Lady K reads a first set of poems at The Beat Cafe – 15 August 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXMIafTFXc0

Poetry written and performed by Lady K
Recorded at the Beat Cafe, 29200 Hoover Rd. in Warren, Michigan
Event sponsored by Troubadour 21: Writers & Artists in the 21st Century
(photography & editing by John Burroughs, a.k.a. Jesus Crisis)

Lady K is also an assemblage artist, photographer, videographer and founder/editor of
The City — an art/poetry zine based in Cleveland. View it at www.thecitypoetry.com

Follow the cosmic adventures of Lady K & her husband Smith at www.walkingthinice.com

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Matthew LuckyLefty Sawyer at The Beat Cafe – 15 August 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1D75AeQ67tg

Poetry written and performed by Matthew LuckyLefty Sawyer
Recorded at the Beat Cafe, 29200 Hoover Rd. in Warren, Michigan
Event sponsored by Troubadour 21: Writers & Artists in the 21st Century
(photography & editing by John Burroughs, a.k.a. Jesus Crisis)

Matthew LuckyLefty Sawyer hosts Soulful Sundays from 6 to 10 p.m. every Sunday at The Sweet Epiphany, 13305 W. Seven Mile in Detroit, Michigan.  $5 cover.  Visit The Sweet Epiphany online at http://www.sweetepiphanydetroit.com.

Heather Ann Schmidt reads poetry at The Beat Cafe – 15 August 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hB83NmnxtL0

Poetry written and performed by Heather Ann Schmidt
Recorded at the Beat Cafe, 29200 Hoover Rd. in Warren, Michigan
Event sponsored by Troubadour 21: Writers & Artists in the 21st Century
(photography & editing by John Burroughs, a.k.a. Jesus Crisis)

Heather Ann Schmidt is an adjunct professor at Oakland Community College in Michigan. She edits tinfoildresses poetry journal. Her poems can be found in various online and print journals. Her books include Channeling Isadora Duncan (Gold Wake Press), The Owl & the Muse: Collected Tanka (recycled karma press), The Bat’s Love Song: American Haiku (Crisis Chronicles Press), Njaa (recycled karma press) and a full collection of poems forthcoming from Village Green Press.  She received her MFA from National University.  Keep track of her writing projects and upcoming readings at http://heatherannschmidt.yolasite.com.

Heather Ann Schmidt’s Transient Angels and Red Hibiscus are coming soon from Crisis Chronicles Press.

Dianne Borsenik reads poetry at The Beat Cafe – 15 August 2009

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeQZSVeDtAM

Poetry written and performed by Dianne Borsenik

Recorded at the Beat Cafe, 29200 Hoover Rd. in Warren, Michigan
Event sponsored by Troubadour 21: Writers & Artists in the 21st Century
(photography & editing by John Burroughs, a.k.a. Jesus Crisis)

Dianne Borsenik, former flowerchild and current redhead, is active in the Cleveland poetry scene. Her poems have appeared in Slipstream, Rosebud, Ship of Fools, Nerve Cowboy, The Magnetic Poetry Book of Poetry, Haiku World: An International Poetry Almanac, Eviscerator Heaven, Deep Cleveland Junkmail Oracle, Voices of Cleveland, and Naturally magazine; her chapbook HardDrive/SoftWear was published in 2009 (Crisis Chronicles Press). Both the 2008 and 2009 Cleveland RTA poetry projects included her poems, and actor Jonathan Frid (“Barnabas” on Dark Shadows) used 3 of her poems on tour in “Genesis of Evil.” She has performed her poetry in venues throughout Ohio, Michigan, and Pennsylvania.

The White Birds (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The White Birds
by William Butler Yeats
originally from The Rose (1893)

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.

A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

* * * * *

To read more Yeats in the Online Library, please click here.
For still more, we suggest these volumes from Amazon:

   

When You Are Old (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

When You Are Old
by William Butler Yeats
originally from The Rose (1893)

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

* * * * *

To read more Yeats in the Online Library, please click here.
For still more, we suggest these volumes from Amazon:

   

The Sorrow of Love (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The Sorrow of Love
by William Butler Yeats
originally from The Rose (1893), poem revised in 1925

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,
And all that famous harmony of leaves,
Had blotted out man’s image and his cry.

A girl arose that had red mournful lips
And seemed the greatness of the world in tears,
Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships
And proud as Priam murdered with his peers;

Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves,
A climbing moon upon an empty sky,
And all that lamentation of the leaves,
Could but compose man’s image and his cry.

* * * * *

To read more Yeats in the Online Library, please click here.
For still more, we suggest these volumes from Amazon:

   

The Pity of Love (by William Butler Yeats)

  Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The Pity of Love
by William Butler Yeats
from The Rose (1893)

A pity beyond all telling
Is hid in the heart of love:
The folk who are buying and selling,
The clouds on their journey above,
The cold wet winds ever blowing,
And the shadowy hazel grove
Where mouse-grey waters are flowing,
Threaten the head that I love.

* * * * *

To read more Yeats in the Online Library, please click here.
For still more, we suggest these volumes from Amazon:

   

A Cradle Song (by William Butler Yeats)

1911 photo of Yeats by George Charles Beresford
A Cradle Song
by William Butler Yeats
from The Rose (1893)

The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.

God’s laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with His mood.

I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.

* * * * *

To read more Yeats in the Online Library, please click here.
For still more, we suggest these volumes from Amazon:

   

A Boston Ballad (by Walt Whitman)

A Boston Ballad
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1871

(1854)

To get betimes in Boston town I rose this morning early,
Here’s a good place at the corner, I must stand and see the show.

Clear the way there Jonathan!
Way for the President’s marshal—way for the government cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons, (and the apparitions copiously tumbling.)

I love to look on the Stars and Stripes, I hope the fifes will play Yankee Doodle.
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town.

A fog follows, antiques of the same come limping,
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged and bloodless.

Why this is indeed a show—it has called the dead out of the earth!
The old graveyards of the hills have hurried to see!
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear!
Cock’d hats of mothy mould—crutches made of mist!
Arms in slings—old men leaning on young men’s shoulders.

What troubles you Yankee phantoms? what is all this chattering of bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? do you mistake your crutches for firelocks and level them?

If you blind your eyes with tears you will not see the President’s marshal,
If you groan such groans you might balk the government cannon.

For shame old maniacs—bring down those toss’d arms, and let your white hair be,
Here gape your great grandsons, their wives gaze at them from the windows,
See how well dress’d, see how orderly they conduct themselves.

Worse and worse—can’t you stand it? are you retreating?
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?

Retreat then—pell-mell!
To your graves—back—back to the hills old limpers!
I do not think you belong here anyhow.

But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?

I will whisper it to the Mayor, he shall send a committee to England,
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the royal vault,
Dig out King George’s coffin, unwrap him quick from the graveclothes, box up his bones for a journey,
Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for you, black-bellied clipper,
Up with your anchor—shake out your sails—steer straight toward Boston bay.

Now call for the President’s marshal again, bring out the government cannon,
Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.

This centre-piece for them;
Look, all orderly citizens—look from the windows, women!

The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay,
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull.
You have got your revenge, old buster—the crown is come to its own, and more than its own.

Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan—you are a made man from this day,
You are mighty cute—and here is one of your bargains.
    

* * *

To read other Whitman selections in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library, click here.