TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Minor Poet by Stephen Vincent Benet

I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol’s voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.

Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,
Making even Love in music audible,
And earth one glory. I am but a shell
That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;
Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,
A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.

 

by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET (1898-1943)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // The Sailor-Boy by John Clare

Tis three years and a quarter since I left my own fireside
To go aboard a ship through love, and plough the ocean wide.
I crossed my native fields, where the scarlet poppies grew,
And the groundlark left his nest like a neighbour which I knew.

The pigeons from the dove cote cooed over the old lane,
The crow flocks from the oakwood went flopping oer the grain;
Like lots of dear old neighbours whom I shall see no more
They greeted me that morning I left the English shore.

The sun was just a-rising above the heath of furze,
And the shadows grow to giants; that bright ball never stirs:
There the shepherds lay with their dogs by their side,
And they started up and barked as my shadow they espied.

A maid of early morning twirled her mop upon the moor;
I wished her my farewell before she closed the door.
My friends I left behind me for other places new,
Crows and pigeons all were strangers as oer my head they flew.

Trees and bushes were all strangers, the hedges and the lanes,
The steeples and the houses and broad untrodden plains.
I passed the pretty milkmaid with her red and rosy face;
I knew not where I met her, I was strange to the place.

At last I saw the ocean, a pleasing sight to me:
I stood upon the shore of a mighty glorious sea.
The waves in easy motion went rolling on their way,
English colours were a-flying where the British squadron lay.

I left my honest parents, the church clock and the village;
I left the lads and lasses, the labour and the tillage;
To plough the briny ocean, which soon became my joy–
I sat and sang among the shrouds, a lonely sailor-boy.

 

by JOHN CLARE (1793-1864)
Public Domain Poetry

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // At Sea by Sara Teasdale

In the pull of the wind I stand, lonely,
On the deck of a ship, rising, falling,
Wild night around me, wild water under me,
Whipped by the storm, screaming and calling.

Earth is hostile and the sea hostile,
Why do I look for a place to rest?
I must fight always and die fighting
With fear an unhealing wound in my breast.

 

by SARA TEASDALE (1884-1933)
Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // the role of woman by Victoria Campbell

selfless devotion
constantly giving
time
energy
validation
nothing in return
taken for granted
the expectation stands
any deviation,
expression of negativity,
impression of criticism
called out
normal human emotions
wants and desires
hidden from view
under a calm façade
longing for a hint of appreciation
but nothing
critiques and indifference
a woman
more complex than portrayed
a fragmented personality
serving the needs of others
a sacrifice to man
a mother
her most important role
or so they say
thousands of years of history
traditions passed down
arbitrary rules enforced
but I am much more
kindness and fragility
feeble and soft spoken
arbitrary rules enforced
but I am much more
kindness and fragility
feeble and soft spoken
the woman plays a subservient role
in the play of life
how limiting this must be
to herself but also humanity
imagine where the story could go
if our parts weren’t so one-dimensional

 

by Tori Campbell
© All rights reserved 2020

GUEST POST // The girl who vomited diamonds by Nath B-Side

Nobody saw how special she was
Nobody valued her qualities
Nobody realised her strengths,
Nobody comprehend her speech.

Some people think she was too old to be young.
Some people was sure of that.

Some people wanted to take off her peace.
But peace was her second name.
It was her. Herself.

She wasn’t more special than anybody. She was just different.
Life made her this way
and
she didn’t know how to be like the others.

While she was walking, thinking, reading …
people …. People was living.
Leaving her alone because they couldn’t understand her.

She was not the best company to celebrate because she wasn’t the happier.
She was a desired company in bed but she prefered to be bad.

While people was having a hangover… She was sleeping and
dreaming
dreaming she was vomiting diamonds.

 

by Nath B-Side
© All rights reserved 2020