Tag Archives: poets

Would You Like To Do A Guest Post?

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I am very happy to publish guest posts and have published several, on a variety of topics since the inception of newauthoronline.com. If you would like to submit a guest post please contact me at newauthoronline (at) gmail dot com, (the address is given in this way to defeat spammers).

Posts could include introducing yourself as an author, writing about one of your passions or a short story and/or poem. I am, of course interested in hearing from anyone with a love of books. What is your favourite genre? Or perhaps you would like to review a favourite book? I look forward to hearing from you.

 

Kevin

The Reverie – A New Poetry Journal

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Thank you to Laura A Lord for her guest post announcing the launch of a new poetry journal, The Reverie. Good luck to Laura with her project and do please check out her site.

 

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The Reverie is a poetic publication that features submitted original work in a biannual journal. A themed anthology is published once a year.

Which is a fancy way of saying, we are looking for your work! We will be hosting weekly prompts here to get the creative juices flowing, but during our reading periods you are welcome to submit work to us for potential publication.

Please check out our Prompts Page and our Submission Guidelines for information on both of these options.

Visit our anthology page for information on submitting for this year’s theme.

What are we looking for?

We are looking for poetry that is real, brutal, honest. We want the words you are afraid to speak out-loud. We want strong voices that cut through to the heart of the matter at hand. We want to step away from your poetry feeling a little raw. We want words that awaken emotion.

Check out our About page for more info!

 

 

Laura A. Lord

historyofawoman.com

thereveriejournal.wordpress.com

 

 

National Poetry Day Thursday 2 October

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Thursday 2 October is National Poetry Day. I was reminded of this fact by an e-mail from the Poetry Society on 18 September. The Society plans a number of interesting events which you can access here, http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/content/info/npd/.

I have been a member of the Society for many years now but, to my shame have only attended one event at their headquarters in London’s Covent Garden. This time around I will be sure to attend at least one event!

In honour of the forthcoming National Poetry Day I have included below one of my favourite poems, Ernest Dowson’s April Love:

 

“We have walked in Love’s land a little way,

We have learnt his lesson a little while,

And shall we not part at the end of day,

With a sigh, a smile?

A little while in the shine of the sun,

We were twined together, joined lips, forgot

How the shadows fall when the day is done,

And when Love is not.

We have made no vows–there will none be broke,

Our love was free as the wind on the hill,

There was no word said we need wish unspoke,

We have wrought no ill.

So shall we not part at the end of day,

Who have loved and lingered a little while,

Join lips for the last time, go our way,

With a sigh, a smile?” (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/242548).

Ode On Melancholy By John Keats

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No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
But when the melancholy fit shall fall
Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
She dwells with Beauty—Beauty that must die;
And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
Ay, in the very temple of Delight
Veil’d Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
Can burst Joy’s grape against his palate fine;
His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

Matilda By Hilaire Beloc

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I first came across Beloc’s poem while browsing through a book of poetry in the school library. I think that I first read “Matilda” in the Oxford Book Of English Verse, although it may have been another anthology. The endings of Beloc’s characters are often grizly as in the below poem and in Henry King who, it will be remembered expired as a consequence of eating string. Grizly though they undoubtedly are, we smile none the less at Beloc’s verses.

 

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Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

It made one Gasp and Stretch one’s Eyes;

Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,

Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,

Attempted to believe Matilda:

The effort very nearly killed her,

And would have done so, had not she

Discovered this Infirmity.

For once, towards the Close of Day,

Matilda, growing tired of play,

And finding she was left to alone,

Went tiptoe to the telephone

And summoned the Immediate Aid

Of London’s Nobel Fire-Brigade.

Within an hour the Gallant Band

Were pouring in on every hand,

From Putney, Hackney Downs and Bow,

With Courage high and Hearts a-glow

They galloped, roaring though the Town,

“Matilda’s House is Burning Down”

Inspired by British Cheers and Loud

Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,

They ran their ladders through a score

Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;

And took Peculiar Pains to Souse

The Pictures up and down the House,

Until Matilda’s Aunt succeeded

In showing them they were not needed

And even then she had to pay

To get the Men to go away! . . . . .

It happened that a few Weeks later

Here aunt was off to the Theatre

To see that Interesting Play

The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.

She had refused to take her Niece

To hear this Entertaining Piece:

A Deprivation Just and Wise

To Punish her for Telling Lies.

That Night a Fire did break out-

You should have heard Matilda Shout!

You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,

And throw the window up and call

To People passing in the Street-

(The rapidly increasing Heat

Encouraging her to obtain

Their confidence)-but it was all in vain!

For every time She shouted “Fire!”

They only answered “Little Liar!”

And therefore when her Aunt returned,

Matilda, and the House, were burned.

 

The Lie By Sir Walter Ralegh

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The Lie by Sir Walter Ralegh is one of my favourite poems. I first came across it on BBC Radio 4’s Poetry Please many years ago and return to it often

 

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Go, soul, the body’s guest,

Upon a thankless errand;

Fear not to touch the best;

The truth shall be thy warrant.

Go, since I needs must die,

And give the world the lie.

Say to the court, it glows

And shines like rotten wood;

Say to the church, it shows

What’s good, and doth no good.

If church and court reply,

Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live

Acting by others’ action;

Not loved unless they give,

Not strong but by a faction.

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,

That manage the estate,

Their purpose is ambition,

Their practice only hate.

And if they once reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending,

Who, in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending.

And if they make reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;

Tell love it is but lust;

Tell time it is but motion;

Tell flesh it is but dust.

And wish them not reply,

For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;

Tell honor how it alters;

Tell beauty how she blasteth;

Tell favor how it falters.

And as they shall reply,

Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness;

Tell wisdom she entangles

Herself in overwiseness.

And when they do reply,

Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;

Tell skill it is pretension;

Tell charity of coldness;

Tell law it is contention.

And as they do reply,

So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;

Tell nature of decay;

Tell friendship of unkindness;

Tell justice of delay.

And if they will reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming;

Tell schools they want profoundness,

And stand too much on seeming.

If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it’s fled the city;

Tell how the country erreth;

Tell manhood shakes off pity;

Tell virtue least preferreth.

And if they do reply,

Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing—

Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing—

Stab at thee he that will,

No stab the soul can kill.