Poetic Inspiration

[Teacher & Snacktime]

We haven't had a poetry thread in a while, so perhaps it's time again. While finishing NJ the other day, I was reminded of this beautiful and familiar work of Robert Frost:


45213

The Road Less Traveled

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;

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,

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

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.

[KnightErrant]

Anything by Mary Oliver, pretty much:

https://peacefulrivers.homestead.com/maryoliver.html

Also a fan of William Waltz, whose book "Adventures in the Lost Interiors of America" is totally worth the $3 or $4 you'd probably pay on Amazon.

My favorite is this one:
The woods walked through us and left a trail. We followed, down a street, over a hill, across a stream and a field, and then through a wood where we came upon a thicket rich with cricketsong and morning thorn. We peeled back the pricks and moved like herons through the reeds until an opening and then the prairie and across we saw a flock of silhouettes in a colossal crown. We climbed the wild tree and never came down.

[Dan Roper]

I first posted a poem I wrote over the past week, following a memorable hike in the Cohutta Wilderness Area.

Then I thought, "You can't follow Robert Frost." So I omitted mine. :)

"The Road Not Taken" was the first poem I memorized, back in 6th grade in 1972. No doubt 50% of American schoolchildren might have done the same.

[LoneStranger]

The Road Less Traveled (SPOILER ALERT)
.
.
.
I'm a long time fan of Frost. Used to carry a paperback copy of his complete works in my pack on most every trip. Even named my web site after a phrase from this poem. Then I discovered something that I'm not sure fans of this poem want to know. It seems this was written not as an homage to the importance of choosing paths or walking down them. No, it was apparently written to poke gentle fun at an acquaintance who thought that way. Which path or whether we walk them aren't as important as where we stand now, so don't waste your time patting yourself on the back for where you've been.

Go. Be. Perhaps most importantly, when you get done, don't fill yourself with self importance over having done so. It is the being there in that yellowed wood that matters, not the talking about it later.

[OCDave]

I have two that I like:



https://poets.org/social/embed.svg (https://poets.org/poem/we-live-deeds-not-years-thoughts-not-breaths#)
https://poets.org/social/collection.svg (https://poets.org/poem/we-live-deeds-not-years-thoughts-not-breaths#)




We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
And he whose heart beats quickest lives the longest:
Lives in one hour more than in years do some
Whose fat blood sleeps as it slips along their veins.
Life's but a means unto an end; that end,
Beginning, mean, and end to all things—God.
The dead have all the glory of the world.

- Philip James Bailey

[OCDave]

The second:
Swimming

I’ve learnt to swim on dry land. It turns out to be more practical than doing it in the water. There is no fear of sinking, for one is already on the bottom, and by the same token, one is drowned beforehand. It also avoids having to be fished out by the light of a lantern or in the dazzling clarity of a beautiful day. Finally, the absence of water keeps one from swelling up.

I won’t deny that swimming on dry land is somewhat agonizing. At first sight one would be reminded of death throes. Nevertheless, this is different: at the same time it is agonizing, one is quite alive, quite alert, listening to the music entering through the window and watching the worm crawl across the floor.

At first my friends criticized this decision. They fled from my glances and sobbed in the corners. Happily, the crisis is past. Now they know that I am comfortable swimming on dry land. I sink my hands into the marble tiles and offer them a tiny fish that I catch in the submarine depths.

- by Virgilio Piñera

[garlic08]

To bring things down a notch, this is an original Limerick I wrote for my wife. It was a stressful morning in the Sierra Nevada on our PCT hike...

Up high on the pass named Guyot
GreasePot climbed on through the snow.
The way wasn't clear
So she said with some fear
I'd rather be way down below.

[Puddlefish]

The Road Less Traveled (SPOILER ALERT)
.
.
.
I'm a long time fan of Frost. Used to carry a paperback copy of his complete works in my pack on most every trip. Even named my web site after a phrase from this poem. Then I discovered something that I'm not sure fans of this poem want to know. It seems this was written not as an homage to the importance of choosing paths or walking down them. No, it was apparently written to poke gentle fun at an acquaintance who thought that way. Which path or whether we walk them aren't as important as where we stand now, so don't waste your time patting yourself on the back for where you've been.

Go. Be. Perhaps most importantly, when you get done, don't fill yourself with self importance over having done so. It is the being there in that yellowed wood that matters, not the talking about it later.

I'm from NH, it was mandatory that every school child analyzed that poem until it was dead. Both paths were equal, don't glamorize your life choices in hindsight. Don't lend weight to your decisions being the correct one, just because it's the choice you made. The lovely woods imagery is a bonus.

[Teacher & Snacktime]

I first posted a poem I wrote over the past week, following a memorable hike in the Cohutta Wilderness Area.
Then I thought, "You can't follow Robert Frost." So I omitted mine. :)

Please post your own.....Whom among us is Robert Frost? RYOP (recite your own poem) ;)

[Dan Roper]

I wrote this a few months ago, following a ridgetop hike on the one clear day amidst a long rainy spell:

In February

I walked a line in the sky,
straight as a vapor trail.
No matter that it curved
and dipped and rose,
tracking Tatum Lead’s
narrow backbone.
To my right and left,
the mountain dropped
through hardwood cove
and splashing draw.
Only the path ahead
kept me grounded
so that I didn’t
walk into the blue.

[chknfngrs]

Yarr, this thread be nice,
As clean and fun as beans and rice
But seriously it takes the cake
And makes me want to go hiking. Yarr.

[4Bears]

Wrote this one morning after a wonderful night in the woods.

Natures Lullaby
By Allen Bishop

The oscillating buzz of the cicada
Sweeps back and forth through the trees
The squeaky hinge chirp of the crickets
Stops quickly with the slightest sound
A bellowing choir of frogs
Down the hill on the ponds edge
And the long mournful cry of the loon
Waiting for his mates reply
Rustling of leaves as a mouse makes her way
Searching for her dinner
Hoot! Hoot, hoot; hoot! Of the great horned owl
Makes the forest suddenly quieter
Then steadily the woodland chorus wave
Begins to rise again
This is nature’s perfect lullaby
A blessing from the one true God and creator
Sleep peaceful sleep,
Sleep peaceful sleep

[4Bears]

After an afternoon walk...

Winter Walk
By Allen Bishop

The woods in winter
Seem devoid of sound
But stand at the edge
Quietly and listen

“Chick-a-dee-dee-dee” is the call
Then a soft tap, tap, tap
The flutter of from a group of sparrows
Moving from ground to bush

Now step in a few steps
And hear what’s revealed
A scratching high in the trees
As two red squirrels play

They stop upon your invasion
Scolding from separate perches
Joined by a raucous jay
Sounding alarm then flying off

Moving further thru the wood
Snow crunching with each step
A grouse, flushes at your feet
Your heart now beating like a drum

Slowly the “silence” returns
Creaking of the trees in the wind
Pop and groan down at the lake
As winter makes more ice

Crows noisily come to roost
As the sun nears the horizon
A wonderful walk in the winter wood
With cold clean air to clear the head

[4Bears]

​Very nice