...and Why a P O E M ...

 

In Commemoration... in Tribute... in Dedication ... in Acknowledgment... in Remembrance...

Rose Marie Raccioppi

APOGEE Poet

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

~ 

And so this poet asks... Who ...

 

          

Who

Who heeds the words of this poet

Who listens to these echoes of heart

Who feels the yearnings and the fire

Who sees the vision held clear

Is it the wind that whispers its own song

Is it the sun that warms and nourishes

Is it the moon that sheds its light

Is it the star that guides our way

Is it the stranger who extends a hand

Is it the child who gives a knowing smile

Is it the soul in its moment of call

Is it God in all present grace

Who heeds the words of this poet

Who listens to these echoes of heart

Who feels the yearnings and the fire

Who sees the vision held clear.

       

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

Who, Rose Marie Raccioppi, THE WIND AND THE WILLOW, 

Publish Amrica, 2008.

The Inspiration of the Poet, c. 1630, Oil on canvas, 

Musée du Louvre, Paris, Nicholas Poussin, 1594-1665.

~

..to say...or not to say...

 

...to say, or not to say...

He said, she said, misunderstandings, conflicts, arguments, judgments, I meant this, But you said this, You don't hear me... and the drama goes on and on and on... and so I petition YOU, to listen not only with your ears, but with your heart, past the assumptions, past the conclusions without the impending retaliations, see the resolve that beckons to be known, allow TRUTH its dominion.

WORDS ...

"Words are things, and a small drop of ink

falling like dew upon a thought

produces that which makes

thousands, perhaps millions, think."

~Lord Byron, 1788-1824

Words, those markers of thought, sounding within us, hanker for expression. Words, those marks upon paper, our own or that of another find their meaning within us. A poem, its meter, its rhythm, its rhyme, its structure, its pulse, calls for our attentive consideration. Within the words, the line, the totality of a poem, we to find meaning, inspiration, an accord, a resolve and yes, another question.

~Rose Marie Raccioppi

Language provides an echo - it is not the original - words are representations, symbols, utterances, that the inner spirit longs to be known - to self - to others and to the ultimate SELF. As a poet, language echoes my heart's lament, my soul's joy and my spirit's quest to soar, echoes holding to praise and gratitude, a sounding sense of purpose.

~Rose Marie Raccioppi

...and so I appeal... Imagine the engagement of heart, soul, spirit in words of praise, in words of reflection, in words of sacred creed. Imagine "know thyself" a pursuit of love, of faith, of spirit, of GOD. The more I read Shakespeare, the more I realize that in a poet's heart is ever the search for understanding, beauty and purpose. If we are open to explore the poet's pondering of heart, we will hear the questing echoes of soul. And so in joy, I plea...

Shakespeare Be my Brother..

Shakespeare be my brother this very night

As words free and in frolic take flight

Words of anguish, fear and pain

Words of illusion and the inane

Words to claim my longings and desire

Words to breathe these thoughts of fire

For words within the mind conceived

Create the world for us perceived

Recorded in prose, poetry and rhyme

To give purpose to life's gift of time

Words to serve intent and pleasure

Held in journals as one's life treasure

Words of moments present, moments past

And within a recorded history cast

Of all the words I in quest to heed

Silent utterances of TRUTH and sacred creed.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

By PROCLAMATION 2011-2022

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."

~William Shakespeare

~

Poetry in expressive awakenings, painting in felt awakenings, and so self BE known in its supernal quest... What Be...

What Be

what be my thinking this day

what perceptions will mark the way

what memories shall I behold

what story shall there be told

will this day be its glory new

will it be shadowed by doubts held true

dispel the veils of doubt and fear

dispel illusions of loss, pain and tear

know that all in its own destined way

brings meaning and purpose to our day

beyond all hurt, betrayal and demise

is the seeking and the word of the wise

the waxing and waning to prevail

the splendor of light shall ever we hail

know with faith and an abiding grace

that within our heart destiny has its place

it shall be ours ever to have and to hold

this THE WORD with love and shadows cast gold.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

Shadows Cast Gold, Watercolor, Skyscapes, ©Rose Marie Raccioppi, 2013,

WHAT

and what does a poet do

to make her soul known to you

her words held within time and deed

be this her love and sacred creed

melodies majestic she in silence sings

in honor of what each breath does bring 

a moment to savor be it the NOW

with pen and paper she fulfills a vow

to take reflection and its known call

heed well the Glory, the Presence, the All.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York 

Image: Poetry, in acknowledgment by Blue Mountain.

I was asked how do you know you are a poet... ...

I was asked how do you know you are a poet... 
I answered...
and so it is...

when you find bits of paper in your pocket bearing lines
when you realize you did not take your vitamins because you forgot to eat
when you keep writing even though the pencil point is broken
when you hear words in your heart and cannot write them fast enough
when you hear the crackle of a fallen leaf and know it is a song
when you see a smile and feel the wondrous charm of joy
when you are embraced by the MUSE that refuses to let go
when you hear silence and know it is an orchestra divine
when you grasp the lint in your pocket and feel its inspiration
when you see each season by its ceaseless cycles of grace
when you find that every expression, every gesture of nature calls your attention
when you breathe and feel the miracle of life that is you
when you sigh in delight and amazement at the poem you just completed
and so it is ... you know.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

I am asked...

I am asked: "What brings you to write poetry?" and I respond: 

The MUSE

Compelling be its beckoning call

Welcomed be its echo of heart

The MUSE in visitation known

Pulsing sounds be a spell divine

With pen to paper words to cast as mine

Know I that this MUSE of Spirit blesses me

And I in the grace of gratitude, words bring I to thee.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

As words make themselves deeply known by the meaning and vibration of each letter, the consciousness mind as well as the subconscious mind are brought into play. So too, when we view a work of art. Poetry, our Spirit in expressive sound, Artistry our Spirit in expressive light...

Flutter...Flutter...Frivolity

In the darkest hour before dawn
Awaken I to feathered voices
Sweet flirtations to court the new day
Heard be the fluttering of wings
Robins red breasted
Frivolity fills my chambers
And blushed be the hour.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York 


Frivolity, Watercolor, Rose Marie Raccioppi, http://www.apogeeart.com

When WORDS Speak the Soul...

L A B Y R I N T H

This labyrinth of mind calls to my SOUL
To reach the SELF, a heartfelt goal
Enter this path to a center place
Hold to this knowing, your WILL to trace
The circle, the spiral, a labyrinth does make
A purposeful path, a journey to take
A circuitous travel to the center DIVINE
Within, without, be this journey mine
Know I of this center, its silent roar
Within, without, my SPIRIT to soar.

Rose Marie Raccioppi
Poet Laureate
Orangetown, New York

THE PULSE OF TIME

Certainty be an ever present variable of change
What lies ahead bears many a term and many a name
What with certainty can one with heart and mind proclaim
Be it that the breath present bears life its claim
The heart in its pulsing passion sounds its plea
This breath of life, the gift of time on to thee
Savor the ebb and flow of life and spirit within
Hear the rhythmic call beyond the oppressive din
Heed well the sounding glory sacred and divine
Hold in revered celebration life's gift, the pulse of time.

Rose Marie Raccioppi
Poet Laureate
Orangetown, New York

THIS POET'S WORD

These echoes of heart in sensibilities reveal
The TRUTH OF BEING bar conceal
Passions pulsing plea to be heard
And so be known this poet's word
Loss and lament a tear filled call
Joy and delight beyond befall
In revelation be known the depths of despair
All astride with blessed love and care
The rising sun and gone be the night
Held I in the embrace of the dawning light
The feel of the showering water sweet upon my skin
A baptism new, absolved I of all false sin
Judgments, reprisals, fallacious be their rein
For the SOUL'S PRESENCE knows not constrain
Confront and resolve the breath calls out
To purpose, to purpose, to purpose, devout.

Rose Marie Raccioppi
Poet Laureate
Orangetown, New York

Upon viewing anew, "Dead Poets Society."

English Essays: Sidney to Macaulay.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. 
A Defence of Poetry 
Percy Bysshe Shelley

"... But poets, or those who imagine and express this indestructible order, are not only the authors of language and of music, of the dance, and architecture, and statuary, and painting: they are the institutors of laws, and the founders of civil society, and the inventors of the arts of life, and the teachers, who draw into a certain propinquity with the beautiful and the true that partial apprehension of the agencies of the invisible world. Poets, according to the circumstances of the age and nation in which they appeared, were called, in the earlier epochs of the world, legislators, or prophets: a poet essentially comprises and unites both these characters. For he not only beholds intensely the present as it is, and discovers those laws according to which present things ought to be ordered, but he beholds the future in the present, and his thoughts are the germs of the flower and the fruit of latest time..." A Defence of Poetry, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792 – 1822.

A Defence of Poetry. Percy Bysshe Shelley. 1909-14. English Essays: Sidney to Macaulay. The Harvard Classics ~ Full text available at:http://www.bartleby.com/27/23.html

The Black Stone Path

A planning meeting at the Union Arts Center, Sparkill, New York... 

an interlude...  the poet's pen finds expression...

The Black Stone Path

leaves brilliant and shadowed in the afternoon sun

cast they their grace in glory upon the black stone path

 warming light and gentle breeze of a late summer day

humming sounds of cars, buses, trucks, as they pass on their way

the STOP sign and so the called for pause, a moment's rest

time, season, plan, doing, doing, doing its best.

Rose Marie Raccioppi

Poet Laureate

Orangetown, New York

Photo: Such be that moment, Kim Engler, Union Arts Center, September 4, 2013.
 http://www.uacny.com

https://www.facebook.com/UnionArtsCenter