The Poetry Project: Poetry and the Movies
Where Are My Children?
Where Are My Children? is a 1916 American silent drama film directed by Phillips Smalley and Lois Weber and stars Tyrone Power Sr, Juan de la Cruz, Helen Riaume, Marie Walcamp, Cora Drew, A.D. Blake, Rene Rogers, William Haben and C. Norman Hammond.
The film tells the story of a district attorney (Power Sr) who, while prosecuting a doctor for illegal abortions, finds out that society people, including his wife, used the doctor's services.
Where Are My Children?
What are these words
Of blasphemy
What rights
Are they bestowing
In whose eyes
As we see the offset
In a dingy world of secretive knowing
Alcohol, abuse, impoverishment
All hope destroyed
As life is chosen
To be void
Along with the end of youth
there are those of carelessness
And selfish prestige
Inhumanity employed
Taking love
And throwing it overboard
Into a sea of infidelity and emptiness
Drowning in unknown regrets
Through the eyes of innocence
Lies the tragedy of butchery
Left with choices
That only blindness lets
What are these personal services
Some kind of prestigious evil
Dancing away superficially
Ignoring the essence of sin
The end is full of longing
Tears of anguish
Looking to the blank horizon
For a family that has gone with the wind
DeaBeePea 6-25-20

The NEW Poetry Project
Entitled: Poetry at the Movies 1915-2015
One movie from each year will be chosen as thematic and artistic inspiration.
REGENERATION (1915) avail. On YouTube (nitrate damaged)
Regeneration (alternately called The Regeneration ) is a 1915 American silent biographical crime drama co-written and directed by Raoul Walsh. The film, which was the first full-length feature film directed by Walsh, stars Rockliffe Fellowes and Anna Q. Nilsson and was adapted for the screen by Carl Harbaugh and Walsh from the memoir My Mamie Rose, by Owen Frawley Kildare (a Bowery tough himself) and the adapted play by Kildare and Walter C. Hackett.
The floor of loneliness
As the wicker casket is horse-drawn away
The mouth-harp and cat
His only friends at play
The cruelty of neighbours
Forced to run in mutiny
The new home is gangland
His perilous destiny
The glory of an ice-cream cone
and vaudeville show
a notion of freedom
and the whisper of a self-reliance glow
Two solitudes
Awaiting intervention’s hand
Then comes the calm
Of a settlement house planned
As the noble pure soul
Waves her wand to impart
the potential of mind
and a God-given heart
DeaBeePea 6-22-20

Ode of Fatherhood
years of tears and laughter
and raised voices to
wonderful memories
and some regrets
as time flew by as they grew
my thoughts and memories
in three
so proud of their loving hearts
watching them put out the fires
of turmoil and distress
rising above to conquer in parts
happiness and newfound love
new generations
passion and togetherness
taking each daily walk
with growing wisdom
holding on to tenderness
Love to Jeff, Sean and Logan
Carson, Carter, Finch

It’s hard not to think
but when there are so many
I can always take
Even the beauty of simplicity
Like a bright and sunny day
Is unnerving
In its miracle
The existence of evil
and its ever-present shadow
like bullets to the heart
A collision of survival tactics
Thoughts of many colours
And the distorted evaluation of
The dichotomy of crowds and solitudes
Or groups of three or four
varying degrees of communication
Ideas that are not our own
Unaware of our puppetry
Cautious, with non-committal
So I suddenly rear back
Thankful for my existence
Many forms of love
DeaBeePea 6-19-20

Beautiful weather
Is no reason not to write
But I do feel like a bike ride
And take myself outa sight…
Beautiful Days
There are days so bright
As clear as glass
Darting arrows, rays of brass
A shimmering delight
Trees that twinkle
Pappus that dance
Airborn, taking a parachute chance
For the snow-like sprinkle
A calming breeze
In its soothing whisper
Gentle and quiet, In teasing simper
Carrying summer’s keys
But there is more allure
In our intricate place
So many bold, familiar faces
For our eyes to immure
Thunders warning cry
And wild storms
In a frantic swarm
Heaven watching, with a sigh
A moonlit sky
A starry parasol
Eyes closed, spinning like a carousel
In a dream to lie
Not by our rules
Through day and night
It's the magical might
Of nature’s jewels
DeaBeePea 6-16-20

Inspired by the feminist poetry of ELIZABETH DREW BARSTOW STODDARD
Nameless Tear
Happiness with my singing
although the melody is plain
Is there contentment in my strain
harkening back to my beginning
A monotonous peace in place
most days alike in their consonance
I see my shadow in the distance
a strange goodbye in withering lace
To me, no love or misery brought
as if I am an empty silhouette
Leaving me no credit or debt
leaving blank the life I sought
Are my rewards and bruises silent
only perceived in abstract mind
Is there nothing to my beleaguered kind
as I cry in in my meaningless life of rent
Not owning anything but my pain
yet on a poet’s fragrant page
And a marcher’s radiant rage
I slowly let go of my empathetic cane
I am not here to satisfy this heart
but to feed the souls of needful courage
Dedicated to a universal marriage
a subplot of passion to impart
DeaBeePea 6-12-20

My son, Sean Patterson is 33 today. He has always been such a wonderful source of love and affection, despite the many challenges he has faced in his life.
Sean, you bring strange and bright nuances to our lives
bits and pieces of tangled emotion
Passion and empathy, with tortured twist
and the happiness that souls do strive
Your quirky rants and big-time hugs
wild humour and searching questions
make us squirm sometimes
as we sometimes resist your insistent tugs
But there is no doubt
you are the one and only
and as each year meanders through your heart
There is always a new inspiration to sprout
DeaBeePea 6-11-20
Love from Dad

Today is sunshine
Blue sky and scorched memories
Waiting for clouds
My planning stages
Choice of redundant repute
No decision made
Masking, deceiving
Boredom’s playful, quiet scheme
Does anyone know
Dandelion fluff
Parallel to random thoughts
As free as the wind
Measuring distance
Shopping through eager notions
Eyes and common sense
A bookcase of smouldering phrases
Old pages
Challenges in their chaptered phases
The isolation of my stilling frame
My sitting soul
Playing this ‘knowing me’ game
Beauty, my eyes the beholder
Seeing miracles
Invisible people crying, on my shoulder
Relocating my protesting mind
A buried treasure so kind
Weeds, birds and squirrels
Toasting winter’s referral
DeaBeePea 6-9-20

The End (Never)
We perceive finality
But life has told us
To the contrary
In its wisdom
And we still persist
To thrive in this infinite kingdom
So one might ask
What is the purpose
Of an endless ride
Of patternless fatigue
Suspended by fear
And aimless intrigue
The answer is before us
In this forever flow
A sister of ends
This collaborative means
But its history of corruption
And benevolent scenes
The unity and force
Of a familial front
With love and laughter
Can expand to a length
Where process is all
Of enduring strength
No longer worrying
Of what will happen
As we dance to the song
With a melody of passion
And despite the cringe of doubt
There need not be a ration
Every blue sky is a smile
That makes wishes come true
And a trickling stream reminds us
Of our spawning hope
As we crawl with respectful caution
On this orbiting slope
DeaBeePea 6-8-20

The Portrait
Looking from that tightened cloth
eyes with indefinite peering
A kind of loveliness beyond the frame
like a mirror reflecting love
The ruby and the gold
the colours of conquest’s game
A prison brushed by possession
her name a romantic tryst
Some kind of undefined perfection
one direction, one meaning
Feeding lust day and night
Shining in the moon’s detection
Growing wisdom from her layered heart
the quandary of the softly brushed beauty
Sensing her hindered walk
trusting in the fulfilling of dreams
Wondering about her tortured steps
and the strength of freedom’s lock
DeaBeePea 6-4-20

Look, I don't have all day...
the cliche
changing parameters
evolving with time
as we stand in line
what to say next
in our masks benign
are we clear of the path
we have been warned
the route is marked
with signs of hope
our shaky confidence
hanging by the optimist's rope
the clouds silver lining
still gives us rain
as we wait for thunder
every rhyme, every reason
old rules, new ears
for every season
Looking for tradition
now, the friend of the dodo bird
our security blanket
blowing in the wind
time to grasp the saving tree
the tears of our past chagrined
But as shame turns to anger
our six-foot distance seems little
our breath corroded
in rusty assumptions
shedding our arrogance
avoiding presumption
Reading between the lines
the font is not decorative
it is as simple as the sun
it's love and warmth and glow
the illness of kindness
in our blossoming know
DeaBeePea 6-3-20

what does it mean
to gather
it should be simple really
laughs and smiles
putting aside many things
sharing many styles
planning intake
stopping at two
or having a DD
or the ultimate, crashing
thanks for the party
it was simply smashing
So happy to see friends
unseen for days or years
nervous with excitement
a new-found permanent grin
being able to joke
about cute and naughty sins
but the story for me
was often different
deciding who I would be
comfortable in a form of hiding
an unknown version of myself
my imagination overriding
strange moods taking over
somewhere between a wallflower
and an idiotic class clown
not sticking to one kind of drink
wandering from room to room
in an anxious type of slink
Later, lying in bed
mad at myself
after all, it was a chance to shine
but I screwed up bad
not knowing how or why
and now, I am very sad
DeaBeePea 1-6-20

Bad news... I am back!
The term
It’s about time
So frequently used
Referring to habits
Often abused
Certainly applies now
Poetry can take a rest
But its explosive soul
Has to come out
Much emotion to dole
A venue to allow
Certain expositions
Of possible controversy
Adding a bit of wit
Providing a flavor
Acceptable bit by bit
Avoiding the proverbial row
Are we just putting it off
This rebellious response
That could come to blows
Well, I suppose it’s started
Within various social throes
Little reason to bow
This wordy hobby
Will remain an extension
Of a modest sense of duty
Without a lecturous bend
Providing a touch of beauty
Corresponding to my vow
So, I’m back on track
From ditty to ditty
An attempt in evocation
Stirring minds
With naiveté’s amputation
Not always answering how
DeaBeePea 5-30-20

WEEK 15 Day 7
This the end… but not really.
I hope you have all enjoyed THE POETRY PROJECT… you have been a well-behaved audience (a little too well behaved actually).
Not Too Often
It doesn’t happen
Too often
The constant reminder
The tingle
The oozing balminess
Occasional blindness
Verging on madness
The contentment of passion
Even pain
Amidst the glorious rapture
My blood
A simmering boil
Dancing through roil
Sanity’s uncoil
The accompaniment
Intimate jazz
Winsome wine
Teasing with affection
Laughter, tears
No fears
So many years
I would never sell
The wonder
Or trade it
With ignorance
and superfluous play
Wasting days
So many ways
It’s a miracle
This fullness of heart
DeaBeePea 5-17-20

FINAL DAY, Tomorrow!!
The End is Near
The undefined passing
As life as we know it
But what comes after
I see as a permit
To experience wisdom
Peace and sanctity
With certain apprehension
Of an unknown community
Looking down
At the human panorama
Finding answers
To this tragic diorama
How is the message sent
From this place so aware
Is there only silence
From this heaven so fair
Thought, I sometimes hear
These voices from above
Telling us of our next step
With a shiny cloud of love
DeaBeePea 5-16-20

WEEK 15 DAY 5 (Day 103 of 105)
The Big Circle
The flower disk
Pots and dots
The glorious sun
Seeds of grains
The awe of tots
The wheel
Life… and the ripple of thought
Children of the earth
An evil construct
Of over-zealous intellect
As we manufacture
Our make-believe history
We are simply human beings
Unfit names
Stereotypical weapons
Giving water fire
Creating the copper tone mystery
A thin wet sky, that yellows at the rim
The knowledge is in the soul
Of water and soil
Spawning friendship
With the gods of life
The warriors of the rainbow will come to save them
Imprisoned hearts
Taught a tainted right
Now living a tortured wrong
Severed by the capitalist knife
Listen or your tongue will make you deaf
I lost my talk
At Shubenacadie
Will it ever come back
This ghost of authority
Understand the life-force within me
Both poems by DeaBeePea 5-15-20

WEEK 15 DAY 4… Three more entries to the finish line.
Closed vs Open
Who will win this endless game
Slamming doors and windows down
Curtains drawn and lock on mind
Many leaders, acting like clowns
Streets of anxious walkers
Many, looking the other way
Some stores open, but smiles hollow
Outsiders in cautious play
New ideas a feared expense
the cost of humanity, held in lies
different, doesn’t have to be bad
remarks with an edge, that truth denies
We shake our heads, and take a dive
Submerged in art, in mindful wallow
Opening our hearts and ears
Ready for a larger swallow
The joy of this incredible breech
Understanding hands, for which we reach.
DeaBeePea 5-13-20

WEEK 15 DAY 3 (Day 101 of 105)
Using similar free form but trying all lines 2 and 4.
The Accident
Early perceptions of life
As something of a fortuity, accident or fluke
Being told from some sources
That this existence is a kind of rebuke
And that theory has proven itself
So many times over
Through unknowing self-inflicted stabs
Life an uncontrolled herd, me a hapless drover
But the growing loss of ignorance
Has shone a brand new light
Pondering every silly step, and strange result
That there is a plan for this mortal flight
So now my cracking mirror
Tells me stories with a different end
Refractions and reflections so discerning
As my wisdom continues to scend
After I go, where will this roadmap be
Spinning in orbit, or under the deep blue sea
DeaBeePea 5-13-20

WEEK 15 Day 2
Here is a freeform poem that just came to my head while I had no intent on writing a poem. I must have been influenced by something… possibly some of the research I have been doing on wildflowers. This took me about five minutes to write. I enjoy writing poetry when it spews out of me like a thunderstorm.
I am blossoming like the spring
It is not a strength of my own
It is brought on by miracles
The perfumes of floral fountains
Pink and white and violet
Dancing in the breeze
Bees waving their contented wings
with nectar’s syrupy smile
My joy is administered by love
a universal unexplainable song
pronounced in a language so soft
waltzing through sprinkles of rain
I rejoice in plain and simple words
Adamant in my passion for reality
DeaBeePea 5-12-20

Vers Beaucoup
Vers Beaucoup is French for "many rhymes". Each stanza consists of four lines with a rhyming word scheme of:
Each rhyme can only use a MAXIMUM of three words. The fourth "a" rhyme carried over to the second line causes enjambment and creates a strong internal rhyming structure.
In poem 1, I duplicated the rhymes in verses 1-2, and 3-4. Made it an extra challenge.
The ‘I Hope Not’ Goodbye
Your outa’ sight, why must we fight creating this blight
I am sad this night, wondering why this conflict flies
I might just cry, not clear from my growing tears
Dear one, already I am in search of you, a love anew
This unruly flight, not right
But, my heart’s might will sigh, to imply
What will tie us, to hear us near
No fear, there must be a shoe as our clue
Let’s meet and talk, a walk around the block
Hopping through chalk, our names embroidered in fame
But no games, maybe a song where we belong
Not too long, as we discuss what we must
Where do we flock, as our clock is docked
A time mocked, by the claims of our pain
If it rains, we will go along ne’er wrong
I hope for long, back together to sunny weather.
DeaBeePea 5-11-20
Here I have toyed with the metre, while essentially following the rules.
What is reported as true, has caused a brewing stew
It has accrued, a messy stress
So I shall address, bad this is, and sad
Yes, I’ m mad, so it’s time to point out the crime
A certain leader claims, to know all, about dames and games
He loves to spread flames, lying and prying
Belying the democratic oath, so shameless and blameless, HA!
His face frameless, paid-off friends with predictable trends
But it’s everywhere, in its stupid blare and gaudy glare
It’s not fair, but we must find truth as honest sleuths
And with some vital tooth, scream foul with our jowls
In our angry howl, let us fix these tricks.
Be aware of the source, and divorce this course
We see little remorse, but by diminishing power it will sour
And they will cower, bimbos and dumbos
It’s a jumbo farce, but we win, let the truth begin
DeaBeePea 5-11-20

This is my own creation. Each line has 4 words, all beginning with P O E M. The second poem, I do the same with L O V E. I call them TITLE POETRY.
Please Open Every Moment
Possessing Our Empathetic Mind
Passing Oaths Early Message
Particular Omens Elevate Mention
Paths Oddly Extending Memory
Pausing, Obeying Embraced Mentality
Perpetuating, Outside Elemental Mirrors
Perspiration Of Exclusive Martyrs
Peaceful , Omniscience Easily Moved
DeaBeePea 5-11-20
Little Of Venomous Execration
Longing Over Vacancies Entitled
Lying On Vales Elegant
Lusting Overmuch Vanity’s Emergence
Lingering Object, Verily Enigmatic
Lovely Oasis, Vistas Employed
Listing Oddities, Vailing Expectations
Lasting, Overtly Vexed Expression
Lastly Optimistic Visiting Empathy
DeaBeePea 5-11-20

Kimo Poems
Kimo poems are an Israeli version of haiku. Apparently, there was a need for more syllables in Hebrew. That said, most of the rules are still familiar:
3 lines.
No rhymes.
10 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, and 6 in the third.
Also, it is recommended that the kimo be focused on a single frozen image (kind of like a snapshot).
A sky, from my feet to my lost visage
The stillness of the blue haze
A sponge of wet silence
The teasing light of intermittent sun
The birds have paused in reply
Looking into my eyes
Counting options on my pale fingertips
Sitting by the damp window
Laughing at my stillness
Long and proud, many old stories to tell
perils of our impatience
no change for the better
Solid and quiet, in dusty stillness
Yet, my ears can hear a mind
Thoughts proclaim, suspended
Standing high on its lofty pedestal
stillness in the timeless night
modest in anchored flight
Hastily erected, slowly crumbling
Progress in its pompous stand
Built with hurried fingers
All by DeaBeePea 5-10-20

Here are the rules for the Golden Shovel:
Take a line (or lines) from a poem you admire.
Use each word in the line (or lines) as an end word in your poem.
Keep the end words in order.
Give credit to the poet who originally wrote the line (or lines).
The new poem does not have to be about the same subject as the poem that offers the end words.
The Poem I have chosen as my guide, is:
Georgian Bay… Lauren Carter
Out here, only
horizon. A meniscus
Of emptiness,
Air and water.
Under the width
of unfurled swells,
diving down, you’d find
fathoms, 540 feet deep.
The bones of wrecks:
The Northern Belle
The Waubuno, the Asia
which took all but two
survivors, a hundred
and more souls
swallowed in a quick,
gulping turn
Of the weather.
Timbers and scaled
Iron scattered
Over a secret
Terrain, the remains
Of ancient waterfalls,
Eight thousand
years old, stilled
in silent depths
by LC
The Swim
Am I only
The tired meniscus
Between fulfillment and emptiness
Beyond water
Swimming the width
As the ocean swells
No deep treasures to find
In the prehistoric deep
Listening to wrecks
Their ancient bells
The floating spirits of euthanasia
My arms of two
Embracing those in hundreds
Borderless souls
Melting quick,
My mental glacier turns
The metamorphosis of weather
Temperatures scaled
Emotions and power scattered
Slowly breaking secrets
Human remains
Spilling over emotional waterfalls
so stilled
newly found depths
DeaBeePea 5-10-20
Poems 2:
Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.
Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.
The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills’ northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.
Pure Joy
Where are my blackberries
They are my dessert, so mainly
Offering their dark-blue sea
Oh how I love my blackberries
They are strong and potent eyes
So juicy and fat
I take with my hungry fingers
As the drupes take stock of me
Some drop to my sides
In potentially squishing flocks
On floor, a magenta sky
Is this clumsiness worth protesting
I will certainly eat them all
Treating my soul within
As my satisfied spirit flies
Through a hazy sugary screen
This is my heaven
I hope there is never an end
From sea to shining sea
Thank you for blessing me
I have a wide smiling face
Yes, my personality’s salt
So good for me
Consider it my sweet-rock
A blackberry outer space
This heliotrope glow for silversmiths
It is my metal
DeaBeePea 5-10-20

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