A Rhythm Runs Through It has passed the 500 Follower Threshold!

500 Followers

I am a collector of many things of great value to me, and you, my lovely, gorgeous “Bloginistas” are at the top of the list! The fact that over 500 of you took a moment out of your valuable time to click “Follow” after visiting my humble blog, warms my heart, and makes me do the happy dance!

I would also like to express gratitude to my Visitors and “Likers”, for I truly appreciate all of you as well!

Thank you all so much!

:-D ;-) :-D

Jamy (A Rhythm Runs Through It)

My Latest New Favorite Poet: Kathleen Aguero

My latest new favorite poet is Kathleen Aguero. The below poem (from American Life in Poetry: Column 517) was one of the poems (based upon personal experience) that punched me, hard, in my emotional stomach. It’s just beautiful, and actually quite comforting, to think that those who left us are now in a place of sparkling, resplendent glamor, and peace.

Send Off

The dead are having a party without us.
They’ve left our worries behind.
What a bore we’ve become
with our resentment and sorrow,
like former lovers united
for once by our common complaints.
Meanwhile the dead, shedding pilled sweaters,
annoying habits, have become
glamorous Western celebrities
gone off to learn meditation.

We trudge home through snow
to a burst pipe,
broken furnace, looking
up at the sky where we imagine
they journey to wish them bon voyage,
waving till the jet on which they travel
first class is out of sight—
only the code of its vapor trail left behind.

My favorite lines are these (supporting my earlier view of the comfort of our passed loved ones being in an amazing place):

“Meanwhile the dead, shedding pilled sweaters,
annoying habits, have become
glamorous Western celebrities
gone off to learn meditation.”

I mean how BEAUTIFUL is “glamorous Western celebrities”??

The full article can be found by clicking here.

Enjoy! :-D

Jamy

My Latest New Favorite Poet: James Weldon Johnson

Greetings Bloginistas!

Here’s a quick post of a gorgeous poem by someone I had not yet heard of (a truly “New Favorite Poet” for ME, anyway) until reading this poem posted by one of my fave Bloginistas, Biblioklept.

“LIFE”

Out of the infinite sea of eternity
To climb, and for an instant stand
Upon an island speck of time.

From the impassible peace of the darkness
To wake, and blink at the garish light
Through one short hour of fretfulness.

This poem is so short, and absolutely crammed with meaning and philosophy. Even though it IS brief, I still have some favorite lines, solely for their musicality, not meaning (although like I mentioned before, EVERY LINE is meaningful):

“To climb, and for an instant stand
Upon an island speck of time.”

Just simply lovely.

Here’s a link to his bio, @ poets.org: James Weldon Johnson

Enjoy! Jamy :-D

My Latest New Favorite Poet: David Livewell

My latest new favorite poet is David Livewell. The below poem (from American Life in Poetry: Column 527) does an excellent job of writing an eloquent memoir for those individuals that so many take for granted (or ignore altogether, which turns my stomach, frankly).

I always make it a point to remember that in this world we are ALL equal, no matter our sexual orientation, race, religion, political party, or amount of money in the bank (SORRY Koch Brothers). There are many, many people who make sure that the world is a better place to live in, yet you can’t take any of their “seminars” or buy their books in the “self-help” section because they are the ones who make sure the chairs are placed, the carpet is vacuumed, and the coffee pots filled at those “seminars”.

Thank you, Mr. Livewell, for shining your poetic spotlight on the Everyday Heroes.

Custodians

Retired from other trades, they wore
Work clothes again to mop the johns
And feed the furnace loads of coal.
Their roughened faces matched the bronze

Of the school bell the nun would swing
To start the day. They limped but smiled,
Explored the secret, oldest nooks:
The steeple’s clock, dark attics piled

With inkwell desks, the caves beneath
The stage on Bingo night. The pastor
Bowed to the powers in their hands:
Fuses and fire alarms, the plaster

Smoothing a flaking wall, the keys
To countless locks. They fixed the lights
In the crawl space above the nave
And tolled the bells for funeral rites.

Maintain what dead men made. Time blurs
Their scripted names and well-waxed floors,
Those keepers winking through the years
And whistling down the corridors.

My favorite lines are these because they give the subjects an enigmatic, “Phantom of the Opera” quality that I find really cool:

“Explored the secret, oldest nooks:
The steeple’s clock, dark attics piled

With inkwell desks, the caves beneath
The stage on Bingo night. The pastor
Bowed to the powers in their hands”

The full article can be found by clicking here.

Enjoy! :-D

Jamy

Blessed Beltane (or May Day, if you prefer) Everyone!

I just wanted to run a quick post to wish everyone a very, very Happy Beltane.

The Lord and Lady wish you a Happy Beltane!

Here is the Wikipedia entry for Beltane, “Read More About It”! ;-)

Blessed Be!

Jamy :-D

“Bellfounding” (and Happy National Poetry Month!)

Hello Hello Hello Bloginistas!

I wrote this poem some time ago after having an argument with my partner and wanted to share it with you. It is written in iambic pentameter blank verse, for those of you “form nerds” out there. Enjoy! :-D

Oh and by the way, HAPPY NATIONAL POETRY MONTH 2015 (which is almost over, but AT LEAST I made it! ;-) )!!

national-poetry-month-banner

Bellfounding

I am forged into ire, my Paul Revere,
when you yell. An angrier bell than I
could have wrought with my emotion’s hammers.
Your alloy is pure, while mine is demure,
it doesn’t shine as bright or peal as loud.

A bell is a musical instrument,
a planned implement of percussion, and
you are Emperor of the Musicale,
I, a viola with a missing string.
No chance for mend, I am set on the wall,
not played, gathering derision like dust.

Once the clapper is placed and the yoke is
set, it is evident whose workmanship
is finer, I clearly lack the lathe to
refine my work. So my bell curve is heavy
and my pitch is imperfect while yours is
absolute, Mr. Boyle’s zero, but I
won’t gain a thing by participation.

The bellfounding is complete, and it’s time
to test our work. Before the first ring though,
the process quickly becomes a faded
memory and all is forgotten. They
are cardboard, these bells, cutouts to put on
a schoolroom wall, there to represent the
founding of America, put up with scotch
tape, a small reminder, but one that won’t
last (but the outline will be there forever).

© Jamy Sweet 2011-04-13

Here is the Wikipedia entry on Bellfounding, in case you: A. wanted to know more about the fascinating history and process, or, B. thought I misspelled it (like every spellchecker available) for the sake of “poetic license”, ha HA!!

And a link about National Poetry Month:
@ poets.org

Jamy :-D

“Flirtation” by Rita Dove

Greetings Bloginistas!

Here’s a quick post of a gorgeous poem by one of the modern queens of poetry (and a personal idol), Rita Dove.

“Flirtation”

After all, there’s no need
to say anything

at first. An orange, peeled
and quartered, flares

like a tulip on a wedgewood plate
Anything can happen.

Outside the sun
has rolled up her rugs

and night strewn salt
across the sky. My heart

is humming a tune
I haven’t heard in years!

Quiet’s cool flesh—
let’s sniff and eat it.

There are ways
to make of the moment

a topiary
so the pleasure’s in

walking through.

Rita Dove, “Flirtation” from Museum (Pittsburgh: Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1983). Copyright © 1983 by Rita Dove

I would, as I usually do, share some of my favorite lines, but the entire thing is pretty damn perfect, so, in the words of Miranda Priestly:

That's All

Jamy :-D