NOT YOUR USUAL SUSPECTS

A group blog featuring an international array of killer mystery, suspense, and romantic suspense writers. With premises and story lines different from your run-of-the-mill whodunits, we tend to write outside the box. We blog several times a week on all topics relating to romantic suspense and mystery, our writing, and our readers. We welcome all comments and often have guest bloggers. All our authors can be contacted separately, too, using their own social media links.

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Julie Moffet . Clare London . Cathy Perkins . Jean Harrington . Daryl Anderson . Nico Rosso . Maureen A. Miller . Sandy Parks . Lisa Q Mathews . Sharon Calvin . Lynne Connolly . Janis Patterson

Thursday, April 7, 2016

April is National Poetry Month.

I know nothing about poetry. Except what speaks to me. When I open a book of poems I can honestly get lost in them. I marvel at the author’s ability to tell me a story in a few lines. To draw me in and make me feel. I’m sharing a few.

Impromptu - To Kate Carol - Poem by Edgar Allan Poe
When from your gems of thought I turn 
To those pure orbs, your heart to learn, 
I scarce know which to prize most high — 
The bright i-dea, or the bright dear-eye. 


Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Oh, the Places You'll Go! By Dr. Suess
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
Any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

The Toucan by Shel Silverstein
Tell me who can
Catch a toucan?
Lou can.

Just how few can
Ride the toucan?
Two can.

What kind of goo can
Stick you to the toucan?
Glue can.

Who can write some
More about the toucan?
You can!

An Irish Poem
Death leaves a heartache
No one can heal
Love leaves a memory
No one can steal   
~Unknown

Unknown Author
Greasy grimy gopher guts.
Mutilated monkey meat
Little dirty birdies feet
And I forgot my spoon.
 ~Unknown because who would admit to writing this?

Do you have favorite poems? Please share.



6 comments:

Anne Marie Becker said...

Love those. I confess I'm not much into poetry, either, but there are definitely stanzas that speak to me. I pay more attention to lyrics in songs, too, for the same reason...

Marcelle Dubé said...

These are fun--thanks, Rita. Now here's one that once read, I could never erase from my mind:

YOU FIT INTO ME by Margaret Atwood

You fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

Rita said...

Anne I consider music poetry. Well, not all of it. ;-)

Rita said...

O.o. Marcelle that is tooo good. Making a note of this one.

jean harrington said...

I love your first line, Rita: "I know nothing of poetry. Except what speaks to me." That's so very lyrical. And so is "An Irish Poem." Thanks, I enjoyed your musing.

Rita said...

Thanks Jean. In the many forms of poetry we can always fine something to touch us.

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