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Poems of Love
Poems For Life
Poems to Inspire
Poems of Passion
Poems of Beauty
Poems to Ponder
CRACK COCAINE
Poetry by Dina
Poetry by Dina 2
Samuel A Southworth
Dave Barsby
Dave Barsby 2
Mike Billington
Sonja Blundell
Sonja Blundell at 14
Anna Danilewicz
John Force
Patricia Fowler
Sharon Frost
Sharon Frost 2
Patricia V Hollander
Mary M Henderson
George W Knox
Patricia A Lackey
Duane Locke
LordThatsMeToday
Sylvia Lukeman
Benjamin A McDade
James
Christian by James
James on Family
Mike Diaz
Poetry by Deborah
Donald Ryburn
James Spencer
Nicole
Jessica
Rick
Links Now
Test Page
Apollo
New 2
New 3
New 4
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| Poetry! Yes! Now! |
| Samuel A. Southworth |
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  GRAVEYARD IN PAWTUCKAWAY  Slate-gray windows on the past that stand forgotten in the hollow endure the winter’s coldest blast and lead where none may follow. "We, the dead, lie here, sedate but restless when we feel the tread of passers-by who will not wait and drift away, over head— stay a moment, do not haste away to things, and sight and sound that will resolve themselves to waste and find a home underground— but trace the letters on the stone and ponder what it is to live; and feel inside your finger, bone, and take what quiet graves can give." Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth June, 2001 SASouth@aol.com WHAT THE MUSES SAID What does a poet know? Little enough, in terms of the world. Just how to light a spark in the heart of a person in pain who must remain, there, amongst trees with romantic names— But not how to stop the silly world spinning except on a lark that forbids the winning of the old soul whose courage contains the will to keep living, the laughter in heart that passes our fears and casts a full net that never forgets. Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth April, 2000 SASouth@aol.com IN MARCH In March the winds contained A voice whose tremors took On the trappings of a chain Stretched across the frozen brook. Can these flying days nudge The meadow back to green? Or should the secret ways Tread the path to grace unseen? These links were made to break— And renew themselves again When rivers choose to take That passage without end. A word was spoken—in the dark We cast for it in vain . . . But Lord forbid a savage spark Its gentle light explain. Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth SASouth@aol.com, March, 2000 SCHOODIC POINT They walked on the rocks as the summer expired and talked of the whims of the ocean before them. “I’ve heard that a wave can suddenly surge up and sweep away all before settling back.” "Out of a calm sea?” “Yes; out of nowhere.” “But how can that happen?” “I’m sure I don’t know.” Then they fell silent until she chanced to whistle and a wave surged up and swept them away. A lobster boat churning a mile or so out found their soaked bodies a half hour later. Is it better not to know? Or, knowing, not to speak? Or, knowing and speaking, to simply not whistle? Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth (Item in the NY Times, Sept. 21, 1999) SASouth@aol.com FLAGS ON A PHANTOM SHIP They say there comes a time to every sailing boat when buoyancy declines and t'will no longer float But experience has taught me in lessons stern and grave that in a person's memory some flags will always wave For neither that stiff running tide nor rocks that aren't on charts can wreck a builder's wooden pride or split a dream in parts What man has joined with wooden pegs and sent down hopeful ways can never lose the long sea legs of turquoise ocean days All that cruising counts for much in fathoms all unknown and in a captain's gentle touch the spirit will have grown Beyond what you find overhead or down unto the keel or tapping on the old bulkhead to try to get a feel- Rap no more, it wearies me you will not find the cost when something sinks into the sea and every hand is lost But it lingers in old pictures as old men reminisce as sail holds wind in strictures although the ship be missed The quiet wharves still tell the tale though the ocean shows no track- but every ship that ever sailed still sends some signal back. Dedicated to my friends on HMS Rose May, 1998 Samuel A. Southworth © 1998 SASouth@AOL.COM SNOW ON FATHER DUFFY (On hearing some talk that the statue of Father Duffy is to be moved) His trenchcoat has weathered these past eighty years and his tin hat is off, respectfully held; in the center of New York he stands and he peers as Broadway and Seventh uneasily meld. It’s been a long ways, and quite a long time and the years have rolled by like an odd game of chance, but once he marched off with the “Fighting Six Nine” and led them into the trenches of France. There were bayonet charges, and worlds in collision and endless barrages that broke a man’s mind, but the well-beloved padre of the Rainbow Division would pat the lads gently, and say “It’s just fine...” And “There, there, me boys, our turn will come,” or “Steady now, men, don’t give in to fear;” Then: “Have at them, Irish! See how they run!” It was over the top with a shout and a cheer. “The War to End Wars” concluded at last and home did they come much diminished in size, but now what they did has sunk into the past and the statue is seen by unseeing eyes. New York, don’t forget what is best in yourself! Nor the proud Sixty-Ninth nor their honor so bright; the city can sleep and think well of itself for sending that man of God off to fight. If there must be war, then grant us at least the will to go fight, or the will to resist— but give us each day a good tough old priest to help us decide, and help us persist. Father Duffy, dear man, I know why you’re there, I know why the people and men loved you so, and as I pass by, I still hear your prayer and follow your path in the new-fallen snow. Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth SASouth@aol.com, 12/16/99 MAGNETIC NORTH My heart it comes from the vast black north and the sky is my ownliest friend— it bid me to go when I first set forth to the truly world without end. My mind it comes from the mystical east and it always tells me to fly— There are souls that beg for their release and one of them is I. My moods they come from the wavering west and the utter resolve of the sun— with the plans that always work out best when the mystery is undone. My love she dwells in the coastal south and the sawgrass knows her name— but gentle kisses from such a mouth can keep me here none the same. SASouth@aol.com Samuel A. Southworth, © 1999 TO A FEW WOLVES IN GREENLAND Watch the sky all winter through and never sleep for long because your pup has offered up that terrible moon song That you can sing—no other knows and flashing eyes don't tell the awful price that's paid in ice by the King of Frozen Hell. The false dawn darkens—this the time and here the blasted place that sets the light to futile flight from the Lord of Winter's Chase— Wheeling patterns in the sky and among the starry band waxing wroth in the farthest north there are wolves upon the land. Samuel A. Southworth © 1999 SASouth@aol.com First published in Goddess of the Bay, March, 1999, Issue #6 For my dear friend Mr. Gwee DUSK AS A FRIEND Let me not now seek to hold the fairest day, gone to eve nor Love's brave voice, now grown cold nor hearts crying on a sleeve nor what the world may prepare in terms of a gasping end when we have done what we dare and lost ourselves or a friend to the Fates; the fairness lacks and would have us to complain but we instead turn our backs on bartering our soul's pain. Bear the weight, you chose the trail and laughed to think of the pay; we rode upon the comet's tail and never wasted a day. Samuel A. Southworth © 1999 SASouth@aol.com COLOR BLIND For Dina I We came then together, all was unknown and walked there—the hills in cloudy gray— Then went and dream’t that fully grown this true blue could rule from day to day. But yellow, he is a curious fellow when he harps and frets all unseen, and lays to waste what doesn’t lie fallow or simply turns into green. II Red is the old god, his powers forsook and a stumbling block in his eye, while purple remains the true royal look that can wave as it slowly rides by. And no matter the day or the sun be so bright that it will not let you look back— there's shadow and glare in the middle of white and a bright star that’s hidden in black. Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth February 5th, 2000 SASouth@aol.com TRAPPER NELSON'S BRIDE We all were stricken dumb And our tongues became quite still When he came in at a run From the frozen quiet hills, And said "Boys, I’m in love With the most amazing filly; It’s Cupid’s turtledove That has struck my heart so silly! But she suits a trapper’s needs And she fends well for herself; It’s a wonder when she feeds From the floor or off the shelf… But the light of love is there And I won’t be second-guessed; Now come on and play fair— Who will be my wedding guests?" We hemmed and hawed a bit But he was a favored son So we just stood up to it And said we’d all have fun. And didn’t he look dashing! With his beard all neatly trimmed And his Hawkins rifle flashing In his buckskins looking slim. And yes the bride was pretty She’d got up in white and lace She wasn’t from no city— And then we saw her face… They rode off side by side In the forests lush and green Trapper Nelson and his bride— Who was a pretty wolverine! There’s things no man can know And tales he can’t relate But the star of any show Is an unexpected mate. So here’s to love and kissing And the wonders of the heart— You don’t know what you’re missing ‘Til you’ve felt the fat boy’s dart. Love is most irregular But feels what must be felt; Beneath a lucky star, Beside a lucky pelt… Cheers to every one of you And to her and him— The skies are turning blue And I’m off over the Rim! Copyright © Samuel A. Southworth March, 2000 SASouth@aol.com POETRY REVIEW "Then we have the works of Samuel A. Southworth, a poet, writer, outdoorsman and military historian from New York City. Using an astounding wealth of peculiar ideas and strange inspirations, and working mostly in traditional verse forms, here is an ancient soul working to make poetry say unexpected things. His poems remind me of an antique lifeboat compass I have on my shelf: they are about 5 inches square, solidly built, seem to come from one hundred years ago, and unerringly point due north. Highly recommended." Morgan O’Connor Literary Critic/New York World Press If you'd like to read more of Samuel A. Southworth's poetry as well as some of his essays and short stories please visit his website, Spirit of the Mountains at http://maxpages.com/spiritofmountn You will feel his love and enjoyment of the outdoors as you accompany him on some of his boating and wilderness trips. He also devotes a full page to a really excellent, well written and carefully thought out reading list, and also includes comprehensive gear lists for anyone interested in enjoying the wilderness as only he is capable of describing it. His website is truly a wonderful experience, one you will enjoy visiting, where you willl learn and mostly enjoy. I can guarantee you will have a truly pleasurable experience. I also would like to thank him for allowing me to publish a few of his beautiful poems on my site. I feel truly honored and grateful and would like to take this opportunity to thank him for his encouragement, support and inspiration. It was at his suggestion that I started this website which he also named. Thank you Sam. Copyrighted poetry may not be copied, reproduced or used in any way without the express written permission of the author. Thank you for visiting my website. Please visit often since new poetry such as those above, written by talented authors, is being added often - I bribe them. LOL Please vote for my pages by clicking on the little tab on the upper left hand side of any page of my site. I'd appreciate it if you'd sign my Guest Book so that I'll know you've been here. If you prefer, you may send me Email at KisSoSoft@aol.com with your comments, praise, suggestions or even constructive criticism. You may also write directly to any of the authors for whom an Email address has been provided. If you write poetry, have a friend who does or if you know a child who writes (there is a no rejection policy for children's poetry) please send it to me by Email and if I like it, I'll publish it on these pages. No attached files please. It would be helpful if you'd include PYN in the Subject Line of your Email. Thank you. Please visit my other poetry website, Lovin' Angel Creations at http://maxpages.com/lovinangel Thank you. |
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