Boyertown PA
4-09-2026 12:07am

April 9: One-a-Day in Celebration of National Poetry Month

Anne Kent Gibson, BASH grad, shares a few poems--(1) a personal favorite reflecting the wisdom that comes from time and trial, (2) one in remembrance of her father who died recently and in gratitude for her late English teacher Ray Fulmer without whom she would not know the poem or have discussed it with her father who loved it, (3) one she's been obsessed with for decades, and (4) one that keeps her going in troubled times. 

#1 You Learn

After awhile you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn’t mean possession
and company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
and presents aren’t promises
and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up
and your eyes ahead
with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build your roads today
because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
and futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight.

After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
so you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure
that you really are strong
and you really do have worth
and you learn and you learn…with every goodbye you learn.

~Virginia Shopstall

# 2 Crossing the Bar

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

#3 Judas Iscariot 

The eyes of twenty centuries
Pursue me along corridors to where
I am painted at their ends on many walls.
        Ever-revolving future recognize
This red hair and red beard, where I am seated
Within the dark cave of the feast of light.
        Out of my heart-shaped shadow I stretch my hand
Across the white table into the dish
But not to dip my bread. It is as though
The cloth on each side of one dove-bright face
Spreads dazzling wings on which the apostles ride
Uplifting them into the vision
Where their eyes watch themselves enthroned.
        My russet hand across the dish
Plucks enviously against one feather
--But still the rushing wings spurn me below!

        Saint Sebastian of wickedness
I stand: all eyes legitimate arrows piercing through
The darkness of my wickedness. They recongnize
My halo hammered from thirty silver pieces
And the hemp rope around my neck
Soft as that Spirit’s hanging arms
When on my cheek he answered with the kiss
Which cuts for ever--
                                                                My strange stigmata,
All love and hate, all fire and ice!

        But who betrayed whom? O you,
Whose light gaze forms the azure corridor
Through which those other pouring eyes
Arrow into me--answer! Who
Betrayed whom? Who read
In his mind’s light from the first day
That the kingdom of heaven on earth must always
Reiterate the garden of Eden,
And each day’s revolution be betrayed
Within man’s heart, each day?
                                                                                   Who wrapped
The whispering serpent round the tree
And hung between the leaves the glittering purse
And trapped the fangs with God-appointed poison?
Who knew
I must betray the truth, and made the lie
Betray its truth in me?

         Those hypocrite eyes which aimed at you
Now aim at me. And yet, beyond their world
Each turning on his pole of truth, your pole
Invisible light, and mine
Becoming what man is. We stare
Across two thousand years, and heaven, and hell,
Into each other’s gaze.

~Stephen Spender

#4 song

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
and how the wind doth ramm,
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

-Ezra PoundZ

More News from Boyertown
I'm interested
I disagree with this
This is unverified
Spam
Offensive