Crisis Chronicles Online Library

Lady K reads poetry at The Beat Cafe - 15 August 2009

2010-07-30T02:47:00Z

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

Matthew LuckyLefty Sawyer at The Beat Cafe - 15 August 2009

2010-07-30T02:30:20Z

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

2010-07-29T01:22:00Z

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

2010-07-29T01:04:00Z

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)

2010-07-29T00:49:00Z

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)

2010-07-28T12:05:00Z

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)

2010-07-28T03:43:00Z

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)

2010-07-28T03:38:00Z

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)

2010-07-28T03:25:00Z

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)

2010-07-27T13:10:00Z

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.

Europe (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-27T12:56:00Z

Europe
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1860

The 72d and 73d Years of These States

Suddenly out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of slaves,
Like lightning it le'pt forth half startled at itself,
Its feet upon the ashes and the rags, its hands tight to the throats of kings.

O hope and faith!
O aching close of exiled patriots' lives!
O many a sicken'd heart!
Turn back unto this day and make yourselves afresh.

And you, paid to defile the People—you liars, mark!
Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts,
For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming from his simplicity the poor man's wages,
For many a promise sworn by royal lips and broken and laugh'd at in the breaking,
Then in their power not for all these did the blows strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall;
The People scorn'd the ferocity of kings.

But the sweetness of mercy brew'd bitter destruction, and the frighten'd monarchs come back,
Each comes in state with his train, hangman, priest, tax-gatherer,
Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant.

Yet behind all lowering stealing, lo, a shape,
Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front and form, in scarlet folds,
Whose face and eyes none may see,
Out of its robes only this, the red robes lifted by the arm,
One finger crook'd pointed high over the top, like the head of a snake appears.

Meanwhile corpses lie in new-made graves, bloody corpses of young men,
The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princes are flying, the creatures of power laugh aloud,
And all these things bear fruits, and they are good.

Those corpses of young men,
Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets, those hearts pierc'd by the gray lead,
Cold and motionless as they seem live elsewhere with unslaughter'd vitality.

They live in other young men O kings!
They live in brothers again ready to defy you,
They were purified by death, they were taught and exalted.

Not a grave of the murder'd for freedom but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed,
Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains and the snows nourish.

Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose,
But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counseling, cautioning.

Liberty, let others despair of you—I never despair of you.

Is the house shut? is the master away?
Nevertheless, be ready, be not weary of watching,
He will soon return, his messengers come anon.

* * *

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

A Hand-Mirror (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-27T12:49:00Z

A Hand-Mirror
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1860

Hold it up sternly—see this it sends back, (who is it? is it you?)
Outside fair costume, within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye, no more a sonorous voice or springy step,
Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step,
A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, venerealee's flesh,
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous,
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
No brain, no heart left, no magnetism of sex;
Such from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence,
Such a result so soon—and from such a beginning!

* * *

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

Germs (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-27T12:38:00Z

Germs
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1871

Forms, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts,
The ones known, and the ones unknown, the ones on the stars,
The stars themselves, some shaped, others unshaped,
Wonders as of those countries, the soil, trees, cities, inhabitants, whatever they may be,
Splendid suns, the moons and rings, the countless combinations and effects,
Such-like, and as good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand provided for a handful of space,
     which I extend my arm and half enclose with my hand,
That containing the start of each and all, the virtue, the germs of all.


* * *

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

Thoughts (Of Ownership) by Walt Whitman

2010-07-27T12:24:00Z

Thoughts
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1881

Of ownership—as if one fit to own things could not at pleasure enter upon all, and incorporate them into
     himself or herself;
Of vista—suppose some sight in arriere through the formative chaos, presuming the growth, fulness, life,
     now attain'd on the journey,
( But I see the road continued, and the journey ever continued; )
Of what was once lacking on earth, and in due time has become supplied—and of what will yet be supplied,
Because all I see and know I believe to have its main purport in what will yet be supplied.


* * *

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

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-27T12:12:00Z

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1867

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

* * *

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

Perfections (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-27T10:58:00Z

Perfections
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1860

Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves,
As souls only understand souls.

* * *

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

Oh Me! Oh Life! (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-26T17:13:00Z

Oh Me! Oh Life!
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1892

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

* * *

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

To a President (by Walt Whitman)

2010-07-26T13:14:00Z

To a President
by Walt Whitman
from Leaves of Grass, 1860

All you are doing and saying is to America dangled mirages,
You have not learn'd of Nature--of the politics of Nature you have not learn'd the great amplitude, rectitude, impartiality,
You have not seen that only such as they are for these States,
And that what is less than they must sooner or later lift off from these States.

* * *

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

Charles Potts reads Fu Hexagram 24 No Hangups in Cleveland - video

2010-07-24T00:10:00Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QRvQSZEAZw

Video features poet Charles Potts reading on 8 May 2009 at the Barking Spider in Cleveland
during Tres Versing the Panda: Three Days of Poetry Soiree. Filmed by Jesus Crisis.
Event sponsored by Green Panda Press (Cleveland Heights) and The Temple, Inc.

"Fu Hexagram 24 No Hangups" is (c) 2007 by Charles Potts, from his
book The Yellow Christ: Valga Krusa, vol. 1 (Green Panda Press, 2007).

For more Charles Potts, please visit http://www.thetemplebookstore.com/
You can also order Valga Krusa by emailing greenpandapress@gmail.com

Bree reads and sings poetry at the Barking Spider on 8 May 2009 - video

2010-07-23T23:41:00Z

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-WwfbKtp8qI

Video features Bree on 8 May 2009 at the Barking Spider Tavern in Cleveland during
Tres Versing the Panda: Three Days of Poetry Soiree. Filmed by Jesus Crisis.

Event sponsored by Green Panda Press (Cleveland Heights) and The Temple, Inc.

Check out Bree's e-book i eat the apathetic for free here.

We also recommend Bree's Was Chicken Trax Amid Sparrows Tread (published
by Temple Books, 2009) and Laying Pans (by Ecstatic Peace, 2009)

Click here to see more by Bree in the Crisis Chronicles Online Library

Bree = Green Panda Press publisher of much must-read poetry

http://greenpandapress.blogspot.com & http://www.myspace.com/verysharp