A contemporary poem ...FIST FULL OF YOUNG
 

                                                        
                                     

     Cowboy poets have captured and helped preserve the spirit of the "Old West"; and they have brought back rhythm and rhyme to the art of poetry. In doing so, they have given a great deal of pleasure to readers and audiences across the country. Casey's Corral is proud to be a part of this movement.

          In his great book," Pattern and Variation In Poetry" (1932), Chard Powers Smith opines that poetry is rhythmical language stimulating to the imagination; and that unless it has both the elements of "rhythmical language" and  "language that stimulates the imagination" it is not poetry. If it stimulates the imagination but lacks a rhythmical quality, it is "Prose". If it has a rhythmical quality but fails to stimulate the imagination it is "Verse".   About imagination Smith said this: "The aim of poetry is to break up the familiar images, concepts and ideas which we carry in minds by indicating essential  variants not familiarly associated with them, variants that give them a new and special significance: instead of saying, "We fell in love", to say, "We read no more from that book that day."; instead of saying, "Now I fall dead", to say "The rest is silence"; instead of saying, "My youth is passing", to say,
                     I only know that summer sang in me
                     A little while, that in me sings no more.

                                      -Sonnet 19 from The Harp Weaver and Other Poems- Millay.


       Within the scope of Cowboy Poetry you will find many poems and verses ...all having a strong rhythmical quality, and many poems that  are original and creative, and that stimulate the imagination. In response to all the "proseits" out there who question my ability to write anything other than "doggerel" or "verse", I respectfully  submit the following:

                                                                                                                


Grecian urn showing myth of golden fleece.
Image on Image on a piece of antique Grecian red-figure pottery showing Jason returning with the golden fleece.


A FIST FULL OF YOUNG

With the prized golden fleece clutched tight in our hand,

 Eden's dominions were ours to command;
and spring walked among us and painted our world,
as our handful of moments, like petals, unfurled.
With dreams in our scabbards and songs on our tongue,
we took on the Gods with a fist full of young.
We had it all- for the gold fleece was ours;
and Spring kissed our lips and crowned us with flowers.
We danced in the moonlight and partied till dawn.
We partied and danced till our moments were gone.
In the heat of the summer, like petals were spilt
our handful of moments. Too soon did they wilt,
then droop like a limp rag and drop one by one
till our foray and reign over Eden was done.
But Oh! It was wondrous...and oh! It was grand
when we held that prized golden fleece in our hand!
With dreams in our scabbards and songs on our tongue,
we took on the Gods, with our fists full of young.

Bette Wolf Duncan
ŠJune 27, 2007



 

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