Stewart's Poem of the Month
Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2007 12:40 pm
Being a Former English professor, I have never lost my love for literature or poetry. In January of 2004, some like-minded colleagues in the dot-com I worked for found out about my literary bent and asked me to pick a favorite poem and email to them. Some wonderful discussion about the poem followed, and then next month they asked me to select another one to discuss. Thus, my "Poem of the Month" was born and has been going strong now for 3 - 1/2 years, and the mailing list has grown to 250 friends, family and colleagues.
For July's poem of the month, the wonderful experience of celebrating Roy's 50th birthday and gathering with friends for the weekend of tastings carried over into my poem selection. I thought I'd share the poem and the comments here for your enjoyment.
Best regards,
Stewart
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Welcome toJuly's Poem of the Month!
This past weekend I had the chance to gather with friends and acquaintances who came from all around the country and the world to celebrate the 50th birthday of my dear friend Roy. Roy is, in his own right, an accomplished wine journalist and an acknowledged Port wine expert. He has shared with me his passion for wine in general and Port in particular, and graciously arranged a once-in-a-lifetime tasting this weekend with Port wines ranging back to 1815.
There is perhaps nothing greater than to gather around friends from far and wide to revel in the bonds of friendship. The joy is even greater when you are able to do so in the context of an event like a 50th birthday.
Ever the optimist, the month's poem seemed especially appropriate for the occasion.
Warmest regards,
Stewart
Crossroads
By Joyce Sutphen
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
As always, previous poems of the month can be found at:
http://www.stewarttodd.com/blog
For July's poem of the month, the wonderful experience of celebrating Roy's 50th birthday and gathering with friends for the weekend of tastings carried over into my poem selection. I thought I'd share the poem and the comments here for your enjoyment.
Best regards,
Stewart
--------------------------------------
Welcome toJuly's Poem of the Month!
This past weekend I had the chance to gather with friends and acquaintances who came from all around the country and the world to celebrate the 50th birthday of my dear friend Roy. Roy is, in his own right, an accomplished wine journalist and an acknowledged Port wine expert. He has shared with me his passion for wine in general and Port in particular, and graciously arranged a once-in-a-lifetime tasting this weekend with Port wines ranging back to 1815.
There is perhaps nothing greater than to gather around friends from far and wide to revel in the bonds of friendship. The joy is even greater when you are able to do so in the context of an event like a 50th birthday.
Ever the optimist, the month's poem seemed especially appropriate for the occasion.
Warmest regards,
Stewart
Crossroads
By Joyce Sutphen
The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.
The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
As always, previous poems of the month can be found at:
http://www.stewarttodd.com/blog