Tag Archives: poetry

October Poem

Poetry dances through life with me as mesmerizing background music. It has always been an uplift during troubled times and contented times. My passion for poetry goes right along with a soaring love of mythology and fairy tales. It’s a fundamental need. One long ago year I rose at dawn every morning and wrote a poem a day. Most years it has been much more sporadic. My mother had copies of my hundreds of poems, as did one of my oldest childhood friends. Otherwise, I haven’t shared them much.

Poetry is really hard to share. Poetry is image condensed down into roux, and most people view it as scribblings from Neptune. Sharing your poetry is opening yourself up for close internal inspection. It’s like blood dripping, one red drop after another. Think of the tarot card The Fool, who stands with a foot trembling off the edge of the cliff.

Still, this is the autumn season, and energy zings this time of year. So, it’s a leap of faith, and the sharing is the thing. 

This is one from over 40 years ago.


Cheers & Happy Reading!

Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic

Fae Friday: Spenser’s Belphoebe

What is more wondrous and expressive of spring’s energetic regeneration than a lovely verse and exquisite painting?

Her name means Beautiful Moon.

Johann Heinrich Füssli 058

Henry Fuseli [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

But to this fair Belphoebe in her Birth
The Heavens so favourable were and free,
Looking with mild Aspect upon the Earth,
In th’ Horoscope of her Nativity,
That all the Gifts of Grace and Chastity
On her they poured forth of plenteous Horn;
Jove laugh’d on Venus from his sovereign See,
And Phoebus with fair Beams did her adorn,
And all the Graces rock’d her Cradle, being born.
The Faerie Queene, Edmund Spenser, 1590

Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic in Romance

Vintage Friday: Autumn Leaves 1886

Autumn Leaves by A. Purinton


Photo courtesy of Linda John 2016


 By happenstance I came across a female poet I was not familiar with, a New Englander named A. Purinton. Her compilation Autumn Leaves was published in 1886 in Massachusetts. Have you heard of her? She never sought to be published and wrote the lyrics for her own satisfaction. They are special. I have included a full text link below. It is so wonderful to have vintage and classic literature available online in full text! I know many novelists are like me and also write poems. Please enjoy this short excerpt by Purinton. I chose the section because it is a little sad and reminiscent of the autumn season we now experience.

And repeated the story old,
By my grandmother so often told,
As with garrulous and dulcet tones
She talked of the old ancestral homes.

It was in the good old times he went,
In Salem’s earlier settlement,
And, as I judge from her report,
Great uncle, or something of that sort.

And left one heart so true and tried
Who sought in vain her grief to hide;
And hope and faith alike grew dim,
As she never heard one word from him.

Her bounding heart its hopes renew,
Whene’er a ship’s sail caught her view;
But no tidings came of any sort.
From any ship that came in port.

So time went on; after some years
Strange rumors aggravate her fears;
Her hopes deferred and feverish grown.
She to an early grave went down.

Full text available 

autumnI hope you enjoyed this selection from Autumn Leaves by poet A. Purinton. How does it make you feel?

Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic in Romance

Mythic Monday: Apollo God of Light


Apollo by Charles Meynier – public domain via Wikimedia

God of the golden bow

and of the golden lyre,

and of the golden hair,

and of the golden fire.

John Keats

Love, love, love these words. I cannot count how many times I recited this to my son during his childhood. What do you feel when you gaze up Meynier’s painting?

Cheers & Happy Reading!

Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance

Mythic Monday: Keats’ Isabella

Hunt, William Holman — Isabella and the Pot of Basil — 1867

William Holman Hunt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Parting they seem’d to tread upon the air,
Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
Only to meet again more close, and share 
The inward fragrance of each other’s heart.”

Isabella; or, the Pot of Basil

Author – John Keats
First Published – 1820
Genre – Narrative poem using inspiration from a section of Decameron by 14th century Italian writer Boccaccio
Setting – Medieval Italy
Heroine – Isabella
Hero – Isabella’s lover, Lorenzo
Antagonist – Isabella’s brothers
Star of the Book – The pot of basil that holds Lorenzo’s head
Favorite Secondary Character – It’s a tie between the ghost of Lorenzo and the head of Lorenzo. The latter may sound silly, but the head of the poor murdered Lorenzo does play a vital part in the story.
Sad Tidbit – Keats wrote the poem in 1818. By the time it was published in 1820, Keats pretty much knew that the tuberculosis he suffered from would soon end his life. He died the following year in Italy at age 25. Remember what Percy Bysshe Shelley said of Keats: “Bright star, were I as steadfast as thou.”
Vital Part Where the Ghost Appears
“In the drowsy gloom,
The dull of midnight, at her couch’s foot
Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
Had marr’d his glossy hair which once could shoot
Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
From his lorn voice.”

I hope you enjoyed touching upon the tragic poem Isabella; or, the Pot of Basil by John Keats and seeing the beautiful painting by John Holman Hunt. Love is mythic because love is real.

Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance

Mythic Monday: Farewell, Mariner

“The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.”

From The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Ahoy, Brother Mine, Rest Well. 5/26/1939 – 4/2/2015

Cheers & Happy Reading, Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic


Mythic Monday: Keats’ La Belle

Please enjoy one of the world’s most beautiful poems—by the inimitable John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qL-L8ExX3kQ

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Cheers & Happy Reading!
And Happy Birthday to my beloved mother, woman of green! 1bfile0239fotor4
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance

Vintage Friday: 13 In Love

1972acroppedFOTORClassic poets wrote words of love that still burn within us. To my beloved Ronnie:

“Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”
E.E. Cummings

“If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.”
Anne Bradstreet

“Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
her tolerant enchanted slope.”
W.H. Auden

“In black ink my love may still shine bright.”

“Both have the strength and both the length thereof,
Both of us, of the love which makes us one.”
Christina Rossetti

“Loved the pilgrim soul in you,
and loved the sorrows of your changing face.”
William Butler Yeats

“The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

“Such if there be, who loves so long, so well;
Let him our sad, our tender story tell.”

Alexander Pope

“I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life.”
Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“Come over the hills and far with me,
and be my love in the rain.”
Robert Frost

“Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee.”
Emily Dickinson

“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days – three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.”

“Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
the very eyes of me.”
Robert Herrick

Cheers & Happy Reading! Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance


Halloween Birthday John Keats

Happy Halloween Birthday to John Keats! For your enjoyment here are a few lines from his poem Lamia. A lamia is part woman, part serpent, and in homage to Keats (not to mention the creatures are cool) one appears in my paranormal dark fantasy romance, Mind Your Goddess – Wytchfae 3, coming out in December from Secret Cravings Publishing. 


John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

“Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar:
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete:
And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.”


John Keats, by William Hilton (died 1839). See...

William Hilton the Younger [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons