Top 100 or so Poems -- "Piano" by D. H. Lawrence

A literary giant, this man authored the classic novel "Lady Chatterly's Lover" and many other novels and stories which fed his fame. He lived the life of a poor bohemian, raised by a loving mother and a drunk, violent father - educating himself, eloping with his professors wife and traveling with her, penniless as he wrote his stories, novels and poems in barns and ship-holds.

His poetry was not recognized during his lifetime, due to the vast wealth of his other literary work. Posthumously, though, his talent as a poet came forth quite strongly...when it was discovered that he produced a succession of powerful and moving elegies towards the end of his life.

Here is one of his classics -- enjoy "Piano":

Piano

by David Herbert (D. H.) Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cozy parlor, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamor
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamor
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

Top 100 or so Poems -- "Sailing to Byzantium" by William Butler Yeats

This classic poem by Yeats leads us in a search for the concentrated unity of life in the ideal city. Byzantium in the 6th century was what Yeats was dreaming of when he wrote it. Byzantium became Constantinople, then finally Istanbul...

"Sailing to Byzantium" is one of the top 15 most anthologized poems of all time.

Enjoy his dream...

Sailing to Byzantium

By William Butler Yeats

I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

III

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Top 100 or so Poems -- "Chicago" by Carl Sandburg

Carl Sandburg was an American poet of Swedish descent - a man who spent his formative years growing up in the late 19th century midwest as a milkman, farmhand on the wheat plains of Kansas, hotel porter, bricklayer, a soldier in the Spanish-American war (fought mostly mosquitos in Puerto Rico), and in around 1919 he became a journalist for the Chicago Daily News.

A great American biographer, novelist, journalist and free verse poet, Sandburg spent two years traveling the country as a hobo, learning folk songs and thereby forming his poetic spirit and socialist political views.

The recipient of 3 Pulitzer Prizes, he received his Pulitzer prizes in Poetry for his collections "The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg" and "Corn Huskers".

The following poem is widely considered to be his greatest work, and contains a most famous description of his beloved city, Chicago - which can be found in the first verse.

Enjoy the work of this unorthodox midwestern american poet:

Chicago

By Carl Sandburg

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation's Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders;

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your
painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have
seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women
and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.
And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my
city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be
alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall
bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;
Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted
against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Bulding, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his
ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked,
sweating, pround to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

Top 100 or so Poems "Sonnet 43, How do I Love Thee? Let me count the ways" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A series which claims to list the "Top 100 or so..." poems of all time would not be valid or complete without the poem which is considered to be one of the most famous love poems of all time.

And so, here it is!

Elizabeth Barrett Browning is widely considered in the United Kingdom as the single most important female poet and writer to hail from the U.K. - and her stature as a poet at the time (mid 1800's) was peerless, having published a huge body of work, beginning at a very young age.

Chronically and seriously ill for many years -even into her 30's- she spent a good portion of her life behind closed doors accepting only family and a few close friends as she struggled with her health.

Elizabeth Barrett wrote this classic love poem for her husband, Robert Browning - one of the great english language poets of history - and her eloping marriage with Browning is widely credited with turning her health and her life around. It is a poem of deep spritual love, and gratitude, and devotion. A good one.

Sonnet 43 - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Poem of the Day - for Occupy Wall Street -- "Piggies" by George Harrison

I've been following the Occupy Wall Street movement for a while now, including visits to the "ground zero" sites in New York City and Washington DC. Although the goals of the movement can be misinterpreted, both from those on the outside and even misinterpreted by those involved in the movment itself, one thing DOES stand out and must never be diluted or forgotten:

Corporate greed and corruption are both responsible for the situation we are in today (with our economy in general) and by the same token, they must also be stopped - directly and immediately - by drafting laws and prosecuting the "have a lots" who have been caught stealing from those who "don't have a lot". The thievery is happening EVERYWHERE, it is amazing.

I've stumbled upon a 2-inch thick 3-ring binder in a local coffee shop in Bethel, CT (Molten Java by name - a fantastic little hippie place filled with painted guitars, old tables and sofas, colorful and trippy artwork, funny little psychedelic knick-knacks, etc. - whoa, that's another story) whti the title "Unofficial Poetry Anthololgy" on the front cover. Cool. So I quickly opened it to find treasure -- 100's of "Occupy Wall Street" poems in a neatly assemled - I think alphabetically, hand printed anthology of political poems and lyrics. Lot's of poems, lot's of good sentiment, (lot's of bad poems) and lot's of good poetry - more or less focused on the Occupy movement.

I even encountered a Lawrence Ferlinghetti poem or two in there.

This brings me to one of the best popular lyrics written specifically to address the establishment and corruption and greed, a classic lyric filled with biting sarcasm, often misinterpreted itself as a "cute little ditty about little pink piggies".

Not the case. Read Harrisons lyrics, and look at 1968 and tell me this poem was not about corporate greed. It was, admittedly a rare political poke by Harrison (remember he was far overshadowed by John Lennon and his political peace activism gone viral).

Enjoy - look around at the next restaurant you're in. Can you pick out the piggies?





Piggies

By George Harrison (recorded by The Beatles)

Have you seen the little piggies
Crawling in the dirt
And for all those little piggies
Life is getting worse
Always having dirt to play around in.

Have you seen the bigger piggies
In their starched white shirts
You will find the bigger piggies
Stirring up the dirt
And they always have clean shirts to play around in.

And in their styes with all their backing
They don't care what goes on around
And in their eyes there's something lacking
What they need's a damm good whacking.

Yeah, everywhere there's lots of piggies
Playing piggy pranks
And you can see them on their trotters
Down at the piggy banks
Paying piggy thanks
To thee pig brother

- Everybody: -
Everywhere there's lots of piggies
Living piggy lives
You can see them out for dinner
With their piggy wives
Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon.