I whispered,’ I am too young.’
And then, ‘I am old enough.’
Wherefore I threw a penny
To find out if I could love.
‘Go and love, go and love, young man,
If the lady be young and fair.
O, penny,brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped in the loops of her hair.
O, love is the crooked thing.
There is nobody wise enough,
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love,
Till the stars had run away,
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
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I am looking for PROMPTs to write about. I used to write for quite a few, but it seems they have all stopped publishing. If you know of anyone who publishes PROMPTS to write for, please, let me know! Thanks.
beebeesworld
William Bulter Yeats was born in 1865 in Ireland. He was a popular and accomplished poet, receiving the Nobel prize for Poetry at one time in his career. Brown Penny was written in 1910. It was published in a book of poetry called The Green Helmet and Other Poems. The poem tells of a young mans’ insecurity about a new emotion-love. He has seen others fall in and out of love and acknowledged both the joy and agony that could come from opening ourselves up to this “new” emotion.
Tossing the penny to make this decision is probably more an expression of his anxiety than of actually “doing” what the penny suggested, heads for yes, tails for no. I have always imagined that he had already decided to approach the young lady he had become enamored of.
One thing that I have wondered about the poem was how old the author imagined the young man in his poem to be. After all , he was 55 when he wrote the poem. In the world of 1865 Ireland or England, men were often much older than women when they married. They had established themselves in a career and it was important that he be able to show the young woman’s’ family that he could give her a good life.
Since Yeats spent a good bit of his life in England, he may have been subject to the custom of “The Season”, which was unofficially held in summertime in London and urban areas. There were many social occasions and opportunities for young woman, often in their late teens to meet young men who might offer then a good life.
Brown Penny
I whispered,” I am too young,”
and then “I am old enough.”
Wherefore, I threw a penny
to find out if I might love.
“Go and love, go and love, young man,
if the lady be young an fair.
Oh, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
I am looped by the loops of her hair.
Oh, love is a crooked thing,
There is nobody wise enough,
To find out all that is in it,
For he would be thinking of love-
Till the stars had run away.
And the shadows eaten the moon.
Oh, penny, brown penny, brown penny,
One cannot begin it too soon.
Photo from Google.com/victorian love scenes
reference:www.humanities360.com/index.php/peotry-analysis/Brown Penny by William Butler Yeats
Its 2a.m. darkness and
Cobwebs fill my head.
What am i going to do?
I have nothing left here,
No hope, no dreams to hold,
Only pain and fear-like vampires
They feed and leave me empty.
Where did i go wrong?
Did i love too much-
Care too much?
Did i put to much
Of my damaged soul
Out there to be shattered?
All the things i used to
Cling to, have been taken.
What matters to me so much
Is a joke now to others.
Why am i here? Darkness,silence
Why don’t the ones
Who cause the pain hurt like i do?
I needed that sleep-
The alarm doesn’t care.
Another day in hell-black candles
Flickering, yet,Lost,waiting for the
Love i gave my life for over and over.
Just let me go,blow the candle out
Or make them feel the pain like i do.
As I listen to the rain spattering against my cabin’s window,
I think of that night when we were stranded here.
The roads were washed out and the creek overflowing,
but I was in your arms , safe, warm, a long-awaited dream.
I saw the lights blink on the alarm clock, the bang on the transmitter.
I smiled, we were alone, you and I , no one would check on us.
I tugged on grandma’s quilt and you tugged back-asleep.
I listened to the sweet sound of your breath, soft, even.
When I awoke, stars glimmered in the window, the clock was flashing.
Darkness still surrounded me, along with your strong, hard arms.
I wanted this night to last forever, the moon seemed satisfied with just a peek at us.
You and I, finally in a place where life brought a freshness-alone, together.
She wiped the tears upon her dress.
“I’ll take no more.” She did confess.
As he stood staring at the sky. He whispered to her, “Darling, why?”
“You leave when autumn’s just begun with furs, and grains and many guns. You stay until the melting snow drives you back home, more crops to grow.”
“I must.” he told her, gun in hand. “to sell our furs and crops again.”
“It does not take four months of cold to travel there and back, I’m told.”She glared at him with angry eyes as clouds approached in autumn’s skies.
“But weather makes the trip back home to dangerous to make alone.” She listened not to his protest, and brushed the dust from her worn dress.
“The children need you, so do I. I cannot bear to watch one die, the way I did this season past, with no one here to help the rest.”
“I know.” He bowed his ruddy head. “I’ll find some other way instead.”
“John Griffith takes the trail nearby.” She told him through her misty eyes.
“Then I will ask if he will go, with me, through ice and cold and snow.” He walked to her, the children came. They gathered there, out of the rain.
“Tomorrow, I will go to town and look until I hunt him down.” He smiled and drew her near his chest.
She felt the heat of his warm breath, and knew this winter, they would stay, but not alone, sick and afraid.
She sat shivering under the thin cape beneath the glow of the gas light, tears trailing down her cheeks. She felt no one cared whether she lived or died, or for that matter, even existed. As she looked around the corner, she saw a well dressed man approaching her. A chill of fear went through her as he approached. He reached down and placed a handful of currency in her tattered glove. “The bells of St. Brigit’s are calling tonight.” he quietly spoke. “What does that mean?” she spoke to herself. She stood up, wiped her tears and realized someone did care. She just wondered who it was.
My love, It seems I have known you forever.
I smile as I imagine that I can read your thoughts.
Who else could pick that special jewelry,
Your favorite color or dessert,
The outfit you would pick from your closet,
to catch a second glances at an important party?
Would it be daffodils or autumn leaves,
Soaring mountains or the roar of waves,
that made your heart leap in joy?
There is but one thing I am desperate for,
My love, that you have kept secret.
So please give me, finally-man of my dreams,
a glimpse inside your inner soul.
After the darkness,
Blue skies surround me
Clouds drift on the horizon
Drifting away at last
Every day is different
Fresh and exciting.
Gladly, I look for
Hovering bees and bugs
Ice melted at last.
Just one warm day
Keeps me hoping
Long after cold returns
Moonlight sparkles
Night times stars
Overhead-your head and mine.
Perhaps I treasure nature
Questioning it’s rhythms
Reining in its surprises
Turning from chill to warmth
Until I come upon the first
Violet, a sure sign of spring.
Wonder if other over it as much
X-citined as I am
You may know-tell me
Zestfully smiling.
What You Could Be
I look at him, same age as you,
when death snatched you out of the blue.
He’s just 15, but teachers say,
that he will make it big one day.
I touch your photo, hold it too,
each time I pass, your place, your room.
It looks just like it did that day
when Hell took you and life away.
I see him grow, a brilliant smile,
when he creates, he dreams, compiles.
The things I wish that you could see.
I wonder, Babe, what you could be?
It’s just so wrong that you aren’t here.
I see your face, your eyes, your fear.
Still, no one knows, but you and me,
The truth about what you could be.
I pray the day will not be long,
When something might take up the wrong.
And somehow just, please let me see.
The beauty of what you could be.
beebeesworld 