“…a strange road and we’re learning…”…”Wonder,” my poem

“…a strange road and we’re learning…”…”Wonder,” my poem

no victory, but only ending…

 

 

Wonder

 

We’re on a strange road,

there is no straight ahead

   on this strange road,

there are turnings

   we have never seen,

we’re not in a race

   but there is a finish line,

we’re doing it together,

one leg each in the sack,

no turning back,

no victory

   but only ending,

this is a way

   we’ve always imagined

      but never known,

this is a strange road

   and we’re learning

      as we go along,

we take new steps

   and wonder as we wander along…

 

December 18, 2021

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2023 All rights reserved.

 

Book review:

American Scripture:

Making the Declaration of Independence

…basically, this is trash talk to King George

by Pauline Maier

click here

As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your candid comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

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a sky high view…”Bird brain,” my poem

a sky high view…”Bird brain,” my poem

…when “far away” means “down”

 

 

Bird brain

 

Her world gets bigger as she rises.

 

Does that robin know that she’s flying?

Does the creature know

   that flight once was not foreseeable?

Does she dream a fantasy

   about walking around the track?

Does she give up on the dream,

thinking “these skinny legs will never make it?”

Does avian awe intrude

   in her vista when she’s airborne?

What’s it like when

   “far away” means “down”?

Does she wonder what “falling” means?

Can she imagine a world

   in which “flapping” and “useless”

      do not have joint meaning?

Does she hide a smile

   when she comforts the chick

      who hesitates to make the first jump?

 

May 24, 2023

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2023 All rights reserved.

As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Chipmunk talk…

Chipmunk talk…

he stares at me, no fear…

 

 

Busy

 

The chippie halts on the second step.

I’ve seen him there, he will not stay,

his hole is close, he will not stray,

he skips across my little yard

   but not too far.

 

I want to ask him, just this once,

if he’d like to scout a cozy place

   he’s never seen,

he stares at me, no fear,

I’d like a little chat, I think,

I’d like to hear his thoughts,

but I can see

   he has no time to talk.

 

October 23, 2019

Inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s “Following Mr. Berry’s Instructions,”

published October 23, 2019, on her website, A Hundred Falling Veils

 

“You have to be able to imagine lives that aren’t yours.”

Wendell Berry

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2023 All rights reserved.

 

84, Charing Cross Road (book review)

Helene Hanff, on reading good books…

click here

As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

*   *   *   *   *   *

“I forgot to get a card…”…a love poem

“I forgot to get a card…”…a love poem

a short time to be in love…

 

 

I forgot to get a card…

 

It’s not about the candles and the cake,

it’s not about singing

   the same old song anymore,

it’s not about the date anymore,

not an event,

not a stopping place—

it’s another reminder that a year

   is a long time to live,

and a short time to be in love,

it’s a marker on the trail,

and the trail is rising,

and the mountains are behind us,

and the oceans, yes, and many mysteries…

 

Just ahead, the path turns again, as always,

and we do not see much of the morrow,

and naught of the waiting tomorrows,

but we see the coming of our latter days,

and we can sing yesterday’s songs

   at each new dawn,

and sing them again and again and again,

and add new words at each new sunset…

 

May 8, 2017

I confess, I didn’t forget to get a card—I couldn’t find a card that I wanted to give. You can guess whose birthday I was celebrating. I decided to write a birthday poem that doesn’t actually mention “birthday” and skips all the smarmy stuff and doesn’t bother with the “you’re only as old as you feel” stuff and the “omigawd, how many candles are on your cake?” stuff. A birthday is a day in our lives. We celebrate our lives together. Every day.

My poem “I forgot to get a card…” was published in my fifth collection of 53 poems, My first name was rain: A dreamery of poems. You can buy it on Amazon (paperback and Kindle), or get it free in Kindle Unlimited (search for “Richard Carl Subber”).

*   *   *   *   *   *

My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2023 All rights reserved.

 

A poet is a “maker”

…and it doesn’t have to rhyme…

click here

many waters: more poems with 53 free verse poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

*   *   *   *   *   *

“…the frosted flowing stream…” (“The water way,” poem)

“…the frosted flowing stream…” (“The water way,” poem)

…makes the fairy filigrees…

 

 

The water way

 

The vaulted glen preserves the cold calm,

enwraps the stillness,

enfolds the shrouded bowers,

hushes the tiny creatures

   that do not sleep,

and graces the febrile stream

   that ice cannot subdue,

the frosted flowing stream

   that falls from freckled rock

      to ledge to pool,

and foams awhile,

and pauses, turns,

and makes the fairy filigrees

   that hang in air,

and finds its familiar course

   in channels that defy

      the glaze of winter.

 

September 7, 2019

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My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2022 All rights reserved.

 

Book review: Shawshank Redemption

This is a world I do not want to know…

by Stephen King

click here

As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

 

Your comments are welcome—tell me what you’re thinking.

*   *   *   *   *   *

Book review: Saint Joan

Book review: Saint Joan

Shaw’s calm dissection

      of the myths…

 

 

Book review:

Saint Joan

 

by George Bernard Shaw

Baltimore, MD: Penguin Books, 1964

159 pages, with extended Preface by Shaw and Epilogue

 

I read Saint Joan as a high school kid in 1964. I don’t remember much about that reading, except that I never forgot these words that Shaw wrote for his Joan: “I cannot bear to be hurt.”

It always seemed to me that Jehanne d’Arc (c1412-1431) could be the symbol of an innocent, profoundly driven young woman who was victimized by events that made a sweep in history, yet had only personal inspiration for her.

Joan of arc drawing wikimedia 1429 Contemporaine_afb_jeanne_d_arc

Sketch of Joan from life, 1429

In France, Joan is familiar as “the maid.” Did “la pucelle d’Orléans” (the maid of Orleans) really see and hear the Archangel Michael, St. Margaret, and St. Catherine? Who knows? Was Jehanne a religious nutcase who made confession every day and liked to play soldier? Who knows? Did she inspire great and not-so-great men to do mighty and courageous things in the service of their masters and for the glory of France? She did.

 

 

 

Shaw’s lengthy Preface to his play is a calm dissection of the myths and reality of this young woman, a noble and pitiable mover-and-shaker who led French armies to victory and who was burned at the stake for heresy and for cross-dressing. In Saint Joan, Shaw has few kind words for the men who resisted, accepted, honored, used, betrayed, burned, and finally beatified a peasant girl from Domrémy-la-Pucelle in northeastern France.

The folks in her home town finally named the village for her in 1578. You could say it was the least they could do while they were waiting for the Catholic church to make her a saint in 1920.

 

Shaw’s sympathetic treatment of The Maid inspired me to write this poem:

 

la pucelle

 

Joan, Joan, Joan…

O, you trusted your dream,

you thought it was enough to heed your voices,

you thought that God was on your side

and nothing else mattered,

you risked your beautiful soul

to save France,

and you didn’t understand

that too many of the men wanted

to win something else,

you went to the fire believing

in an eternity of goodness,

and you never knew

how little of your dream was left

for the people who loved you.

 

October 22, 2018

Inspired by George Bernard Shaw’s Saint Joan

My poem “la pucelle” was published in my fourth collection of 55 poems, As with another eye: Poems of exactitude. You can buy it on Amazon (paperback and Kindle), or get it free in Kindle Unlimited (search for “Richard Carl Subber”)

*   *   *   *   *   *

Book review. My poetry. Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2018 All rights reserved.

 

As with another eye: Poems of exactitude with 55 free verse and haiku poems,
and the rest of my poetry books are for sale on Amazon (paperback and Kindle)
and free in Kindle Unlimited, search Amazon for “Richard Carl Subber”

*   *   *   *   *   *

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