Titanic Post

The Courage of Imperfection
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To a Nine-Inch Gun

February 17, 2007 By: Nicholson Category: Poetry No Comments →

Whether your shell hits the target or not,
Your cost is Five Hundred Dollars a Shot.
You thing of noise and flame and power,
We feed you a hundred barrels of flour
Each time you roar. Your flame is fed
With twenty thousand loaves of bread.
Silence! A million hungry men
Seek bread to fill their mouths again.

["To a Nine-Inch Gun", sent on a crumpled piece of paper to the New
York World by P.F. McCarthy, c.1915, with the author's address given
as Fourth Bench, City Hall Park - Daily Bleed]

Lifted from Sam Smith’s Progressive Review

My work

November 10, 2006 By: Nicholson Category: Uncategorized No Comments →

Messenger
by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird
——equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plumbs.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
——keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
——astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
——and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
——to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
——that we live forever.

Streams of Consciousness

August 05, 2006 By: Nicholson Category: Uncategorized No Comments →

I saw you coming from the Cape, way from Hyannis Port all the way,
When I got back it was like a dream come true.
I saw you coming from Cambridgeport with my poetry and jazz,
Knew you had the blues, saw you coming from across the river,
Told you on the banks of the river, carried you across,
Loved you there and then, and now like a sheep,
I close my eyes and sleep for love comes flowing streams of consciousness.
Soft like snow, to and fro,
Let us go there together, darlin’, way from the river to here and now,
And carry it with a smile, bumper to bumper.
Stepping lightly, just like a ballerina.
~Van Morrison - Astral Weeks

About Flies

August 05, 2006 By: Nicholson Category: Uncategorized No Comments →

The Fly

Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush’d away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink and sing
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength and breath;
And the want
of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

~ William Blake

The Fly

God in his wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.

~Ogden Nash

American Patriotism

July 24, 2006 By: Nicholson Category: Uncategorized 1 Comment →

“Power and Glory”

Come and take a walk with me through this green and growing land
Walk through the meadows and the mountains and the sand
Walk through the valleys and the rivers and the plains
Walk through the sun and walk through the rain

This is a land full of power and glory
Beauty that words cannot recall
Oh her power shall rest on the strength of her freedom
Her glory shall rest on us all

From Colorado, Kansas, and the Carolinas too
Virginia and Alaska, from the old to the new
Texas and Ohio and the California shore
Tell me, who could ask for more

Yet she’s only as rich as the poorest of her poor
Only as free as the padlocked prison door
Only as strong as our love for this land
Only as tall as we stand

~ Phil Ochs

Words

June 24, 2006 By: Nicholson Category: Uncategorized No Comments →

by Anonymous

This poem seems to give my essay “Be Afraid” from June 23rd a bit of balance.

Words have changed in recent times,
Changed to jive with modern rhymes.

Where once they seemed to clarify,
They now our reason do defy.

Our great institutions see fit to commission
Their dark interests without our permission.

Using the science of public relations,
They want to avoid alarming sensations.

When faced with large profit,
They’ll think of their market.

Good for our health is toxic sludge;
From dissenting positions, they will not budge.

Silicon chests enlarge our esteem,
No danger of seepage says academe.

Do not fear mad cow disease,
It won’t happen here, if you please.

So go back to sleep dear reader of mine.
The market is purring and all will be fine.

Still don’t know who wrote this. I found this poem written on a piece of paper inserted in a library book.  If anyone knows the name of the author, please let me know, and if you publish this poem, please link back to this site. Thank you.

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