|
Post by juxtaposer on Aug 12, 2016 22:12:40 GMT
On the defunct official Proboards forum there was a thread for poetry with the above name, that I occasionally contributed to. It wasn't started by me, but I take the liberty of continuing it here. This poem is a tribute to someone I admire who, despite difficult and challenging circumstances, has done so much for her family and, as a consequence, for us all.
For the Mother of the Goddess
As the stars ignited one after another
Watching over all was the goddess's mother:
Pardon my poem if you think me immodest
But these lines I declare for the mother of the goddess.
By ancient oaths it is solemnly sworn
That goddesses are, from the time they’re born,
Fed on miracles of one kind or other
Divinely inspired by the goddess’s mother.
Love in the heart that will never falter,
Nourishment placed on the family altar,
Kisses and kindnesses accruing –
It's all the mother of the goddess’s doing.
Two cats and a lizard, a crayfish, three frogs,
Three ducks, a guinea pig, four crazy dogs
And four sacred children crying in need –
That’s a lot for a goddess’s mother to feed.
Let the cherubim and seraphim all close ranks
Around the mother of the goddess and offer her thanks
For the love in her heart and soul that she
Gives to them unconditionally.
|
|
|
Post by juxtaposer on Aug 12, 2016 23:45:46 GMT
Another habit I had was to post a moon song after each poem, because that's from whence it all came.
|
|
|
Post by juxtaposer on Sept 3, 2016 23:49:13 GMT
Jackie’s Voice is Music
I have heard so many sounds over the years
That jar my mind and play to my darkest fears,
But Jackie’s voice is music to my ears.
In a world going haywire day by day
Throwing everything that is beautiful away,
Jackie’s is the music that I play.
Jackie’s voice is music: it is a heavenly thing
Shining like a thousand suns on the open fields of spring
That bloom forever in my imagining.
And every song she sings is a delight:
Be it from the silver screen, music of the night
Or one made to dream, she sings it right.
And when I hear her voice the storm cloud clears,
The sun bursts through and the magic reappears:
Jackie’s voice is music, music to my ears.
|
|
|
Post by juxtaposer on Sept 4, 2016 21:59:05 GMT
What light through yon window breaks? - another shaft of moonlight.
|
|
robinb
Junior Member
Posts: 81
|
Post by robinb on Sept 5, 2016 12:09:15 GMT
What light through yon window breaks?
|
|
|
Post by Beachguy on Sept 5, 2016 12:19:26 GMT
What light through yon window breaks? robinb is no poet ...an he know it
|
|
jamesn
Junior Member
Posts: 99
|
Post by jamesn on Sept 6, 2016 18:52:25 GMT
robinb is no poet ...an he know it But do his feet show it?? (Are they not Longfellows?)
|
|
|
Post by Beachguy on Sept 7, 2016 18:26:20 GMT
robinb is no poet ...an he know it But do his feet show it?? (Are they not Longfellows?) who knows , but perhaps one needs to break the glass to see the light
|
|
robinb
Junior Member
Posts: 81
|
Post by robinb on Sept 19, 2016 9:23:19 GMT
Apocalypse by Robin D. Bermanseder
The children were smiling, which was nice to see. It was a long walk, but worth it. We would hear real good music, for the first time in a long time. Better than we could make in the village. I carried two loaves of bread. One to pay for the music, and one for us to eat on the way home.
Avoiding the bad villages took some extra time, but with the children... I carried a pike, strapped to my good thigh, just in case. It was risky, but it might be years before she came this way again, and we needed some entertainment. Entertainment? Wrong word. It was more an aching need. A remembrance of better times. And a break from the endless farming and crafting.
We got to the meeting place, about seven miles north of the village, an old quarry used for important meetings. Rock doesn't burn. There was a donkey tied to a tree, and the three music makers. A mutant boy with an old violin (all violins were old now - nobody left knew how to make them) And an old lady with a harp. And the Jackie.
The Jackie had no hair, but neither did most of us. None of the olders care, and the young (those born after the burning) just don't notice. Half of her face was melted, but half was untouched, leaving enough beauty that you could remember what human beauty is. She was a lot better off than many of us.
So we took our places and waited for the show.
She was good. Real good. Better even than they said. Her voice was like a long slow journey over notes, like a graceful swan (remember those?), and seemed like a mirror for the words and the stories. Different to the easy computer voices we got used to in the old days.
"Your love has made me strong.."
Everyone was real quiet. Especially the children, which was rare. They were right. There was real healing in that voice.
"Your voice still echoes in my heart"
I remembered my wife Lucy, her soft but cheeky voice. Gone now except for the echoes. How we used to sit together and talk, holding hands. Before the madman, the new President, started the war that ended the old world.
"They have their seasons, so do we" "promise me that sometimes You will think of me"
At one time she smiled at me. At least her good eye smiled. There was something special in that half smile, like she was still singing but without the sound, somehow saying things will be all right. Sad but peaceful at the same time.
I left both loaves for the Jackie. She had made me feel things I had almost forgotten. It was a fair deal.
|
|
|
Post by juxtaposer on Feb 8, 2017 1:38:55 GMT
Dreaming with Her
I know a singer, and when I hear her sing I can’t imagine any more beautiful a thing Than to hear her pour her heart into every golden note, With all the tones of amber and honey in her throat Blending in a richness of melodies that flow In harmony with autumn, or summer’s evening glow, Or shining like a moonbeam, or a sudden ray Of sunshine reappearing on a rainy day Colouring the sky, with a canopy of blue Painted as the background for every rainbow hue.
And listening, I am hearing so many things in turn That take me to the windows of those for which I yearn: A loved one in the twilight calling from afar, A promise of forgiveness, a wish upon a star, A hope forever burning, a kiss from ruby lips, Visions of a face that could launch a thousand ships, Strands of silver starlight glinting in the gloom Woven into music upon her silken loom Embroidering a magic within my mind to stir My pure imagination into dreaming with her.
When over the horizon clouds begin to spread So darkly I am failing to see my way ahead Beyond the looming shadows that cause me to despair: When the little boat I’m sailing is dashed beyond repair I could wish for nothing greater than for her to never stop Singing beneath a rainbow, or somewhere over the top Following the blue birds wherever they may go, Stepping on the stardust, ready with her bow, Aiming for the magic with all the hunter’s art, Her quiver full of arrows that penetrate the heart.
|
|
|
Post by Beachguy on Feb 8, 2017 19:57:10 GMT
Dreaming with Her
I know a singer, and when I hear her sing I can’t imagine any more beautiful a thing Than to hear her pour her heart into every golden note, With all the tones of amber and honey in her throat Blending in a richness of melodies that flow In harmony with autumn, or summer’s evening glow, Or shining like a moonbeam, or a sudden ray Of sunshine reappearing on a rainy day Colouring the sky, with a canopy of blue Painted as the background for every rainbow hue.
And listening, I am hearing so many things in turn That take me to the windows of those for which I yearn: A loved one in the twilight calling from afar, A promise of forgiveness, a wish upon a star, A hope forever burning, a kiss from ruby lips, Visions of a face that could launch a thousand ships, Strands of silver starlight glinting in the gloom Woven into music upon her silken loom Embroidering a magic within my mind to stir My pure imagination into dreaming with her.
When over the horizon clouds begin to spread So darkly I am failing to see my way ahead Beyond the looming shadows that cause me to despair: When the little boat I’m sailing is dashed beyond repair I could wish for nothing greater than for her to never stop Singing beneath a rainbow, or somewhere over the top Following the blue birds wherever they may go, Stepping on the stardust, ready with her bow, Aiming for the magic with all the hunter’s art, Her quiver full of arrows that penetrate the heart.
Thanks tiger as this makes a forum better ... that takes much time and much care and perhaps makes you feel better .
|
|
|
Post by Beachguy on Feb 8, 2017 20:07:55 GMT
Apocalypse by Robin D. Bermanseder The children were smiling, which was nice to see. It was a long walk, but worth it. We would hear real good music, for the first time in a long time. Better than we could make in the village. I carried two loaves of bread. One to pay for the music, and one for us to eat on the way home. Avoiding the bad villages took some extra time, but with the children... I carried a pike, strapped to my good thigh, just in case. It was risky, but it might be years before she came this way again, and we needed some entertainment. Entertainment? Wrong word. It was more an aching need. A remembrance of better times. And a break from the endless farming and crafting. We got to the meeting place, about seven miles north of the village, an old quarry used for important meetings. Rock doesn't burn. There was a donkey tied to a tree, and the three music makers. A mutant boy with an old violin (all violins were old now - nobody left knew how to make them) And an old lady with a harp. And the Jackie. The Jackie had no hair, but neither did most of us. None of the olders care, and the young (those born after the burning) just don't notice. Half of her face was melted, but half was untouched, leaving enough beauty that you could remember what human beauty is. She was a lot better off than many of us. So we took our places and waited for the show. She was good. Real good. Better even than they said. Her voice was like a long slow journey over notes, like a graceful swan (remember those?), and seemed like a mirror for the words and the stories. Different to the easy computer voices we got used to in the old days. "Your love has made me strong.." Everyone was real quiet. Especially the children, which was rare. They were right. There was real healing in that voice. "Your voice still echoes in my heart" I remembered my wife Lucy, her soft but cheeky voice. Gone now except for the echoes. How we used to sit together and talk, holding hands. Before the madman, the new President, started the war that ended the old world. "They have their seasons, so do we" "promise me that sometimes You will think of me" At one time she smiled at me. At least her good eye smiled. There was something special in that half smile, like she was still singing but without the sound, somehow saying things will be all right. Sad but peaceful at the same time. I left both loaves for the Jackie. She had made me feel things I had almost forgotten. It was a fair deal. One thing i know as a aka Skyhawk this robin knows as much as any man on where Jackie is in the world of social media and forums , many forums have come and gone as he knows this and now she is between two hard rocks , she lose , she win but where is the future , what madman started a war ? we have had a few here in the usa and no war will end the world no matter how many bombs drop , it is not logic but a scare , no fear robin we here do not bann for personal reasons as your forum , we are more adult like
|
|
robinb
Junior Member
Posts: 81
|
Post by robinb on Feb 9, 2017 0:48:03 GMT
Hi Beachguy, I flit like a butterfly between the forums, and propagate the good news while downplaying the bad. I do not join in the political discussions, or promote banning. There is a wide but thin ecosystem of Jackie fans, with many colourful and sometimes annoying characters. Inevitably, strained relationships appear between various pairs of fans, maybe fanned by the passions that Jackie's music evokes. Jackie's fans are, I think, more emotional and passionate than the general population. Some are hurt and find comfort. The downside is that when such fans feel slighted or rejected, they can turn to the dark side. But some come back. It is a unique fandom, unlike any other that I know of.
What the future holds for Jackie's career - who knows, but I remain convinced that she has something rare and worthwhile, and worth encouraging, promoting and supporting.
I know of many conflicts between various good fans, but I think that is inevitable in the unique context described above. For me, and I hope for all true fans, all actions taken and every word uttered should be first in support of Jackie, and only second in succour of our individual and frail egos.
Since your 'exclusion' from that forum is symbolic only (other accounts exist), why not spend your creativity on making good posts on the many channels around the ecosystem? I enjoy many of your unique insights and viewpoints, they should be (and are) a part of Jackie's fandom. But don't expect to be appreciated by everybody. We are all individuals, with our own world views and biases and flaws.
There is hopefulness in realising that Jackie has brought together thousands who would never have met otherwise. We are just drops in the ocean.
|
|
|
Post by juxtaposer on Feb 9, 2017 5:16:28 GMT
Dreaming with Her
I know a singer, and when I hear her sing I can’t imagine any more beautiful a thing Than to hear her pour her heart into every golden note, With all the tones of amber and honey in her throat Blending in a richness of melodies that flow In harmony with autumn, or summer’s evening glow, Or shining like a moonbeam, or a sudden ray Of sunshine reappearing on a rainy day Colouring the sky, with a canopy of blue Painted as the background for every rainbow hue.
And listening, I am hearing so many things in turn That take me to the windows of those for which I yearn: A loved one in the twilight calling from afar, A promise of forgiveness, a wish upon a star, A hope forever burning, a kiss from ruby lips, Visions of a face that could launch a thousand ships, Strands of silver starlight glinting in the gloom Woven into music upon her silken loom Embroidering a magic within my mind to stir My pure imagination into dreaming with her.
When over the horizon clouds begin to spread So darkly I am failing to see my way ahead Beyond the looming shadows that cause me to despair: When the little boat I’m sailing is dashed beyond repair I could wish for nothing greater than for her to never stop Singing beneath a rainbow, or somewhere over the top Following the blue birds wherever they may go, Stepping on the stardust, ready with her bow, Aiming for the magic with all the hunter’s art, Her quiver full of arrows that penetrate the heart.
Thanks tiger as this makes a forum better ... that takes much time and much care and perhaps makes you feel better . Thanks, and right on all counts, BG. (took me a while, but I even managed to find a place for the phrase, "over the top" in it).
|
|
|
Post by Beachguy on Feb 9, 2017 15:19:11 GMT
Thanks tiger as this makes a forum better ... that takes much time and much care and perhaps makes you feel better . Thanks, and right on all counts, BG. (took me a while, but I even managed to find a place for the phrase, "over the top" in it). And i see wish upon a star also , i don't have the patience to do this as i write as i write , haha , i mean what ever comes into my mind i type and that is why so many mispells and go off there and here as some call inconceivable or incoherent
|
|