Best Stevenson Poems
Around midnight, in the library I found myself drawn,
to these shelves haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
as a rare, late October storm brews beyond the pane,
bringing life back to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker.
To these shelves, haunted still by Poe, Stevenson and King,
my fingers grasp a book from under the dust and webs,
bringing life back, to the creatures of Shelley and Stoker,
it's well-worn, leather spine just waiting to chill my own.
My fingers grasp a book, from under the dust and webs,
while autumn winds rustle leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
it's well-worn leather spine, just waiting, to chill my own,
my head, sinking further back into the velvet-lined chair.
While autumn winds rustle, leaves like crisp, yellowed paper,
candlelight flickers dimly across the tattered old pages,
my head sinking further, back into the velvet-lined chair,
where the ghosts of Irving and Dickens will not let me sleep.
Candlelight flickers dimly, across the tattered, old pages,
I, unable to recline, with the shadows thrown by the fire,
where the ghosts, of Irving and Dickens, will not let me sleep,
residents of the dark welcome, and wait to be revisited.
I, unable to recline with the shadows, thrown by the fire,
as a rare, late October storm brews, beyond the pane,
residents of the dark, welcome and wait, to be revisited,
around midnight, in the library, I found myself... drawn.
It was nearly two years ago, that I left the PS site
Bidding my friends fond 'farewell,' I took flight
If the door is ajar, I think I'll enter once more
Hoping things are better than they were before
My muse was confused, but wanted to return
So here we are ~ Your amity we hope to earn
We've written of fireflies and fragrant perfume
among flowering gardens in the height of bloom
Perhaps we'll pen with a new spark of creativity
for we've not lost the love for the art of poetry
It's a bond we share; a little nature, some romance,
If you like our music, kick off your shoes and dance
We've skipped over brooks and sat upon lawns
waiting for the sun to wake at the hour of dawn
Tucked topaz gems in petals of Spring's daffodils
hung diamonds on snow flakes in Winter chills
and pearls were strung across white lotus flowers
In honor of nature, we've been penning for hours
I am not Robert Frost, but the road back I'm taking
Nor am I Poe, whose dark poems leave you shaking,
but perhaps you might discover an emerald or two
in a love sonnet I write, or in silly limericks or Haiku
Let's share gifts that come from the heart and mind
of our muses who can be both stubborn and kind
Robert L. Stevenson wrote, "One line or letter bright"
in light that this is where my written verses alight.
He wrote, "glory in our patience," and "skim the pot"
so I'll take his words to heart, giving PS another shot.
I'm sure talented poets have since joined the soup
and I look forward to reading many of you in the group
When a child if gifted with a book it transforms into a key to unlock the mind. The gate to the secret garden of imagination is pried from its forgiving hinges and the child is free to expand their imagination to galaxy proportions.
The simple pages of a book provide a passport for a passenger seat next to the likes of Captain Biggles in his Tibetan adventures to locate the forbidden city of Shangri Lah, or a magical flight to Neverland with Pan and the lost boys. Who knows how each “child’s mind’s eye will envisage the loathsome creature that is Mr Hyde or the demure Dr Jekyll?
It captures the heart of a parent to witness their young boy, lying on his bed, engrossed in the pages of Stevenson’s Kidnapped. His imaginings transform him into the character of David Balfour, fighting alongside the Jacobite rebel, Alan Stewart. Such a comforting vision is a young girl, lounging on the couch on a rain soaked winters afternoon, fanning through a copy of Anne of Green Gables, engrossed in the character of Anne Shirley, wishing to emulate her outgoing spirit and giving nature.
The abundant bread basket of literary expositions act as a conduit, unlocking a child’s ability to make judgements about morality, injustices and an understanding of consequences in decision making. All the while the simple act of quietly reading procures an incalculable and surreptitious response to education for a lifetime to come.
The nostalgic aroma of floral vanilla and almonds that emit from the pages of an old book invokes a sense of anticipation to the imaginary adventures about to be embarked upon, creating an atmosphere of ambivalence.
An implore to parents across the globe to leave the television set and so-called social media, bombarding a child’s mind like a tidal wave, leaving in its wake a desolate landscape of nothingness. Embrace the tactile feel of pages in hand, gently stroking the mind, embedding feelings of, wonder and imagination. Read to your children every day and encourage them to jamb their noses into literary masterpieces from the likes of Stevenson, Doyle, Dickens and many more worthy exponents that have stood the test of time.
chhh-ta-cuff, chhh-ta-cuff
The train chugging back and forth
Looked out of the window.
The beautiful landscape floating by
I wish I was there in the fresh air
Aha, the train stopped at Calais station,
the engine driver has got down.
It is the time for uploading the coal
And will take more time to fire
the engine of the steam locomotive.
I saw the Towers of Canterbury.
My mind was full the Chaucerian images.
Felt peace with waters of English Channel
I heard the whistle and chhh-ta-cuff sound
I ran and running the train I got aboard.
I again I looked out of the window
And saw green meadows and willows,
the English dolls strolling by.
I put out my head out of the window
Oh, my face was dark with the soot
and my eyes aching with the grit.
I heard the sound of the engine along
Recalling the words of R.L. Stevenson
"Faster than fairies, faster than witches."
+++
January 23, 2015
Form: Free Verse
Second Place Win
From a BMW
Slower than snails, slower than slugs,
Holdens, Hondas, and Volkswagen bugs;
All crawling along in slow moving lanes
On the fast freeway, bypassed by the trains.
All of the views from the passenger seat
Flow as thick as treacle sweet;
And once in a while, when you nod off to sleep,
The guy behind you, his horn will beep.
There is a boy who’s desperate to pee
And he’s not by himself, there’s also me.
Here is a cafe; the sky’s getting dark,
There’s no way to stop, there’s nowhere to park.
Here is a cyclist, his bike flying past
Whizzing along, going so fast.
Here is another, and there’s one more,
I close my eyes, we’re stuck for sure.
apologies to R L Stevenson. (from a railway carriage)
Some people think I'm crazy
and others think I'm mad
But every day I breathe
is the best day I've ever had.
James Stevenson..................................
~Aim High~
(Pantoum)
Check the sky aim high and then just fly
There's so much you can do, achieve
Just set mind and focus today don't be shy
God has great plans for all your life, just believe
There's so much you can do, achieve
Don't let bad things get in your way
God has great plans for all your life, just believe
Sky's the limit don't ever quit, to God just pray
Don't let bad things get in your way
Just set mind and focus today don't be shy
Sky's the limit don't ever quit, to God just pray
Check the sky aim high and then just fly.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2014
January.04.2017
So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV)
-“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)
- Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer
Romans 12: 12 ( NIV )
-The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Exodus 14: 13 ( NIV )
~Author's Notes:
The "Pantoum" is originally a French poetry form or style.
-Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant - Robert Louis Stevenson.
LARRY LaVELLE
i call myself the man
it is not a pick-me-upper
it ain't no do-re-me
it is just the way i feel about myself
i call myself the man
one woman still loves me after 30 years of experience in narcissism philosophy
she just shakes her head and smacks me in the back of mine
then she asks me if i want my eggs scrambled with cheese
i just laugh at her and say 'yes mam'
she smiles bashfully as i check her out like we're 16 again
oh she knows it like her favorite classic movie
i will find out how much she knows it later on tonight
the moral of this poem is....i call myself the man....
STUTTERSTEP STEVENSON
i call myself Bountifully Blessed
i was a bully's dream all through school
from the pulling of my permanaps to the sock stolen from my feet....my story was etched in autobiographical filing
my growth became stunted....until you picked me up and dusted me off
through your smile, i was inspired to grow stronger
from there....i was introduced to a New World through your eyes
as a result, i, stutterstep stevenson, was able to find my niche
look at us now....thirteen years of marriage later....you are still causing me to trip all over myself
it still make you giggle in the very same way
even since then, i left the right avenue of stressed
the moral of this poem is....i call myself Bountifully Blessed
POETIC LEFTY
i call myself unconditionally loved
papa strange had a firm hold on me
put blinders on my self esteem yes he did
unbeknownst to me, my usual appearance in constant continuum was looked at as defiance
i can't be me if i can't be myself
how the hell could i exist trying to be like someone else
it has always been comfortable on my street
every now and then some taggers came along and tried to redecorate
however all surfaced on this block was self-cleaning
the same smile was worn on my face when i greeted the roadblock rambler hello
somewhere down the line papa strange moved on to one more vulnerable and gullible
i prayed for that next victim to the Wonderful God Above
though it may not show in my solo forward motion, i am indeed consumed by unconditional love....
The Land Of Counterpane
Written by: Robert Louis Steveson
"When I was sick and lay a- bed
I had two pillows at my head
All my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day"...Quoted..Robert Louis Stevenson
When I Was Sick
By Sara Kendrick
If I have missed reading you lines
Or failed to comment all the time
I have been blowing nose
And coughing crud and my breathing doesn't flow...
I sound like the evening whistle
When it is about out of steam
A wheeze so loud it messes up my dreams
Maybe in a day or two
I will be able to get back to you
Little boy ill and in bed every day
couldn't join friends or go out and play.
Little lead soldiers marched on his bed,
many adventures whirled in his head.
The land of counterpane lay on the bed
his landscape sewn with needle and thread.
That quilt all wrinkled, crumpled, and more
are hills and seas and fierce fields of war.
Pirates, sailors and soldiers galore
Imagining brought them all to his door.
Stories and poems, a boy's mind rehearses
"Treasure Island, Kidnapped," and
"A Child's Garden of Verses."
Give thanks that the man remebered the joy,
of the visions he had when he was a boy.
So many books from those dreams in his head,
he willingly shares when I am sick in my bed.
My great-grandfather had amassed extensive knowledge.
If anyone knew politics, he was the man.
He was a graduate of an Ivy League college.
He was a three-time supporter of William Jennings Bryan.
My grandfather continued the family legacy.
I had to consider him knowledgeable among men.
He closely followed domestic and foreign policy.
He voted for the likes of Al Smith and Alf Landon.
My father was quite interested in politics also.
The old man firmly believed in a stable world order.
It seemed there was not a thing he did not know.
His votes went to Adlai Stevenson and Barry Goldwater.
I had an uncle who knew all about politics.
In his lifetime, there was much money he would earn.
He was aware of all the angles and the tricks.
He supported candidates Hubert Humphrey and George McGovern.
I have a cousin who thinks he knows it all.
Great political knowledge is what he claims to possess.
He believes that in this world, he stands quite tall.
He cast his ballots for Bob Dole and Mike Dukakis.
With the candidate to receive my vote, I am not certain.
I am the middle ground between the hawk and the dove.
When I step inside the machine and close the curtain,
I will pull the lever that says “none of the above”.
Submitted to PoetrySoup February 27, 2011
At birth, “Robert” was the name I was given.
It was the same in the case of my father.
It was also the name of my great-grandfather.
I was too young to do anything about it then.
There have been many famous men given that name.
It is one of the most common names on the earth.
Many of those males have proven their worth.
Lots of them have gone on to fortune and fame.
I will have to give you readers something to read.
Please don’t ask me how the name came to be.
Here are a few Roberts famous in history.
I will give you some examples if that’s what you need.
Robert the Bruce lived in the fourteenth century.
The nation of Scotland would be his realm.
He proved to be a powerful king at the helm;
until he was laid to rest at Dumfermline Abbey.
This famous writer also came from Scotland.
Robert Louis Stevenson lived in the nineteenth century.
He was a prolific author of novels and poetry.
Among his works are “Kidnapped” and “Treasure Island”.
A famous general led the armies of the Confederacy.
In a losing cause, he was a hero of the war.
To describe this West Point graduate, need I say more?
This legendary warrior was named Robert E. Lee.
Here’s a contemporary name many of you should know.
In “The Godfather Part II”, he played young Vito Corleone.
“Raging Bull” would be another great movie.
This fine actor’s name is Robert DeNiro.
Well, that is about all I have to say.
Are those a few good examples I gave here?
I hope I have made my wording quite clear.
I think that is enough for all of you today.
Lord help me write and paint my words
My Lord My Lord, I say to you this night
Help me now, help me write
Paint my words to help me guard!
Help me to paint the stars.
Paint my life to share the hearts
Ah the silent presence that many know so well
All hungry for life to tell
As we understand the universe
There will be but a few to survive the strokes
Help me go deeper in my little corner
To paint my brush as a Poet:
The tears we cried
The love we have known
The blood that’s been shed
The hearts been broken
Is just a few of the brush strokes
Of this little poet;
Little Brooke that I am
I can’t compare to the great Bronte
Or the most famous Emily Dickinson
The best of the best Ernest Hemingway
Especially fabulous Keats
And what can we say of Shakespeare?
I say to you my dear.
The Frost of winter or the writer;
And oh my stars
There is Robert Louis Stevenson
To brush your words with the paint of life
To touch our souls with your light
To kiss the stars of the night
To remember
David in the book of Psalms and
Solomon Song of Solomon, to name a few.
To love the best of yourself;
How dare me I say?
How dare I stay?
Give me your pictures on the wall
The smallest of the small;
A membrane today;
Maybe
I don’t know
But what would you say?
To a Poets Brush for this day;
Dedicated to all the poets on Soup..
Brooke Dylan 2014
Before you were a memory
Your life a white hot fire
Before you were a memory
You my souls desire
Before you were a memory
I never longed for your touch
And now you are a memory
I miss your love so much.
RIP. Bobi-Jo Young -Stevenson
June 28-1970-July13-2010
you are missed...
James.....................
I don't know why I love you ,I don't know why I care .
I just know when I close my eyes, I wish that you were there.
You hurt me then you push me away , I cried a tear I don't know what to say .
I want to touch you just to feel your skin , but things are diferent and nobody wins .
Your a beautiful creature with a lovely smile .
Im thankful I was your's for atleast a little while .
touching you has meant so much to me , but it did'nt mean enough,
or I would'nt be free........
James Stevenson .