"The Waking" by Theodore Roethke (Favorite Poem Project)

"The Waking" by Theodore Roethke, read by Tom Moran (Head Custodian, Downers Grove, IL), as part of The Favorite Poem Project

[@rebeccar628]

Beautiful, thank you. My favorite poem.

[@darlenebeaman3304]

During the recent chronovirus social distancing, I find your reading of this poem a comfort.

[@emmabarrus]

Darlene Beaman - me too!

[@destinyforreal9744]

What a nice person

[@awordsmith5367]

Poetry is a strong hand on your shoulder.......remember it is there all the time! Enjoyed seeing your day!

[@SRLewis-jz2fe]

To janitors and poetry~ I've been one for several years. Can't tell ya how many poems I've read! Thanks for the share.

[@kimstocker4681]

I love this! You are amazing and would make an excellent teacher. I hope that you’ve gone back to school yourself. And if not, you are still teaching just by putting this video up. If you have time, I’m sure additional videos would be welcomed. At any rate, God bless you!

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

Enjoyed your poems. And your unique word choices enhanced the poems emotional impact. I’m a Japanese format poet specializing in Tanka and haiku. I hope you don’t mind me posting a Tanka and a haiku dedicated to Matshuo Bashō’s frog that poet Jane Reichhold who considered one of her all-time best poems. ELOISE, EDNA & THE CHICKEN COOP There was once a young Black lady named Eloise who in the 1950s inherited from her grandmother a parcel of land in the suburbs of Compton, California at a time when there was strong racial prejudice against women of color-especially those Black women who owned property in predominately white neighborhoods. It happened there lived adjacent to Eloise’s land a white woman named Edna who did not like the fact that a Black lady owned land next to hers. Eloise would try to be friendly because she believed Jesus when He said “Love Thy Neighbor” and to Eloise that meant even if your neighbor was unfriendly. But whenever Eloise saw Edna, Edna would turn her back and ignore her and go about her business. In fact, ever since Edna’s husband died a decade ago, she became mean and unfriendly to everyone in the neighborhood. But to Eloise, she was especially hateful and full of animosity so much so that at night when all the lights in Eloise home were off, Edna went to her own backyard where she kept her chicken coop and gathered up all the manure and dumped it on Eloise land and upon her tomatoes and her greens and everything she was growing, in an attempt to destroy it. And when Eloise realized the next morning that there was all this manure, instead of becoming angry, she decided to rake and mix it in with the soil and use it as fertilizer. Every night Edna would dump the manure from her chicken coop litter box on Eloise’s land and every morning Eloise would turn the manure over and mix it in with the soil. This went on for several weeks until one morning Eloise noticed there was no manure in her yard. One of the neighbors informed Eloise that Edna had fallen ill. But because Edna was so disliked because of her and unfriendly personality , no one came to see her. But when Eloise heard about Edna’s condition she picked the best flowers from her garden, walked to Edna’s house, knocked on her front door and when Edna saw Eloise she was in complete shock that this Black lady who she had been so cruel to, would be the only neighbor to visit and bring flowers. Edna was deeply moved by Eloise kindness. Then Eloise handed the flowers to Edna who uttered, “These are the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen! Where’d you get them?” Eloise replied “Edna, I owe you a debt of gratitude; if it wasn’t for you, these flowers would not exist. It was you who helped me make them because when you were dumping in my yard, I decided to plant roses and use your manure as fertilizer.” This unexpected act of kindness opened the floodgate of Edna’s heart that had been closed for so long. “When I’m feeling better, I would love to have you over for tea,” Edna informed Eloise. “Thank you, “ Edna replied , assuring her she would come. And then added “ I will pray for your speedy recovery every night” And with those words Eloise departed. It’s amazing what can blossom from manure. There are some who allow manure to fall on them and do nothing. But then there are others-like Eloise -who “turn the other cheek” when abused or in this case “turn over the soil” to make something new like those beautiful red roses that opened a white woman’s heart All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, -Al

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

I hope you don’t mind me sharing the following poem, one of my all time favorite meta poetic poems by a poet named “Howard Dull” titled “Suibhne Gheilt” that I recently chanced upon. When I read it, I became speechless. And most of my poetry friends consider this as one of their all time favorites. It was published in a 1970s anthology titled “ Open Poetry” and proves that once Poetry hits you in your heart, , you could be the worst nefarious scoundrel with kings and Empires at your command but you will be transformed and never again return to your previous Self. ~~ Suibhne Gheilt 1 He has haunted me now for over a year that madman Suibhne Gheilt who in the middle of a battle looked up and saw something that made him leap up and fly over swords and trees - a poet gifted above all others - 11 How could a proud loud mouth who yelled KILL KILL KILL as he plowed done the enemy - heads rolling off of his sword - be so lifted up ( or fly up as those below saw it - wings beating) be so suddenly gifted with poetry and nest so high in Ireland’s tall trees? Is there a point where all paths cross? And why am I so drawn to him that all my questions seem shot in his direction? “And they ran into the woods and threw their lances and shot their arrows up through the branches” What parallels could I ever hope to find - my refusal to fight ( weaseling out on psychiatric grounds)? my leaving my country behind? my poetry? “and my wife wept on the path below. . . Oh memory is sweet but sweeter is the sorrel in the pool in the path below” I fly down every night to eat 111 Sweeney like the rest of us would have been better off if he had never anything to do with women. But the point of it lies hidden in a pool of milk in a pile of shit for you to see when a milkmaid smiles Sweeney like the rest of us flies down and when she pours the milk into the hole her heel made in the cowdung Sweeney like the rest of us kneels down and drinks and dies on the horn the cowherd hid in it. So before you have anything to do with women remember Sweeney the bird of Ireland lying on his back in the middle of that path in the moonlight. 1V And on my way home this morning ( my wife waiting) my shadow racing up the path ahead of me I saw something ( a black stone?) thrown at the back of its head ducked and spun around so fast I almost fell down - it was a bird flying up into a tree V No good could come out of this war out of what burns in the heart of our highly disciplined John Q. Killer as a whole village bursts into one flame - the villagers streaming like tears towards the forest cover his helicopter’s blades blow the leaves off and and the flame towards. . . as we sit in front of our bubbles watching our president ( whose bubbletalk no one can escape and he is a little bit mad -calling the reporters in for an interview while he’s sitting on the bubble having a bubble movement) and first lady climb into their big bubble bed an Lucy, born of their own bubbles, crawls in between - “ Mah daddy has so many troubles turning the world into a bubble and sick of crossfire - the cries of the women and children flying over his head - he stumbled down to the riverbank and found, the wreckage twisted around the tree behind, his skull. . . Noises, there are noises, noises that can of themselves drive a man mad -NOISES! But last night the Stockhausen penetrated from the four sides of the auditorium, stripping each layer of feeling and thought until all that was left was something the size of a nut - so tiny, so hard, so impenetrable it was alone in the middle of an infinite space. . . And -Howard Dull ~~ ps: Howard Dull was such an obscure poet that he never published a book and ( to my knowledge) never published another poem. But OMG, this was so brilliant that in my opinion it should be read and studied at the college level. All love in isolation from Miami Beach, Florida, Al

[@starlingcity]

"Like a wind blowing through your soul." A poet doing the work-a-day in the world.

[@erinscully8007]

well read my man

[@BUKCOLLECTOR]

Brief Bio: I’m Al Fogel born in 1945 and at an early age began writing poems. In 1962 I was introduced to a neighbor who just returned from Avatar Meher Baba’s “ East west” gathering and handed me a book titled “The Everything and the Nothing” that included brief but powerful passages by Meher Baba that touched me deeply. In 2010 while on Jane Reichhold’s AHA website I perfected my Senryu and Haibun and am now considered one of the nations leading authorities on Tanka , Senryu, and Haibun. Here are some examples of each of my specialties Senryu. . . ( senryu is the humorous human side of haiku. Comprised of no more than 17 syllables but most quality senryu have much less than 17 syllables) ~ dentist chair the hygienist removes my Bluetooth ~ Internet argument all his words in CAPS hers in EMOTICONS ~ after the divorce he spends more time at the dollar store ~ damsel in distress clarke kent still searching for a phone booth ~ cauliflower ears once a contender now boxing vegetables ~ under the influence - moonshine ~ Mayfly never made it to June ~ Audubon sale all variety of seeds. . . early birds welcome ~ Buddhist fortune cookie the unfolded paper reads “ better luck next birth!” ~ sudden downpour. . . the adults run for shelter ~ sidewalk cafe birds and people tweeting ~ crowded crosswalk the seeing eye dog leads the way ~ **senryu is usually humorous, but it can sometimes be serious. For example, the following two are horrific, dealing with the Holocaust: ~ cattle cars between the slats human eyes ~ stutthof - the stench of burnt hair from the chimneys ~ thrift store purchase inside the leather jacket a tarnished half-heart ~ deserted train depot a long line of rusted tracks leading nowhere ~~ return to my youth lit by the tracks of Lionel trains. ~ eyes so small yet they mount Fuji (In connection to the above Fuji poem , Avatar Meher Baba once said: “ it’s not that you are in the cosmos but the cosmos is in you)” Tanka: returning home from a Jackson pollock exhibition I smear my face with paint and morph into art ~ crowded bus a young lady offers me her seat it seems like only yesterday I was offering mine ~ deserted train depot a conductor shouting “ All Aboard!” but now just a long line of tracks leading nowhere. . . ~ Haibun: The Mathematics of Retribution “Karma is i fathomable,” I inform her It’s late and our conversation turns heavy “ Seems simple to me, “my girlfriend responds. “If I murder you, then it’s reasonable that I will be murdered in this or another life to balance the ledger.” “ Not necessarily so” I’m quick to rejoin. “What if you murdered me in this life because I murdered you in a prior life karmic debts and dues are now equalized.” “But what if I get caught and I go to jail for life. Where’s the equal payback in that?” “As I said, karma is unfathomable.” We continue discussing reincarnation and then add the possibilities of “group karma” to the mix Finally, at about midnight, we fall asleep Stutthof - the stench of burnt hair from the chimneys ~~ Mama There were days when I pretended to be too sick to go to school - - just for mamas loving embrace -her arms the heat of home Even with the onset of dementia, her cheerfulness was so contagious it was a joy being around her despite the illness. She made everyone laugh with her spontaneous unpredictable behavior. nursing home bumper wheelchair her favorite pastime Once a week I would whisk her away from the assisted-living facility and we would spend several hours together -grabbing a meal or frequenting some of her favorite second-hand stores where she loved to shop and donate clothes. When we drove to her favorite thrift in November, her dementia worsened. thrift store the dress mama donated she wants to buy On a cold December morn mama passed. The funeral was simple. There was a light drizzle as the family gathered at the gravesite. One by one, with eyes full of rain, we said our last goodbyes. autumn twilight - oh mama tuck me under hug me one more time ~ ‘Round Midnight It was a huge ballroom on the top floor of a building on Broadway --an important midtown crossroads in the heart of the Great White Way. My uncle still talks with reverence about how -in his heyday -he would travel by rail to the corner of Lenox and walk inside to the beat of jungle music. Who knew what to expect? One night you might be listening with rapt attention to Theloneous Monk and Dizzy Gillespie the godfathers of bebop in their signature beret caps, or the Nicholas Brothers flashing their wild acrobatic spins and splits, or enchanted by the sweet taste of Brown Sugar -with Bojangles out front. And when the Bird was in flight, even the moon was not high enough. But in 1940 the ballroom closed its doors to make way for a commercial housing development and another kind of night. Harlem the A-train replaced by the Bullet ~ Atlantic City New Jersey I had just graduated from high school and remember stopping for saltwater taffy -as the evening journeyed slowly into night. Nearing curfew, my girlfriend and I sat on a protruded sandy enclave--holding hands, looking out at the ocean, not saying much. In the distance the lights from an ocean liner flickered as the night kept coming on in. . . first “french kiss” under the boardwalk “over the moon!” ~~ All love, Al

[@briantyson7095]

The three R's: Resonance, Resilience and Reverence.