--Language Arts-FRENCH: toc
Definition: (exclamation) Toc toc! - Knock knock!
(informal) et toc ! - so there! serves you/him/etc right!
(informal adj) toc toc - crazy, nuts

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A Bachelor

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sat, 13 Apr 2013 22:16:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Service R.W., Humor, Life, Marriage, Imagination, Parenting--

'Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
Said he, 'the milk I need,'
I wanted to spit in his eye
Of selfishness and greed;
But did not, for the reason he
Was stronger than I be.

I told him: ''Tis our human fate,
For better or for worse,
That man and maid should love and mate,
And little children nurse.
Of course, if you are less than man
You can't do what we can.

'So many loving maids would wed,
And wondrous mothers be.'
'I'll buy the love I want,' he said,
'No squally brats for me.'
. . . I hope the devil stoketh well
For him a special hell.

Robert William Service

--Did You Know: (January 16, 1874 – September 11, 1958) Robert W. Service was a poet and writer who has often been called "the Bard of the Yukon". Service is best known for his poems "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "The Cremation of Sam McGee", from his first book, Songs of a Sourdough (1907). "These humorous tales in verse were considered doggerel by the literary set, yet remain extremely popular to this day." Robert W. Service was born in Preston, Lancashire, England, the first of ten children. His father, also Robert Service, was a banker from Kilwinning, Scotland who had been transferred to England. At five years old Robert W. Service went to live in Kilwinning with his three maiden aunts and his paternal grandfather, who was the town's postmaster. There he is said to have composed his first verse, a grace, on his sixth birthday:
God bless the cakes and bless the jam;
Bless the cheese and the cold boiled ham:
Bless the scones Aunt Jeannie makes,
And save us all from bellyaches. Amen
Read more at: Robert W. Service

--Word of the Day: marmoreal \mahr-MAWR-ee-uhl, -MOHR-\, adjective:
of or like marble: skin of marmoreal smoothness.
Example:
Under the white banner of Andrew there was Renaul, and true love, and the ancient Greeks, with their lofty rhetoric and marmoreal beauty…
-- Daniel Mendelsohn, "The American Boy," The New Yorker, Jan. 7, 2013

--Quote of the Day: Poetry spills from the cracks of a broken heart, but flows from one which is loved. ~Christopher Paul Rubero

--Language Arts-SPANISH: ojalá, exclamation
I hope, if only!
This is another word which originates from Arabic (O Allah!) Originally it might have been used in fervent prayer, but now it means little more than I hope or the slightly more emotional if only. Don’t forget the upside down exclamation mark at the beginning and be careful to use a verb in the correct tense of the subjunctive after ¡ojalá!
Example:
- ¡Ojalá Toni venga hoy!
I hope Toni comes today!

- ¡Ojalá pudiera!
If only I could!

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Current Poet: Donal Mahoney
Poem: "Waiting for the Umpire"

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A Hymn of the Sea

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 23:58:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Bryant W., Nature--

The sea is mighty, but a mightier sways
His restless billows. Thou, whose hands have scooped
His boundless gulfs and built his shore, thy breath,
That moved in the beginning o'er his face,
Moves o'er it evermore. The obedient waves
To its strong motion roll, and rise and fall.
Still from that realm of rain thy cloud goes up,
As at the first, to water the great earth,
And keep her valleys green. A hundred realms
Watch its broad shadow warping on the wind,
And in the dropping shower, with gladness hear
Thy promise of the harvest. I look forth
Over the boundless blue, where joyously
The bright crests of innumerable waves
Glance to the sun at once, as when the hands
Of a great multitude are upward flung
In acclamation. I behold the ships
Gliding from cape to cape, from isle to isle,
Or stemming toward far lands, or hastening home
From the old world. It is thy friendly breeze
That bears them, with the riches of the land,
And treasure of dear lives, till, in the port,
The shouting seaman climbs and furls the sail.

But who shall bide thy tempest, who shall face
The blast that wakes the fury of the sea?
Oh God! thy justice makes the world turn pale,
When on the armed fleet, that royally
Bears down the surges, carrying war, to smite
Some city, or invade some thoughtless realm,
Descends the fierce tornado. The vast hulks
Are whirled like chaff upon the waves; the sails
Fly, rent like webs of gossamer; the masts
Are snapped asunder; downward from the decks,
Downward are slung, into the fathomless gulf,
Their cruel engines; and their hosts, arrayed
In trappings of the battle-field, are whelmed
By whirlpools, or dashed dead upon the rocks.
Then stand the nations still with awe, and pause,
A moment, from the bloody work of war.

These restless surges eat away the shores
Of earth's old continents; the fertile plain
Welters in shallows, headlands crumble down,
And the tide drifts the sea-sand in the streets
Of the drowned city. Thou, meanwhile, afar
In the green chambers of the middle sea,
Where broadest spread the waters and the line
Sinks deepest, while no eye beholds thy work,
Creator! thou dost teach the coral worm
To lay his mighty reefs. From age to age,
He builds beneath the waters, till, at last,
His bulwarks overtop the brine, and check
The long wave rolling from the southern pole
To break upon Japan. Thou bid'st the fires,
That smoulder under ocean, heave on high
The new-made mountains, and uplift their peaks,
A place of refuge for the storm-driven bird.
The birds and wafting billows plant the rifts
With herb and tree; sweet fountains gush; sweet airs
Ripple the living lakes that, fringed with flowers,
Are gathered in the hollows. Thou dost look
On thy creation and pronounce it good.
Its valleys, glorious with their summer green,
Praise thee in silent beauty, and its woods,
Swept by the murmuring winds of ocean, join
The murmuring shores in a perpetual hymn.

William Cullen Bryant

Did You Know: (November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878) William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. Bryant was born on November 3, 1794, in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts; the home of his birth is today marked with a plaque. He was the second son of Peter Bryant (b Aug. 12, 1767, d. Mar. 20 1820) a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell (b. Dec.4 1768 d. May 6 1847). His maternal ancestry traces back to passengers on the Mayflower; his father's, to colonists who arrived about a dozen years later. Bryant and his family moved to a new home when he was two years old. He was admitted to the bar in 1815. He then began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl". Bryant developed an interest in poetry early in life. Under his father's tutelage, he emulated Alexander Pope and other Neo-Classic British poets. Read more at: William Cullen Bryant

Quote of the Day: You never really understand a person
until you consider things from his point of view.
- Harper Lee

--Word of the Day: rialto \ree-AL-toh\, noun:
an exchange or mart.
Example:
We always did so in the same place, by a particular house, beyond the rialto in a steep-sloping backstreet of tenements, where advertisements turned in colours under the ivy.
-- China Miéville, Embassytown, 2011

--Language of the Arts-SPANISH: disgustar, verb / to upset
Example:
The ‘false friend’ that we will be looking at today is disgustado. Be careful not to use disgusted as a translation for disgustado. Estoy disgustado means I’m upset. If you really want to say I’m disgusted, you should use the phrase estoy indignado. Compare these examples.

Me disgustó su tono.
His tone upset me.

Está disgustado porque no aprobó el examen.
He’s upset because he failed the exam.

** Please also visit fellow poets on our ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~ .

Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.. We are also found on Pinterest and Google+.

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Easter Day

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Mon, 01 Apr 2013 00:14:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Wilde O., Christianity, Holidays--

--Description: 19th C, Wilde O., Christianity, Holidays--

The silver trumpets rang across the Dome:

The people knelt upon the ground with awe:

And borne upon the necks of men I saw,

Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome.

Priest-like, he wore a robe more white than foam,

And, king-like, swathed himself in royal red,

Three crowns of gold rose high upon his head:

In splendour and in light the Pope passed home.

My heart stole back across wide wastes of years

To One who wandered by a lonely sea,

And sought in vain for any place of rest:

'Foxes have holes, and every bird its nest.

I, only I, must wander wearily,

And bruise my feet, and drink wine salt with tears.'

Oscar Wilde

--Did You Know: Oscar Wilde was the second son born into an Anglo-Irish family, at 21 Westland Row, Dublin, to Sir William Wilde and his wife Jane Francesca Wilde. Jane was a successful writer, being a poet for the revolutionary Young Irelanders in 1848 and a life-long Irish nationalist.

--Word of the Day: daven \DAH-vuhn\, verb:
to pray.
Example:
There, day or night, everyone — the men, the women, even the children — could daven nonstop.
-- Erica Lann-Clark, "The Goats Know the Way," The Healing Heart, 2003

--Quote of the Day: It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring,
who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.
- B. C. Forbes

--Language Arts - FRENCH:
French word: verbaliser
English translation: to fine / Part of speech: verb

French example: Mon père a été verbalisé parce qu'il prenait un sens interdit ; il a eu une amende de 150 Euros.

English example: The police fined my father for driving the wrong way on a one-way street; he was fined 150 Euros.

* Please also visit fellow poets on our: ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~

Current Poet: Catherine Broughton: "The Cleaning Lady"

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What Has Happened?

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 17 Mar 2013 01:47:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Brecht B., Encouragement, Hope, Humanity, Life--

The industrialist is having his aeroplane serviced.
The priest is wondering what he said in his sermon eight weeks ago
about tithes.
The generals are putting on civvies and looking like bank clerks.
Public officials are getting friendly.
The policeman points out the way to the man in the cloth cap.
The landlord comes to see whether the water supply is working.
The journalists write the word People with capital letters.
The singers sing at the opera for nothing.
Ships' captains check the food in the crew's galley,
Car owners get in beside their chauffeurs.
Doctors sue the insurance companies.
Scholars show their discoveries and hide their decorations.
Farmers deliver potatoes to the barracks.
The revolution has won its first battle:
That's what has happened.

Bertolt Brecht

--Did You Know: Bertolt Brecht (10 February 1898 – 14 August 1956) was a German poet, playwright, and theatre director. An influential theatre practitioner of the 20th century, Brecht made equally significant contributions to dramaturgy and theatrical production, the latter particularly through the huge impact of the tours undertaken by the Berliner Ensemble – the post-war theatre company operated by Brecht and his wife, long-time collaborator and actress Helene Weigel.
Bertolt Brecht was born in Augsburg, Bavaria (about 80 km/50 mi north-west of Munich), to a devout Protestant mother and a Catholic father (who had been persuaded to have a Protestant wedding). The modest house where he was born is today preserved as a Brecht Museum.

--Word of the Day: bibelot \BIB-loh; Fr. beebuh-LOH\, noun:
a small object of curiosity, beauty, or rarity.
Example:
And in the meanwhile she was tasting what, she begun to suspect, was the maximum of bliss to most of the women she knew: days packed with engagements, the exhilaration of fashionable crowds, the thrill of snapping up a jewel or a bibelot or a new "model" that one's best friend wanted, or of being invited to some private show, or some exclusive entertainment, that one's best friend couldn't get to.
-- Edith Wharton, The Glimpses of the Moon, 1922

--Quote of the Day: Real obstacles don't take you in circles. They can be overcome. Invented ones are like a maze.
- Barbara Sher

--Language Arts-FRENCH: French word: naguère
English translation: years past - Part of speech: adverb
--
French example: L'école de naguère était bien plus difficile que celle d'aujourd'hui ; il était très dur d'obtenir son diplôme.
English example: Schooling in the past was much more difficult than today's; it was very hard to get your diploma.

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~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~ .

Current Poet:
Samantha Seto: "Pomegranate Rain"
-----------------------////------------------------
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Cinderella

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 13:08:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Plath, S., Fantasy, Love--

The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span

The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,

And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince

As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.

Sylvia Plath

--Did You Know: (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) Plath was an American poet, novelist and short story writer. Born in Boston, Massachusetts, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College, Cambridge, before receiving acclaim as a professional poet and writer. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956 and they lived together first in the United States and then England, having two children together. Plath suffered from depression for much of her adult life, and in 1963 she committed suicide. Plath is credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for her two published collections, The Colossus and Other Poems and Ariel. In 1982, she won a Pulitzer Prize posthumously, for The Collected Poems. She also wrote The Bell Jar, a semi-autobiographical novel published shortly before her death. Read more at: Sylvia Plath

--Word of the Day: mazuma \muh-ZOO-muh\, noun: money.
Example:
...and I want mazuma, gelt, coin, rocks, or what have you!
-- Harry Stephen Keeler, The Riddle of the Yellow Zuri, 1930

--Quote of the Day: To live is to choose.
But to choose well, you must know who you are and what you stand for,
where you want to go and why you want to get there.
- Kofi Annan

--Language Arts-FRENCH: French word: prépondérant
English translation: predominant
Part of speech: adjective

French example: Ce témoin a joué un rôle prépondérant dans cette affaire et grâce à lui, l'accusé a été acquitté.
English example: This witness played a predominant role in this affair, and thanks to him, the defendant was released.

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** Please also visit fellow poets on our ~ Current Guest Poet's Page ~ .

Current Poet: Faye Slimm with "Fringes of Hope"
-----------------------////------------------------
Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.

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Dawn

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 02:04:00 +0000

--Description: 21st C, Bly R., Humanity, Life, Nature--

Some love to watch the sea bushes appearing at dawn,
To see night fall from the goose wings, and to hear
The conversations the night sea has with the dawn.

If we can't find Heaven, there are always bluejays.
Now you know why I spent my twenties crying.
Cries are required from those who wake disturbed at dawn.

Adam was called in to name the Red-Winged
Blackbirds, the Diamond Rattlers, and the Ring-Tailed
Raccoons washing God in the streams at dawn.

Centuries later, the Mesopotamian gods,
All curls and ears, showed up; behind them the Generals
With their blue-coated sons who will die at dawn.

Those grasshopper-eating hermits were so good
To stay all day in the cave; but it is also sweet
To see the fenceposts gradually appear at dawn.

People in love with the setting stars are right
To adore the baby who smells of the stable, but we know
That even the setting stars will disappear at dawn.

Robert Bly

--Did You Know: (born December 23, 1926) Bly is an American poet, author, activist and leader of the Mythopoetic Men's Movement. Robert Bly was born in Minnesota to Jacob and Alice Bly, people of Norwegian ancestry. After one year at St. Olaf College in Minnesota, he transferred to Harvard University, joining the later famous group of writers who were undergraduates at that time, including Donald Hall, Adrienne Rich, Kenneth Koch, and John Hawkes. He graduated in 1950 and spent the next few years in New York. In 1956 he received a Fulbright Grant to travel to Norway and translate Norwegian poetry into English. While there he found not only his relatives, but the work of a number of major poets whose work was barely known in the United States, among them Pablo Neruda, Cesar Vallejo, Antonio Machado, Gunnar Ekelof, Georg Trakl, Rumi, Hafez, Kabir, Mirabai, and Harry Martinson. Bly determined then to start a literary magazine for poetry translation in the United States. The Fifties, The Sixties, and The Seventies, introduced many of these poets to the writers of his generation, and also published essays on American poets. During this time, Bly lived on a farm in Minnesota with his wife and children. His first marriage was to award-winning short story novelist Carol Bly. They had four children, including Mary J. Bly, a Literature Professor at Fordham University and also a best-selling novelist. Bly and Carol divorced in 1979; he has been married to the former Ruth Ray since 1980. He has a stepdaughter from his marriage to Ruth Bly. A stepson from the marriage died in a pedestrian-train incident while he attended private college in Minnesota. Suicide was suspected but never confirmed. Read more at: Robert Bly

--Poetry Terminology: Topographical poetry-
The poetic equivalent of landscape painting e.g. Pope's Windsor Forest or Gray's Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College. A more modern example of the genre is Remains of Elmet by Ted Hughes which was a collaboration with the photographer Fay Godwin.

--Word of the Day: lollapalooza \lol-uh-puh-LOO-zuh\, noun:
an extraordinary or unusual thing, person, or event; an exceptional example or instance.
Example:
In America, the German announcement prompts Mayor La Guardia to tell City Hall reporters, “Any American who can believe that lollapalooza of a Nazi lie has sunk to the lowest possible level.”
-- Philip Roth, The Plot Against America

--Language Arts-SPANISH: regalar, verb
to give; to give away
We’ve already come across regalo, meaning a present. Regalar, to give, is the related verb.
Example:
¿Y si le regalamos un libro?
What about giving him a book?

--Quote of the Day: The moment one gives close attention to any thing, even a blade of grass it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. ~Henry Miller

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The Darkling Thrush

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 24 Feb 2013 23:45:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Hardy T., Hope, Nature, Night

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.

The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seem’d to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seem’d fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carrollings
Of such ecstatic sound,
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air,
Some blessed Hope whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
Thomas Hardy

--Did You Know:(2 June 1840 – 11 January 1928) Thomas Hardy was an English author of the naturalist movement, although in several poems he displays elements of the previous romantic and enlightenment periods of literature, such as his fascination with the supernatural. He regarded himself primarily as a poet and composed novels mainly for financial gain. The bulk of his work, set mainly in the semi-fictional land of Wessex, delineates characters struggling against their passions and circumstances.

--Word of the Day:counterfactual \koun-ter-FAK-choo-uhl\, noun:
a conditional statement the first clause of which expresses something contrary to fact, as “If I had known.”
Example:
The ruse is so obvious, a counterfactual posing as a home truth.
-- Matt Feeney, "Michael Chabon's Oakland," The New Yorker, September 26, 2012

--Quote of the Day: Ideals are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny. ~Carl Schurz, address, Faneuil Hall, Boston, 1859

Language Arts-FRENCH:
French word: démontrer
English translation: to prove
Part of speech: verb

French example: Lorsque que vous êtes au tribunal vous devez posséder de solides arguments afin de pouvoir démontrer votre innocence.
English example: When you are in court, you need to provide strong arguments in order to be able to prove your innocence.

Posted by V. Mahfood

A Noiseless Patient Spider

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 17 Feb 2013 00:12:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Whitman W., Death, Life, Nature, Patience--

A noiseless, patient spider,
I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;
Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;
Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you, O my Soul, where you stand,
Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;
Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;
Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.

Walt Whitman

--Did You Know: (May 31, 1819 – March 26, 1892)Walt Whitman was an American poet, essayist, journalist, and humanist. He was a part of the transition between Transcendentalism and realism, incorporating both views in his works. Whitman is among the most influential poets in the American canon, often called the father of free verse. His work was very controversial in its time, particularly his poetry collection Leaves of Grass, which was described as obscene for its overt sexuality. Born on Long Island, Whitman worked as a journalist, a teacher, a government clerk, and a volunteer nurse during the American Civil War in addition to publishing his poetry. Early in his career, he also produced a temperance novel, Franklin Evans (1842). Whitman's major work, Leaves of Grass, was first published in 1855 with his own money. The work was an attempt at reaching out to the common person with an American epic. He continued expanding and revising it until his death in 1892. After a stroke towards the end of his life, he moved to Camden, New Jersey where his health further declined. He died at age 72 and his funeral became a public spectacle. Read more at: Walt Whitman

--Word of the Day: diapason \dahy-uh-PEY-zuhn\, noun:
1. A full, rich outpouring of melodious sound.
2. The compass of a voice or instrument.
3. A fixed standard of pitch.
4. Either of two principal timbres or stops of a pipe organ, one of full, majestic tone (open diapason) and the other of strong, flutelike tone (stopped diapason).
5. Any of several other organ stops.
6. A tuning fork.

--Quote of the Day: We come this way but once.
We can either tiptoe through life
and hope we get to death without being badly bruised
or we can live a full, complete life achieving
our goals and realizing our wildest dreams.
- Bob Proctor

--Language Arts - Italian: biglietto: ticket
Example sentence: Scusi, dove possiamo comprare i biglietti dell'autobus?
Translation: Excuse me, where can we buy bus tickets?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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A Summer Ramble

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 10 Feb 2013 21:00:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Bryant W., Joy, Seasons, Nature--

The quiet August noon has come,
A slumberous silence fills the sky,
The fields are still, the woods are dumb,
In glassy sleep the waters lie.

And mark yon soft white clouds that rest
Above our vale, a moveless throng;
The cattle on the mountain's breast
Enjoy the grateful shadow long.

Oh, how unlike those merry hours
In early June when Earth laughs out,
When the fresh winds make love to flowers,
And woodlands sing and waters shout.

When in the grass sweet voices talk,
And strains of tiny music swell
From every moss-cup of the rock,
From every nameless blossom's bell.

But now a joy too deep for sound,
A peace no other season knows,
Hushes the heavens and wraps the ground,
The blessing of supreme repose.

Away! I will not be, to-day,
The only slave of toil and care.
Away from desk and dust! away!
I'll be as idle as the air.

Beneath the open sky abroad,
Among the plants and breathing things,
The sinless, peaceful works of God,
I'll share the calm the season brings.

Come, thou, in whose soft eyes I see
The gentle meanings of thy heart,
One day amid the woods with me,
From men and all their cares apart.

And where, upon the meadow's breast,
The shadow of the thicket lies,
The blue wild flowers thou gatherest
Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes.

Come, and when mid the calm profound,
I turn, those gentle eyes to seek,
They, like the lovely landscape round,
Of innocence and peace shall speak.

Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade,
And on the silent valleys gaze,
Winding and widening, till they fade
In yon soft ring of summer haze.

The village trees their summits rear
Still as its spire, and yonder flock
At rest in those calm fields appear
As chiselled from the lifeless rock.

One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks--
There the hushed winds their sabbath keep
While a near hum from bees and brooks
Comes faintly like the breath of sleep.

Well may the gazer deem that when,
Worn with the struggle and the strife,
And heart-sick at the wrongs of men,
The good forsakes the scene of life;

Like this deep quiet that, awhile,
Lingers the lovely landscape o'er,
Shall be the peace whose holy smile
Welcomes him to a happier shore.

William Cullen Bryant

Did You Know: (November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878) William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. Bryant was born on November 3, 1794, in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts; the home of his birth is today marked with a plaque. He was the second son of Peter Bryant (b Aug. 12, 1767, d. Mar. 20 1820) a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell (b. Dec.4 1768 d. May 6 1847). His maternal ancestry traces back to passengers on the Mayflower; his father's, to colonists who arrived about a dozen years later. Bryant and his family moved to a new home when he was two years old. He was admitted to the bar in 1815. He then began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl". Bryant developed an interest in poetry early in life. Under his father's tutelage, he emulated Alexander Pope and other Neo-Classic British poets. Read more at: William Cullen Bryant

Quote of the Day: In spite of unseasonable wind, snow and unexpected weather of all sorts –
a gardener still plants. And tends what they have planted ...
believing that Spring will come.
- Mary Anne Radmacher

--Word of the Day: compotation \kom-puh-TEY-shuhn\, noun:
An act or instance of drinking or tippling together.
Example:
I may here mention, that the fashion of compotation described in the text, was still occasionally practiced in Scotland, in the author's youth. A company, after having taken leave of their host, often went to finish the evening at the clachan or village, in "womb of tavern." The entertainer always accompanied them to take the stirrup-cup, which often occasioned a long and late revel.
-- Sir Walter Scott, The Waverley Novels

Language of the Arts-FRENCH: batifoler
English translation: to frolic
Part of speech: verb
French example: Les vieux amis souriaient en se souvenant comme ils batifolaient sur la plage pendant leur enfance.
English example: The old friends were smiling, remembering how they were frolicking on the beach during their childhood.

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Mist

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Fri, 08 Feb 2013 00:36:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Thoreau Henry D., Nature, Seasons --

--Description: 19th C, Thoreau H.D., Nature, Seasons--

Low-anchored cloud,
Newfoundland air,
Fountain head and source of rivers,
Dew-cloth, dream drapery,
And napkin spread by fays;
Drifting meadow of the air,
Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,
And in whose fenny labyrinth
The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of the lake and seas and rivers,
Bear only purfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men's fields!

Henry David Thoreau

--Did You Know: (July 12, 1817– May 6, 1862) Thoreau was an American author, poet, naturalist, tax resister, development critic, surveyor, historian, philosopher, and leading transcendentalist. He is best known for his book Walden, a reflection upon simple living in natural surroundings, and his essay, Civil Disobedience, an argument for individual resistance to civil government in moral opposition to an unjust state. Thoreau's books, articles, essays, journals, and poetry total over 20 volumes. Among his lasting contributions were his writings on natural history and philosophy, where he anticipated the methods and findings of ecology and environmental history, two sources of modern day environmentalism. His literary style interweaves close natural observation, personal experience, pointed rhetoric, symbolic meanings, and historical lore; while displaying a poetic sensibility, philosophical austerity, and "Yankee" love of practical detail. He was also deeply interested in the idea of survival in the face of hostile elements, historical change, and natural decay; at the same time imploring one to abandon waste and illusion in order to discover life's true essential needs. He was a lifelong abolitionist. Read more at: Henry David Thoreau

--Word of the Day: dyslogistic \dis-luh-JIS-tik\, adjective:
conveying disapproval or censure; not complimentary or eulogistic.
Example:
She had forgotten for the moment the Captain's invidious and dyslogistic employment of the Greek alphabet.
-- Michael Innes, Appleby's Answer

--Quote of the Day: "I like thinking of possibilities. At any time, an entirely new possibility is liable to come along and spin you off in an entirely new direction. The trick, I've learned, is to be awake to the moment."
-- Doug Hall

--Language Arts - SPANISH: revelar, verb
to reveal; to develop
Example:
No quería revelar su identidad.
He didn’t want to reveal his identity.

________________________________________________________
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Clown in the Moon

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sat, 02 Feb 2013 23:22:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Thomas D., Celestial, Night, Sadness--

My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.

I think, that if I touched the earth,
It would crumble;
It is so sad and beautiful,
So tremulously like a dream.

Dylan Thomas

--Did You Know: (27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953) Dylan Thomas was a Welsh poet and writer who wrote exclusively in English. In addition to poetry, he wrote short stories and scripts for film and radio, which he often performed himself. His public readings, particularly in America, won him great acclaim; his sonorous voice with a subtle Welsh lilt became almost as famous as his works. His best-known works include the "play for voices" Under Milk Wood and the celebrated villanelle for his dying father, Do not go gentle into that good night. Thomas once confided that the poems which had most influenced him were Mother Goose rhymes which his parents taught him when he was a child. He did not understand all of their contents, but he loved their sounds, and the acoustic qualities of the English language became his focus in his work later. He claimed that the meanings of a poem were of "very secondary nature" to him.

--Word of the Day: To withdraw one's feelings of attachment from (a person, idea, or object), as in anticipation of a future loss: He decathected from her in order to cope with her impending death.
Example:
Freud argued that grieving involved a process of remembering and reflecting upon all the memories associated with the deceased in order to sever an emotional connection, or “decathect,” and make room for new bonds and relationships.
-- Maria Cizmic, Performing Pain

--Quote of the Day: No man for any considerable period can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.
~Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter

--Language Arts-ITALIAN: superare: to pass / verb
Example sentence: Abbiamo già superato le indicazioni per il centro?
Translation: Did we already pass the signs for the city center?

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Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.. We are also found on Pinterest and Google+.

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Descriptive Jottings of London

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Tue, 29 Jan 2013 01:26:00 +0000

--Description: 18th C, McGonagall, William T., Humor, Tribute--

As I stood upon London Bridge and viewed the mighty throng
Of thousands of people in cabs and 'busses rapidly whirling along,
All furiously driving to and fro,
Up one street and down another as quick as they could go:

Then I was struck with the discordant sound of human voices there,
Which seemed to me like wild geese cackling in the air:
And the river Thames is a most beautiful sight,
To see the steamers sailing upon it by day and by night.

And the Tower of London is most gloomy to behold,
And the crown of Englandlies there, begemmed with precious stones and gold;
King Henry the Sixth was murdered there by the Duke of Glo'ster,
And when he killed him with his sword he called him an impostor.

St. Paul's Cathedral is the finest building that ever I did see;
There's nothing can surpass it in the city of Dundee,
Because it's most magnificent to behold
With its beautiful dome and spire glittering like gold.

And as for Nelson's Monument that stands in Trafalgar Square,
It is a most stately monument I most solemnly declare,
And towering defiantly very high,
Which arrests strangers' attention while passing by.

Then there's two beautiful water-fountains spouting up very high,
Where the weary travellers can drink when he feels dry;
And at the foot of the monument there's three bronze lions in grand array,
Enough to make the stranger's heart throb with dismay.

Then there's Mr Spurgeon, a great preacher, which no one dare gainsay
I went to hear him preach on the Sabbath-day.
And he made my heart feel light and gay
When I heard him preach and pray.

And the Tabernacle was crowded from ceiling to floor,
And many were standing outside the door;
He is an eloquent preacher, I solemnly declare,
And I was struck with admiration as I on him did stare.

Then there's Petticoat Lane I venture to say,
It's a wonderful place on the Sabbath day;
There wearing apparel can be bought to suit the young or old
For the ready cash-- silver, coppers, or gold.

Oh! mighty city of London! you are wonderful to see,
And thy beauties no doubt fill the tourist's heart with glee;
But during my short stay, and while wandering there,
Mr Spurgeon was the only man I heard speaking proper English I do declare.

William Topaz McGonagall

--Did You Know: (March 1825 – 29 September 1902) William T. McGonagall was a Scottish weaver, doggerel poet and actor. He won notoriety as an extremely bad poet who exhibited no recognition of or concern for his peers' opinions of his work. He wrote about 200 poems, including his infamous "The Tay Bridge Disaster", which are widely regarded as some of the worst in English literature. Groups throughout Scotland engaged him to make recitations from his work; contemporary descriptions of these performances indicate that many listeners were appreciating McGonagall's skill as a comic music hall character, and his readings may be considered a form of performance art. Collections of his verse continue in popularity, with several volumes available today. McGonagall has been acclaimed as the worst poet in British history. The chief criticisms are that he is deaf to poetic metaphor and unable to scan correctly. In the hands of lesser artists, this might generate dull, uninspiring verse. McGonagall's fame stems from the humorous effects these shortcomings generate. Read more at: William T. McGonagall

--Word of the Day: birl \burl\, verb:

1. To spin or cause to rotate.
2. Chiefly Northern U.S. Lumbering. To cause (a floating log) to rotate rapidly by treading upon it.
3. British. A. To move or rotate rapidly. B. Informal. To spend money freely. C. Informal. To gamble.

noun:
1. British Informal. An attempt; a gamble.
Example:
I feel a bit light, then it's like my brain starts to birl in my head sending my thoughts and emotions cascading around.
-- Irvine Welsh, Filth

--Quote of the Day: Constant kindness can accomplish much. As the sun makes ice melt, kindness causes misunderstanding, mistrust, and hostility to evaporate.
- Albert Schweitzer

--Language Arts-SPANISH: desvelar, verb
to reveal; to keep awake
Desvelar is a verb with two rather different meanings. It can mean to reveal something secret, such as names, identities, and mysteries.
Example:
El presidente de la comisión rehúsa desvelar los nombres.
The chairman of the commission refuses to reveal the names.

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A Study (A Soul)

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Fri, 25 Jan 2013 02:18:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Rossetti C., Faithfulness--

She stands as pale as Parian statues stand;
Like Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the Roman sway,
And felt the aspic writhing in her hand.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
For dim beyond it looms the light of day;
Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stands there like a beacon thro' the night,
A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift is;
She stands alone, a wonder deathly white;
She stands there patient, nerved with inner might,
Indomitable in her feebleness,
Her face and will athirst against the light.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

--Did You Know: (5 December 1830 – 29 December 1894) Christina Rossetti was a British poet, who wrote a variety of romantic, devotional, and children's poems. She is best known for her long poem Goblin Market, her love poem "Remember", and for the words of what became the popular Christmas carol "In the Bleak Midwinter". Rossetti was born in London and educated at home by her mother. Her siblings were the artist and poet Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Michael Rossetti, and Maria Francesca Rossetti. Their father, Gabriele Rossetti, was an Italian poet and a political asylum seeker from Naples; their mother, Frances Polidori, was the sister of Lord Byron's friend and physician, John William Polidori, author of The Vampyre. In the 1840s her family was stricken with severe financial difficulties due to the deterioration of her father's physical and mental health. When she was 14, Rossetti suffered a nervous breakdown and left school. In the early 20th century Rossetti's popularity faded as many respected Victorian writers' reputations suffered from Modernism's backlash. Rossetti remained largely unnoticed and unread until the 1970s when feminist scholars began to recover and comment on her work. In the last few decades Rossetti's writing has been rediscovered and she has regained admittance into the Victorian literary canon. Read more at: Christina Rossetti

--Poetry Terminology: Vers de Societe -
Form of light verse which concerns itself with the comings and goings of polite society. Matthew Prior and Henry Austin Dobson both specialised in vers de société. How to Get On in Society by John Betjeman is another example - although this poem is also satirical in tone.

--Word of the Day: violescent \vahy-uh-LES-uhnt\, adjective:
Tending to a violet color: a violescent twilight sky.
Example:
Scriabin's prelude is dark in color, violescent, like moiré unfurling in the evening wind.
-- Gabriele D'Annunzio, Notturno

--Quote of the Day: Patience is the ability to count down before you blast off.
~Author Unknown

--Language Arts-ITALIAN: baciare: to kiss / verb.
Example sentence: Alberto ha visto la moglie baciare un altro uomo!
Translation: Alberto saw his wife kissing another man!

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Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook.. We are also found on Pinterest and Google+.

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Laugh and Be Merry

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Mon, 21 Jan 2013 03:20:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Masefield J., Contentment, Joy--

Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.

Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.
God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,
Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of
His mirth
The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.

So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,
Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured
In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.

Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,
Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.

John Masefield

--Did You Know: (1 June 1878 – 12 May 1967) John Masefield was an English poet and writer, and Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom from 1930 until his death in 1967. He is remembered as the author of the classic children's novels The Midnight Folk and The Box of Delights, and many memorable poems, including "The Everlasting Mercy" and "Sea-Fever". Masefield was born in Ledbury in Herefordshire, to Caroline and George Masefield, a solicitor. His mother died giving birth to his sister when Masefield was only six, and he went to live with his aunt. His father died soon after following a mental breakdown. After an unhappy education at the King's School in Warwick (now known as Warwick School), where he was a boarder between 1888 and 1891, he left to board the HMS Conway, both to train for a life at sea, and to break his addiction to reading, of which his aunt thought little. He spent several years aboard this ship and found that he could spend much of his time reading and writing. It was aboard the Conway that Masefield’s love for story-telling grew. While on the ship, he listened to the stories told about sea lore. He continued to read, and felt that he was to become a writer and story teller himself. Read more at: John Masefield

--Word of the Day: preconcert \pree-kuhn-SURT\, verb:
1. To arrange in advance or beforehand, as by a previous agreement.
adjective:
1. Preceding a concert: a preconcert reception for sponsors.
Example:
Indeed she did not really suspect the visitor, who was one too ingenuous in his nature to preconcert so subtle and so wicked a scheme.
-- Anthony Trollope, Dr. Wortle's School

--Quote of the Day: In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful. ~Abram L. Urban

--Language Arts-ITALIAN: sognare: to dream / verb.
Example sentence: Stanotte ho sognato che ero in vacanza su un'isola tropicale!
Translation: Last night I dreamt that I was on vacation on a tropical island!

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To a Lady Very Well Known to the Whole Town

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Mon, 14 Jan 2013 02:21:00 +0000

--Description: 18th C, Voltaire, Beauty, Love, Nobility, Passion--

Phillis, how much the times are changed,
Since in a hack the town you ranged,
Since without finery or train you shone,
Conspicuous for your charms alone;
When though you supped on sorry fare,
You nectar seemed with gods to share.
You foolishly to one consigned
Beauty which might charm all mankind:
A desperate lover, who for life
Engaged you when he made his wife.
You then no treasure did inherit,
Your beauty was your only merit,
Your bosom charms divine displayed;
There Cupid still an ambush laid;
Your heart was tender, and your mind
To youthful frolics much inclined.
With so many charms endued,
What woman e'er could be a prude?
That fault, oh! beauty all divine,
Was very far from being thine;
Because of favors you were free,
You were the better liked by me.
How differently you live, grown great,
Your life is but the farce of state;
The hoary porter, who still plies
At your own door, and tells such lies,
Is a just emblem of the age,
His very looks ill-luck presage;
He thinks the duty of his place is
To drive away the loves and graces.
The tender swain's abashed, afraid
Your pompous palace to invade.
When you were young, to my amazement
I've seen them enter at the casement;
I've seen them enter every day,
And in your chamber nimbly play.
Not all your carpets, and your plate,
Not all your proud parade of state,
Those goblets which so brightly shine,
Graved by Germain with art divine;
Those closets nobly furnished, where
Martin's exceeds the China ware,
Your vases of Japan, and all
The brittle wonders of your hall;
Your diamond pendants which appear
With such bright lustre at each ear;
Your solitaires so dazzling bright,
Your pomp which strikes the gazer's sight,
Are worth one quarter of that bliss,
Which once you imparted by a kiss.

Voltaire

--Did You Know: (November 21, 1694 – May 30, 1778) François-Marie Arouet, better known by the pen name Voltaire, was a French Enlightenment writer, essayist, and philosopher known for his wit and his defense of civil liberties, including both freedom of religion and free trade. Voltaire was a prolific writer and produced works in almost every literary form including plays, poetry, novels, essays, historical and scientific works, more than 20,000 letters and more than 2,000 books and pamphlets. He was an outspoken supporter of social reform, despite strict censorship laws and harsh penalties for those who broke them. A satirical polemicist, he frequently made use of his works to criticize Catholic Church dogma and the French institutions of his day. Voltaire was one of several Enlightenment figures (along with Montesquieu, John Locke, Thomas Hobbes, and Jean-Jacques Rousseau) whose works and ideas influenced important thinkers of both the American and French Revolutions. Read more at:

--Word of the Day: pseudepigraphy \soo-duh-PIG-ruh-fee\, noun:
The false ascription of a piece of writing to an author.
Example:
But the apocalyptic seers were usually not content with mere anonymity; they generally practiced pseudepigraphy.
-- Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah

--Quote of the Day: We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned,
so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
The old skin has to be shed before the new one can come.
- Joseph Campbell

--Language Arts: descanso, noun
break; half time
Example:
Cada dos horas me tomo un descanso.
Every two hours I take a break.

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A Song for New Year's Eve

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 06 Jan 2013 01:33:00 +0000

"Happy New Year 2013 to our wonderful readers who enjoy and take delight as much as we do in beautiful poetry!
-----------------------------------

--Description: 19th C, Bryant W., Holidays, Hope

Stay yet, my friends, a moment stay
Stay till the good old year,
So long companion of our way,
Shakes hands, and leaves us here.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One little hour, and then away.

The year, whose hopes were high and strong,
Has now no hopes to wake;
Yet one hour more of jest and song
For his familiar sake.
Oh stay, oh stay,
One mirthful hour, and then away.

The kindly year, his liberal hands
Have lavished all his store.
And shall we turn from where he stands,
Because he gives no more?
Oh stay, oh stay,
One grateful hour, and then away.

Days brightly came and calmly went,
While yet he was our guest;
How cheerfully the week was spent!
How sweet the seventh day's rest!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One golden hour, and then away.

Dear friends were with us, some who sleep
Beneath the coffin-lid:
What pleasant memories we keep
Of all they said and did!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One tender hour, and then away.

Even while we sing, he smiles his last,
And leaves our sphere behind.
The good old year is with the past;
Oh be the new as kind!
Oh stay, oh stay,
One parting strain, and then away.

William Cullen Bryant

Did You Know: (November 3, 1794 – June 12, 1878) William Cullen Bryant was an American romantic poet, journalist, and long-time editor of the New York Evening Post. Bryant was born on November 3, 1794, in a log cabin near Cummington, Massachusetts; the home of his birth is today marked with a plaque. He was the second son of Peter Bryant (b Aug. 12, 1767, d. Mar. 20 1820) a doctor and later a state legislator, and Sarah Snell (b. Dec.4 1768 d. May 6 1847). His maternal ancestry traces back to passengers on the Mayflower; his father's, to colonists who arrived about a dozen years later. Bryant and his family moved to a new home when he was two years old. He was admitted to the bar in 1815. He then began practicing law in nearby Plainfield, walking the seven miles from Cummington every day. On one of these walks, in December 1815, he noticed a single bird flying on the horizon; the sight moved him enough to write "To a Waterfowl". Bryant developed an interest in poetry early in life. Under his father's tutelage, he emulated Alexander Pope and other Neo-Classic British poets. Read more at: William Cullen Bryant

Quote of the Day: This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best.
- William Arthur Ward

--Word of the Day: couthie \KOO-thee\, adjective:
Agreeable; genial; kindly.
Example:
Occasionally he'd stab one of the buttons, never managing to stop the machines' couthie chatter of grunts and whistles.
-- James Meek, The Heart Broke In

--Language Arts (SPANISH): cibernauta, noun / internet user
Example:
los cibernautas de todo el mundo
Internet users all round the world

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Christmas Bells

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 02:18:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Longfellow H.W., Christianity, Christmas, Holidays--

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

--Did You Know: (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) Henry W. Longellow was an American educator and poet whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and "Evangeline". He was also the first American to translate Dante Alighieri's The Divine Comedy and was one of the five Fireside Poets.Longfellow was born in Portland, Maine, then part of Massachusetts, and studied at Bowdoin College. After spending time in Europe he became a professor at Bowdoin and, later, at Harvard College. His first major poetry collections were Voices of the Night (1839) and Ballads and Other Poems (1841). Longfellow retired from teaching in 1854 to focus on his writing, living the remainder of his life in Cambridge, Massachusetts, in a former headquarters of George Washington. His first wife, Mary Potter, died in 1835 after a miscarriage. His second wife, Frances Appleton, died in 1861 after sustaining burns from her dress catching fire. After her death, Longfellow had difficulty writing poetry for a time and focused on his translation. He died in 1882. Longfellow predominantly wrote lyric poems which are known for their musicality and which often presented stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses. Read more at: Henry W. Longfellow

--Word of the Day: numinous \NOO-min-us; NYOO-\, adjective:
1. Of or pertaining to a numen; supernatural.
2. Filled with or characterized by a sense of a supernatural presence.
3. Inspiring awe and reverence; spiritual.
Example:
Smoking is a ritual, and it has all the numinous force of a ritual.
-- Thomas W. Laqueur, The New Republic, September 18, 1995

--Quote of the Day: A Christmas candle is a lovely thing;
It makes no noise at all,
But softly gives itself away.
~Eva Logue

--Language Arts-SPANISH: anfitrión, noun / host

Both Spanish and English share many words derived from Greek or Latin. El anfitrión, host, comes from Greek, and is a word which English doesn’t have. In fact, it derives from a person’s name (just as sandwich derives from a real person, the Earl of Sandwich). In Greek mythology, Amphitrion was king of the Greek city of Thebes, and was famous for his lavish banquets. Spanish adopted this word ? although the implication that a host is bound to be lavish and generous is no longer necessarily part of the word!

en su calidad de anfitrión
in his capacity as host

el país anfitrión de un Mundial
a country which is hosting a World Cup

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Christmas Trees

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sat, 08 Dec 2012 22:17:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Frost R., Christmas, Christianity, Holidays--

A Christmas Circular Letter

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn’t thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I’d hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I’d hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine, I said,
“There aren’t enough to be worth while.”
“I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.”

“You could look.
But don’t expect I’m going to let you have them.”
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded “Yes” to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer’s moderation, “That would do.”
I thought so too, but wasn’t there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north. He said, “A thousand.”

“A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?”

He felt some need of softening that to me:
“A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.”

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn’t know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn’t lay one in a letter.
I can’t help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

Robert Frost

--Did You Know: (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) Robert Frost was an American poet. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes. A popular and often-quoted poet, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. Robert Frost was born in San Francisco, California to journalist William Prescott Frost, Jr., and Isabelle Moodie. His mother was of Scottish descent, and his father descended from Nicholas Frost of Tiverton, Devon, England, who had sailed to New Hampshire in 1634 on the Wolfrana. Frost's father was a teacher and later an editor of the San Francisco Evening Bulletin. After his father's death on May 5, 1885, in due time the family moved across the country to Lawrence, Massachusetts under the patronage of (Robert's grandfather) William Frost, Sr., who was an overseer at a New England mill. Frost graduated from Lawrence High School in 1892. Frost's mother joined the Swedenborgian church and had him baptized in it, but he left it as an adult. Despite his later association with rural life, Frost grew up in the city, and published his first poem in his high school's magazine. Read more at: Robert Frost

--Word of the Day: assoil \uh-SOIL\, verb:
1. To absolve; acquit; pardon.
2. To atone for.
Example:
Come up, wives, offer of your yarn! See, I enter your name here in my roll; you shall enter into heaven's bliss; I assoil you by mine high power, you that will make offerings, as clear and clean as when you were born — (lo sirs, thus I preach).
-- Bennett Cerf, An Anthology of Famous British Stories

--Quote of the Day: When written in Chinese, the word "crisis"
is composed of two characters.
One represents danger and the other represents opportunity.
- John F. Kennedy

--Language Arts:: FrenchFrench word: en bref
English translation: in short
Part of speech: adverb
French example: En bref, tout est bien qui finit bien.
English example: In short, all is well that ends well.

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Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sat, 08 Dec 2012 02:14:00 +0000

--Description: 19th C, Sir Scott W., Christmas, Christianity, Holidays, Hope--

The glowing censers, and their rich perfume;
The splendid vestments, and the sounding choir;
The gentle sigh of soul-subduing piety;
The alms which open-hearted charity
Bestows, with kindly glance; and those
Which e'en stern avarice.
Though with unwilling hand,
Seems forced to tender; an offering sweet
To the bright throne of mercy; mark
This day a festival.

And well our Christian sires of old
Loved when the year its course had roll'd,
And brought blithe Christmas back again,
With all its hospitable train.
Domestic and religious rite
Gave honour to the holy night.
On Christmas eve the bells were rung,
On Christmas-eve the mass was sung;
That only night in all the year
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.
The damsel donn'd her Kirtle sheen;
The hall was dress'd with holly green;
Then open'd wide the baron's hall,
To vassal -- tenant -- serf and all:
Power laid his rod of rule aside,
And ceremony doff'd his pride.
All hail'd with uncontroll'd delight,
And general voice, the happy night,
That to the cottage, as the crown,
Brought tidings of salvation down.

Sir Walter Scott

--Did You Know:(15 August 1771 – 21 September 1832) Walter Scott was a prolific Scottish historical novelist and poet, popular throughout Europe during his time. Scott was particularly associated with Toryism. Scott was the first English-language author to have a truly international career in his lifetime, with many contemporary readers in Europe, Australia, and North America. His novels and poetry are still read, and many of his works remain classics of both English-language literature and of Scottish literature. Famous titles include Ivanhoe, Rob Roy, The Lady of The Lake, Waverley, The Heart of Midlothian and The Bride of Lammermoor. Born in College Wynd in the Old Town of Edinburgh in 1771, the son of a solicitor, Scott survived a childhood bout of polio in 1773 that left him lame. To cure his lameness he was sent in 1773 to live in the rural Borders region at his grandparents' farm at Sandyknowe, adjacent to the ruin of Smailholm Tower, the earlier family home. Here he was taught to read by his aunt Jenny, and learned from her the speech patterns and many of the tales and legends that characterized much of his work. Read more at: Sir Walter Scott

--Word of the Day: strepitous \STREP-i-tuhs\, adjective:
boisterous; noisy.
Example:
But what strepitous sounds, what harmonious tumult diverts my attention to another part ?
-- José Francisco de Isla, The History of the Famous Preacher, Friar Gerund de Campazas

--Quote of the Day: Wonder what opportunities you pass, unwittingly,
because your hands are so busy clasping
what you think you have always known.
- Mary Anne Radmacher

--Language Arts: destapar, verb - to open; to uncover
Example:
We saw tapa meaning cover in an earlier Spanish Word of the Day. From it derives destapar, which has several meanings. When referring to bottles, it means to open.

Destapamos una botella para cada uno.
We opened a bottle for each person.

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A Moment

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Thu, 29 Nov 2012 03:01:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Coleridge M.E., Love, Nature, Seasons--

The clouds had made a crimson crown
Above the mountains high.
The stormy sun was going down
In a stormy sky.

Why did you let your eyes so rest on me,
And hold your breath between?
In all the ages this can never be
As if it had not been.

Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

--Did You Know: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (23 September 1861 – 25 August 1907) was a British novelist and poet, who also wrote essays and reviews. She taught at the London Working Women's College for twelve years from 1895 to 1907. She wrote poetry under the pseudonym Anodos, taken from George MacDonald; other influences on her were Richard Watson Dixon and Christina Rossetti. Coleridge published five novels, the best known of those being The King with Two Faces, which earned her £900 in royalties in 1897. She travelled widely throughout her life, although her home was in London, where she lived with her family. Mary Coleridge was the great-grandniece of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and the great niece of Sara Coleridge, the author of Phantasmion. She died from complications arising from appendicitis while on holiday in Harrogate in 1907, leaving an unfinished manuscript for her next novel, and hundreds of unpublished poems. Read more at: Mary Elizabeth Coleridge

--Word of the Day: cantrip \KAHN-trip\, noun:
1. Chiefly Scot. A magic spell; trick by sorcery.
2. Chiefly British. Artful shamming meant to deceive.
Used properly, it may be possible to drive a vampire or garou into frenzy with this cantrip.
-- Steve Long, Ethan Skemp, Combat

--Quote of the Day: Alone we can do so little;
together we can do so much.
- Helen Keller

--Language Arts: Capodanno: New Year's Eve /noun.
Example sentence: Come festeggerete il Capodanno? Andrete ad una festa?
Translation: How will you celebrate New Year's Eve? Will you go to a party?

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Daddy Fell Into the Pond

noreply@blogger.com (V. Mahfood) — Sun, 18 Nov 2012 22:28:00 +0000

--Description: 20th C, Noyes A., Humor, Childhood, Children, Parenting--

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!

And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed!" Click!

Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!

Alfred Noyes

--Did You Know: (September 16, 1880 – June 25/June 28, 1958) Alfred Noyes was an English poet, best known for his ballads, The Highwayman (1906) and The Barrel Organ. Noyes was born in Wolverhampton, England, the son of Alfred and Amelia Adams Noyes. He attended Exeter College, Oxford, leaving before he had earned a degree. At 21, Noyes published his first collection of poems, The Loom Years. From 1903 to 1908, he published five additional volumes of poetry, including The Forest of Wild Thyme and The Flower of Old Japan and Other Poems. In 1918, he followed with a short story collection Walking Shadows, Sea Tales and Others, which included the tale "The Lusitania Waits", a ghost revenge tale based on the sinking of the Lusitania by a German submarine in 1915—although the story hinges on an erroneous claim that the submarine crew had been awarded the Goetz medal for sinking the ship). In 1924 Noyes published another collection, The Hidden Player. As a result of increasing blindness, Noyes began dictating his work. In 1953, he published an autobiography, Two Worlds for Memory. He wrote about sixty books, including poetry, novels, and short story collections. Read more at: Alfred Noyes

--Word of the Day: pasquinade / (pas-kwuh-NAYD) (noun):
noun: A satire or lampoon, especially one displayed in a public place.
Quote:
"Whether these soaps are a pasquinade mocking the education system here or a great landmark in popular culture is a question open to interpretation."
-Shweta Teoti; Ekta, a Threat to Women's Education; The Times of India (New Delhi); Oct 26, 2007.

--Quote of the Day: My father would take me to the playground, and put me on mood swings.
-Jay London

Coffee Table Poetry for Tea Drinkers is updated often. Subscribe by selecting E-mail or RSS Reader. Also, come follow us on Twitter and Facebook. Poets and Advertisers-please contact us to post your press releases, new book info, graphics and more at: coffeetablepoet@gmail.com

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