  Poetry
This week: Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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| This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done. Stormy Lady |
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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; 5
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, 10
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. 15
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. 20
Robert Frost was born in San Francisco in 1874. He lived with his parents and sister until his fathers death when he was eleven. His mother then moved him and his sister to Massachusetts to be closer to their grandparents. Frost graduated valedictorian from Lawrence High School. From high school he entered Dartmouth College but stayed less than one term. Frost returned home to teach and do odd jobs for the next couple of years. On November 8, 1894, "My Butterfly," was published in the New York newspaper The Independent. Frost married his high school classmate, Elinor Miriam White later that same year.
For the next few years Frost taught school. He entered Harvard in the fall of 1897, where he did well in his studies, until his health made him return home. Frost moved his wife and two young sons to a farm in Massachusetts in October of 1900. He spent the next nine years writing poems that would become his first published volumes. Frost's fame did not take off and he was back to teaching by 1906. Two of Frost poems 'The Tuft of Flowers' and 'The Trial by Existence', were published that same year. Frost and his wife had six children, two of which had passed away shortly after birth.
In 1912 Frost moved his family to London. In London Frost made acquaintances in the literary world. Edward Thomas would be the most important friend Frost would make in London. Thomas wrote reviews for Frost first two books Boy's Will and North of Boston. Frost moved his family to Gloucestershire to be closer to him new friends and to experience country living. In 1915 Frost moved his family back to America because of England's entry into the First World War.
Back in America Frost's third volume of verse, Mountain Interval, was published in 1916. He greatest poems were published that year, The Road Not Taken,’ ‘An Old Man's Winter Night,' 'The Oven Bird,’ ‘Birches,’ ‘Putting in the Seed,' and 'Out, Out—‘. Frost had finally established himself as an American poet. In 1924 Frost won his first of four Pulitzer Prize for his fourth book, New Hampshire. He also won a Pulitzer Prize for A Further Range. Frost poetry changed in his later years, after a horrible series of events in his life. His youngest daughter died a slow death after contracting puerperal fever in 1934. His wife, Elinor died suddenly of a heart attack in 1938. Then one of his son committed suicide in 1940. Then another one of Frosts daughters had to be institutionalized she suffered from mental disorders. Several poems in A Witness Tree seem to echo the family tragedies Frost endured over the last ten years; 'The Silken Tent', 'I Could Give All to Time', 'Never Again Would Birds' Song Be the Same', and 'The Most of It.'
In 1947 Frost published Steeple Bush, which contained one of Frost major poem 'Directive'. Frost returned to England in 1957 to receive honorary degrees from Oxford and Cambridge. Frost's last reading was given to a large audience in Boston in December 1962. The following day he went into hospital for a prostate operation and suffered a severe heart attack while convalescing, then an embolisms killed him on January 29, 1963.
Nothing Gold Can Stay
by Robert Lee Frost
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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Shanty town tin roofs,
rusty, blackened,
submerged
and silent.
Thick chain, thin dog,
trapped, starving,
barking at the
ripples,
the waves
of a broken
Cajun music beat,
resurgent,
defiant,
happy.
Laughter
is medicine,
comfort food
for an unknown future,
unseen hope
racing through
empty streets,
rekindling
the twinkle
of Bourbon Street,
with the light
of a yellow
New Orleans
moon.
No streetlights create the false twinkle of stars.
Unseen black clouds are racing past a broken moon.
Nothing here except the music of an out-of-tune six string,
accompanied by the mournful blues of a stray dog barking.
Unseen black clouds are racing past a broken moon,
I hunger for a long forgotten warm meal and clean bed,
a friendly smile, or compassion in a strangers face.
Splash of boots and ripple of water against buildings.
Nothing here except the music of an out-of-tune-six string
played by crippled fingers that know the meaning of blues.
I stop, tears in my eye to think the music may never return
to the bawdy clubs and strip joints on Bourbon Street.
Accompanied by the mournful blues of a stray dog barking,
I push on, toward the French Quarter and Jackson Square,
Newspaper headlines talk of rebuilding and government aid,
while I think of finding food and a place to sleep .
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These are the rules:
1)You must use the words I give in a poem.
2)They can be in any order and anywhere throughout the poem.
3)All entries must be posted in your portfolio and you must post the link in this forum "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] by November 4, 2005.
4)The winner will get 3000 gift points and the poem will be displayed in this section of the newsletter the next time it is my turn to post. (November 9, 2005)
The words are:
craddle hopeful sweet blue change shine photo ring
 Good luck to all
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Submitted By:scribbler 
Submitted Comment:
thank you so much fo featuring Robert Louis Stevenson. His writing is forever classic and to a level all wishful writers can only hope to one day achieve.
Submitted By: billwilcox
Submitted Comment:
Stormy,
Just another outstanding newsletter. RLS was more of a writer than I had imagined. I will dig out his works and take a much needed refresher course with him.
Submitted By:
Submitted Comment:
Just wanted to say 'Thank you' for including my poem "In the Meadow" in this poetry newsletter.
That means a lot to me to be included with my friends and comrades here, at writing.com. Love, pioneer1
Your welcome and Thank you all for your feedback!
Stormy |
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Poetry: October 12, 2005 Issue [#634]
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