AE Poetry Club
Printed From: History Community ~ All Empires
Category: Scholarly Pursuits
Forum Name: Literary Pursuits
Forum Discription: all things relating to the written word
URL: http://www.allempires.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=1341
Printed Date: 28-Apr-2024 at 00:29 Software Version: Web Wiz Forums 9.56a - http://www.webwizforums.com
Topic: AE Poetry Club
Posted By: Imperator Invictus
Subject: AE Poetry Club
Date Posted: 26-Nov-2004 at 00:47
I cannot say I have the time to partake in too many full length book
readings, but poems are usually short enough for me to read.
I've come across one recently that's pretty good. What do you think?
HAPPY THE MAN, From Horace's Odes
Translated by Dryden
Happy the man, and happy he alone,
he who can call today his own:
he who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul, or rain or shine
the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,
but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.
|
Replies:
Posted By: vagabond
Date Posted: 28-Nov-2004 at 18:44
(Abend) - Evening -- by Ranier Maria Rilke translated by C F MacIntyre
Slowly now the evening changes his garments held for him by a rim of ancient trees: you gaze: and the landscape divides and leaves you, one sinking and one rising toward the sky.
And you are left, to none belonging wholly, not so dark as a silent house, nor quite so surely pledged unto eternity as that which grows to star and climbs the night.
To you is left (unspeakably confused) your life, gigantic, ripening, full of fears, so that it, now hemmed in, now grasping all, is changed in you by turns to stone and stars.
------------- In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
|
Posted By: Exorsis C
Date Posted: 29-Nov-2004 at 03:55
Nice poems, both of them. I have read quite a few poems in my life, although I have managed to miss these two, so thanks for bringing them to my attention.
A question: Can we post our own poetry, or does it have to be something that has been published?
------------- Don't put your mouth into motion before your brain is in gear.
Member of "the exclusive group of women on AE".
|
Posted By: Cornellia
Date Posted: 29-Nov-2004 at 14:49
I think we'd all love to read your poetry, Exorsis C....and that goes for any of our poetic souls.
------------- Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas
|
Posted By: Exorsis C
Date Posted: 30-Nov-2004 at 01:23
Okay, then I'll try to post some later. I don't have them here right now, but I'll bring them tomorrow. I don't think I have any on this computer, but I'll check. If I find any I'll post them.
------------- Don't put your mouth into motion before your brain is in gear.
Member of "the exclusive group of women on AE".
|
Posted By: Exorsis C
Date Posted: 02-Dec-2004 at 03:25
Here's one that I wrote a long time ago. I posted it at another forum about a year ago, so some of you may have read it already.
NOT ALONE
People around me, laughing and talking, having fun. I hardly notice that they´re here. Not alone, but feeling lonely, missing him. I´ve missed him for years now. I´ll never stop missing him, for as long as I live. Not alone, but feeling lonely, and in pain. I´ve felt the pain for so long now and it will never go away. I´m in pain, missing him, wishing he was here. Wishing he was still alive. Wishing he could hold me and stop me from feeling lonely. No, I´m not alone, but I´m feeling lonely...
(copyright CS 1987)
I hope you like it... If not, don't be afraid to say so, but please say it in a nice way, perhaps with some constructive critisism.
------------- Don't put your mouth into motion before your brain is in gear.
Member of "the exclusive group of women on AE".
|
Posted By: vagabond
Date Posted: 03-Dec-2004 at 01:45
Thanks Exorsis C
I hope that you are not still lonely. If you are - come visit us here at AE.
Most of my stuff tends to be a bit freeform as well.
------------- In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
|
Posted By: Exorsis C
Date Posted: 03-Dec-2004 at 03:22
Thanks Vagabond.
No, I'm not still lonely. I am now in a very good relationship and have very good friends, so my life is much better now. But I'll still visit AE, lonely or not...
Many of my poems are pretty sad or depressing, since I mostly write when I'm feeling down. It's a kind of therapy for me and it helps me get through bad times.
------------- Don't put your mouth into motion before your brain is in gear.
Member of "the exclusive group of women on AE".
|
Posted By: vagabond
Date Posted: 21-Dec-2004 at 03:01
Perhaps my favorite poet is Robert Frost.
http://www.bartleby.com/people/Frost-Ro.html - http://www.bartleby.com/people/Frost-Ro.html
He's usually thought of a pretty country images - but there's a depth and a very dark side to a great deal of his poetry. Two (out of a long list) of my favorites of his:
For Once, Then Something
Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs Always wrong to the light, so never seeing Deeper down in the well than where the water Gives me back in a shining surface picture Me myself in the summer heaven godlike Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs. Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb, I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, Through the picture, a something white, uncertain, Something more of the depths--and then I lost it. Water came to rebuke the too clear water. One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom, Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness? Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.
ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet When far away an interrupted cry Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye; And further still at an unearthly height, A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night. http://www.bartleby.com/people/Frost-Ro.html -
------------- In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
|
Posted By: Guests
Date Posted: 10-Feb-2005 at 23:59
Originally posted by vagabond
ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT
I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. |
This stanza is most inspiring. (can we walk freely in and out of the night? if the time is like the rain, can we walk at our own will in and out of it?.....)
Originally posted by vagabond
I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. |
Imagine that one walked in a lonely lane in the night, 'unwillikng to explain', ---that feels terrific.
|
Posted By: akıncı
Date Posted: 28-May-2005 at 07:45
since there is a topic about poetry i should ask,has anyone read the raven?
------------- "I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
|
Posted By: vulkan02
Date Posted: 02-Jun-2005 at 15:49
u mean the Raven by Allan Poe? I have read that long ago ... it was pretty good i liked it... it gives you that creepy feeling... anyway here is one of my favorite poems
Rupert Brooke
The Soldier
If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field The is for ever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under and English heaven.
------------- The beginning of a revolution is in reality the end of a belief - Le Bon
Destroy first and construction will look after itself - Mao
|
Posted By: TheodoreFelix
Date Posted: 04-Jun-2005 at 23:11
I love that poem.
" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." "
-------------
|
Posted By: Goblin
Date Posted: 09-Jun-2005 at 15:11
Well, I'm new here so why not start off with a couple of poems?
Don't mind if I do.
*scratches head* Maybe I should find one first....
In the meantime, I'd like to say that I love every one of the poems that have been posted. I especially like "For Once, Then Something".
AH! Here we go! (All were copyrighted in 2004.)
If you like these few, I will post more:
Holy Days of Past
Remember Monday? How it wept with sorrow, for the Holy Days of Past? How, whenever we would meditate, the skies always seemed to darken? I still haven't figured out if it darkened in rage, or love, or just -simply- understanding. I'm sure you don't know either. It's just one of those things . . . you know? But now I see that, when the storm moves in, it welcomes me. In an odd sort of way, that no one else can understand, I welcome it, too. It has become a part of me. Fresh air. Clean earth. I'm sure you understand, because I understand, as well, and we always understand each other. Monday.... monday...... Forever has the Monday come and gone, leaving us only the remains of ourselves, for the Holy Days of Past, are trapped behind what is already gone. New shall be our souls, and new shall be the days in which they are revived.
La supersticion del lobo
El lobo de noche Corre en el bosque Canta por miedo Y se come a los muertos
Tu chillido Por la luna llena Yo te digo Es solo supersticion
Yo tomo la sidra Como el lobo de noche Regresa del bosque Y se sienta a mi lado
The Little Lady In Red
The little lady in red Whose heart was already dead Spoke of her life And all of it's strife And of why she hadn't been wed.
The little lady had been Waiting on her choice of all men In her best red dress Not a hair a mess Until the hour of ten.
Standing on the wet city street Over-hearing the chorus' beat Her heart sunk low As she realized, now That her and her man wouldn't meet.
Slowly she started to weep Yet made not even a peep Alone in the chill Lip quivering, not still And heart beginning to seep.
"Believe it or not," she did say "Since withstanding the rain on that day, I knew what what was wrong So simple the song No heart could love me, that way."
So, indeed, she did feel Until she ate her last meal That unloveable was she And her heart would never see To her, a man who would kneel.
------------- "Man is free at the moment he wishes to be." -Voltaire
http://www.precious-dreams.net/zombie/">
|
Posted By: akıncı
Date Posted: 13-Jun-2005 at 14:24
------------- "I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
|
Posted By: akıncı
Date Posted: 14-Jun-2005 at 06:30
the whole of the raven:
[First published in 1845]
| Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. `'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door - Only this, and nothing more.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore - For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating `'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door - Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; - This it is, and nothing more,'
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, `Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; - Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!' This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!' Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. `Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore - Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; - 'Tis the wind and nothing more!'
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door - Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door - Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven. Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door - Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as `Nevermore.'
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered - Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before - On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.' Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, `Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore - Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never-nevermore."'
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore - What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. `Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! - Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted - On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore - Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore - Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore - Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting - `Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!' Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted - nevermore! |
------------- "I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
|
Posted By: morticia
Date Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 13:39
Hi.. OK, let's liven up this poem thread a bit!
A friend e-mailed me these poems and I got a good chuckle.... the difference between a Female poem and a Male poem....I am sure that all of you can relate!!!
Here it goes:
FEMALE POEM
I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him to be gainfully employed,
And when I spend his cash, he not be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind,
and knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend
AWWWWW that was so sweet!!!!!
Now, for the male poem!
MALE POEM
I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge tits who owns a liquor store and a bass boat.
I know this doesn't rhyme and I don't give a sh*t.
AWWWW, that was so sweet!!!!!
------------- "Morty
Trust in God: She will provide." -- Emmeline Pankhurst
|
Posted By: çok geç
Date Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 13:44
Here is my best. I wrote that around the spring of 2001. Sorry if it carried too much feelings, but at that time, the emphasis was on that issue . I copied it back from Poetry.com (some of you know this website).
Let the Rocks Say, O'Jerusalem
Let the rocks speak and talk,Listen to them whimpering and walk, Let them tell you the story of Jerusalem's folk, And they will speak, O'Jerusalem. The appeal letters they send, The bloodshed that shall end, The injustice and malice cannot bend, And they will whisper, O'Jerusalem. See those young boys at the gates, Fighting tanks, and rocks are their mates, Death is watching, and their fates, And they will yell, O'Jerusalem. In day, lachrymose bombs are smelled, In night, gunshots are heard, Death became my friend, And they will call, O'Jerusalem. Children asking for peace,War that will not cease, All had to beg on knees, And you will still hear them, O'Jerusalem. By the sunset, I had to go,Leaving them as you know, Ask the rocks what they saw, And they will answer you, O'Jerusalem.
Wael Mansour Qassim
Copyright ©2005 Wael Mansour Qassim
------------- D.J. Kaufman
Wisdom is the reward for a lifetime of listening ... when youd have preferred to talk.
|
Posted By: morticia
Date Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 14:04
WOW Cok Gec, I'm impressed!!!!! Very nice!
------------- "Morty
Trust in God: She will provide." -- Emmeline Pankhurst
|
Posted By: çok geç
Date Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 14:14
Muchas Gracias Morticia
------------- D.J. Kaufman
Wisdom is the reward for a lifetime of listening ... when youd have preferred to talk.
|
Posted By: ArmenianSurvival
Date Posted: 20-Oct-2005 at 00:14
çok geç, nice work
------------- Mass Murderers Agree: Gun Control Works!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Van_Resistance
Õ”Õ«Õ¹ Õ¥Õ¶Ö„ Õ¢Õ¡ÕµÖ Õ€Õ¡Õµ Õ¥Õ¶Ö„Ö‰
|
Posted By: çok geç
Date Posted: 20-Oct-2005 at 05:30
Originally posted by ArmenianSurvival
çok geç, nice work
|
Thank you Armenian Survival. Im glad you liked it too.
------------- D.J. Kaufman
Wisdom is the reward for a lifetime of listening ... when youd have preferred to talk.
|
Posted By: Saka
Date Posted: 20-Oct-2005 at 06:53
"And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour---well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One half so precious as the Goods they sell."
Omar Khayyam
Hafez wrote: "In a garden renew your Zoroastrian faith In the monastery of the Magi, why they honor us, The fire that never dies, burns in our hearts. "
|
Posted By: little tin goddess
Date Posted: 06-Nov-2005 at 08:47
i've always liked this one, and it is short enough for those not wanting to read books short but incredibly touching (i think so anyway)
Elegy by WS Merwin
Who would i show it to?
------------- what do i need you for when i have wings to fly?
|
Posted By: little tin goddess
Date Posted: 06-Nov-2005 at 08:50
and this one, but off the top of my head i can't rememebr the author, and i think my version of it is a bit wrong, but none the less i think i like my version better lol
Their Love Life
One failure
on top of another
------------- what do i need you for when i have wings to fly?
|
Posted By: Rakhsh
Date Posted: 06-Nov-2005 at 09:20
Darvish
O Lord! devise a means, whereby in safety my beloved May come back and release me from the claw of reproach Bring me the dust of the path of that traveled beloved That I may make my world-seeing eye her sojourn place Justice! For, they have barred my path on six sides.
Today, when I am in your hand, show a little mercy tomorrow, when I become clay, what profit are tears of repentance? O thou that of love expressest breath in relating and explaining, With thee no word have we save this "prosperity and safety by thine!" Darvish! lament not of the sword of friends, For this band takenth the blood-price for the slain Set fire to the religious garment, for the curve of the Saki's eye-brow Shattereth the corner of the prayer-arch of the service of the imam God forbid that of your violence and thranny I should bewail The injustice of dainty ones is all daintiness and goodness. The argument of your tress-tip, Hafiz shorteneth not: This chain is joined to the day of resurrection.
By Hafez, one of my favs
------------- Never under estimate the predictablity of stupidity! - Bullet Tooth Tony
|
Posted By: Rakhsh
Date Posted: 06-Nov-2005 at 09:21
by me
I die ever time you scream my name, a little more, take my hand and squeeze it a little more and watch me die even more, scream my name and watch me die a some more, hold me tight, kiss me some more and watch me die!
I stand in wake for thee, watch the waters gentle caressment of the shore, in wait for thee I stand, as the clouds holds tight over the moon I stand and wait for thee. I die every minute I stand in wait for thee. Alas I will die a 1000 deaths in wait for the, as I stand in wait for thee.
Every morning I see your face, smiling at me, I long for thee, I see ye in my dreams, you haunt me in my every step. I see you in the pale moon, your hair glistens as the silver light of the moons sweeps over the land with its silky glow. The distance is closed in seconds, when you come, embrass me my beloved, give me the kiss that seals my fate. Give me the embrase that you taunt me with, teased me with, that dark embrase, kiss me with those blood red lips that we may be in bliss once more, how you have taunted me so many times in my life with this kiss. Kiss me and let me fade into the void, that kiss of nothingness. Embrace me and never let go, let us slip into the darkness and never be known.
------------- Never under estimate the predictablity of stupidity! - Bullet Tooth Tony
|
Posted By: Rakhsh
Date Posted: 06-Nov-2005 at 09:25
burst thy cage asunder, and even as the phoenix of love soar into the firmament of holiness
If poverty overtake thee, be not sad; for in time the Lord of wealth shall visit thee. Fear not abasement, for glory shall one day rest on thee
Both by Baha'u'allah
------------- Never under estimate the predictablity of stupidity! - Bullet Tooth Tony
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 07-Nov-2005 at 10:10
Herez one of my favourite poems.
If
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or, being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch; If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run - Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
Rudyard Kipling
http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/Rudyard_Kipling/kipling_if.htm - http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/Rudyard_Kipling/kipl ing_if.htm
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 07-Nov-2005 at 10:11
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 15-Nov-2005 at 07:13
Another poem that I've liked since my school days.
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
{William Blake, 1757-1827}
http://home.egge.net/~savory/blake.htm - http://home.egge.net/~savory/blake.htm
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 15-Nov-2005 at 07:22
Another one.I love the last stanza.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy
Evening
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
{Robert Frost}
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robertfrost/stoppingby.shtml - http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/robertfrost/stoppingby.sh tml
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Exorsis C
Date Posted: 21-Nov-2005 at 14:26
Really nice poems, all of them.
FEMALE POEM
I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong. One who loves to listen long, One who thinks before he speaks, One who'll call, not wait for weeks. I want him to be gainfully employed, And when I spend his cash, he not be annoyed. Pulls out my chair and opens my door, Massages my back and begs to do more. Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind, and knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?" I want this man to love me to no end, And always be my very best friend
|
So true...that's most women's dream man.
Here's one that I've liked since the first time I read it:
If I Could…
My friend,
if I could give you
one thing,
I would give you
the ability to see
yourself
as others see you…
then you would realize
what a truly special
person
you are.
(Barbara A. Billings)
I've sent it to a couple of my best friends, since it so perfectly describes how I feel about them.
------------- Don't put your mouth into motion before your brain is in gear.
Member of "the exclusive group of women on AE".
|
Posted By: Nagyfejedelem
Date Posted: 12-Dec-2005 at 13:16
I usually write poems, but sorry mainly in Hungarian. Shall I post some of them?
|
Posted By: vulkan02
Date Posted: 12-Dec-2005 at 21:07
Originally posted by Jhangora
Another poem that I've liked since my school days.
The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forest of the night, What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
&nbs p;
&n bsp;
&nbs p;
&n bsp;
&nbs p;
&n bsp;
&nbs p;
&n bsp; {William Blake,
1757-1827}
http://home.egge.net/%7Esavory/blake.htm - http://home.egge.net/~savory/blake.htm
|
This is one of my favorite poems ever... but he's not referring to the Tiger as animal... its just a symbolism for fire.
------------- The beginning of a revolution is in reality the end of a belief - Le Bon
Destroy first and construction will look after itself - Mao
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 14-Dec-2005 at 08:01
In my school textbook there was sketch of a Tiger at the end of the poem.I used to think the poet was describing a Tiger.
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 14-Dec-2005 at 08:18
She Walks In Beauty
She walks in Beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!
LORD BYRON
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/She_Walks_In.htm - http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/She_Walks_In.htm
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: amir khan
Date Posted: 14-Dec-2005 at 10:07
"Sonnets Of The Portuguese"
Elizabeth Browning
If thou must love me, let it be for nought Except for love's sake only. Do not say "I love her for her smile--her look--her way Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought That falls in well with mine, and certes brought A sense of pleasant ease on such a day" - For these things in themselves, Beloved, may Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought, May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry, - A creature might forget to weep, who bore Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby! But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may'st love on, through love's eternity
"Invicitus"
William Earnst Henley
Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole. I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade, and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
Both quite well known, but nice nevertheless.
Peace, Goodwill, and Seasonal Greetings to Everyone
|
Posted By: amir khan
Date Posted: 14-Dec-2005 at 10:18
THE CITY AND THE COUNTRY GIRL
Moorish Literature
(Anon)
Is true. The women, like unto the stars, Are jealous also. Two young virgins met The day I saw them, a sad day for them, For one was jealous of the other one. The citizeness said to the Bedouine: "Look at thy similars and thou shalt see In them but rustics, true dogs of the camp. Now what art thou beside a city girl? Thou art a Bedouine. Dost thou not dream Of goat-skin bottles to be filled at dawn? And loads of wood that thou must daily cut? And how thou'rt doomed to turn the mill all night, Fatigued, harassed? Thy feet, unshod, are chapped And full of cracks. Thy head can never feel The solace of uncovering, and thou, All broken with fatigue, must go to sleep Upon the ground, in soot and dust to lie, Just like a serpent coiled upon himself. Thy covering is the tatters of old tents, Thy pillow is the stones upon the hearth. All clad in rags thou hast a heavy sleep Awaking to another stupid day. Such is the life of all you country folk. What art thou then compared to those who live In shade of walls, who have their mosques for prayer Where questions are discussed and deeds are drawn?" The Arab woman to the city girl Replied: "Get out! Thou'rt like a caverned owl. And who art thou beside the Arab girls, The daughters of those tribes whose standards wave Above brave bands of horsemen as they speed? Look at thy similars. The doctor ne'er Can leave their side. Without an illness known They're faded, pale, and sallow. The harsh lime Hath filled thy blood with poison. Thou art dead, Although thou seem'st alive. Thou ne'er hast seen Our noble Arabs and their feats of strength, Who to the deserts bring prosperity By their sharp swords! If thou could'st see our tribe When all the horsemen charge a hostile band, Armed with bright lances and with shields to break The enemy's strong blow! Those who are like To them are famed afar and glorified. They're generous hosts and men of nature free. Within the mosques they've built and lodgings made For tolba and for guests. All those who come To visit them, bear gifts away, and give Them praises. Why should they reside in town Where everything's with price of silver bought?" The city girl replied: "Oh, Bedouine, Thou dost forget all that thou hast to do. Thou go'st from house to house, with artichokes And mallows, oyster-plants, and such, Thy garments soaked all through and through with grease. This is thy daily life. I do not speak Of what is hid from view. Thy slanders cease! What canst thou say of me? Better than thee I follow all the precepts of the Sonna And note more faithfully the sacred hours. Hid by my veil no eye hath seen my face: I'm not like thee, forever in the field. I've streets to go on when I walk abroad. What art thou, then, beside me? I heard not The cows and follow them about all day. Thou eatest sorrel wild and heart of dwarf Palm-tree. Thy feet are tired with walking far, And thy rough hands with digging in the earth." "Now what impels you, and what leads you on," The country girl of city girl inquired, "To outrage us like this and say such words Against us, you who are the very worst Of creatures, in whom all the vices are Assembled? You are wicked sinners all, And Satan would not dare to tell your deeds. You are all witches. And you would betray Your brother, not to speak of husbands. You Walk all unguarded in the street alone, Against your husband's will. And you deny Your holy faith. The curse of heav'n will weigh Upon you when you go to meet your God. Not one of you is honest. O ye blind Who do not wish to see, whence comes your blindness? You violate the law divine, and few Among you fear the Lord. 'Tis in the country, Amid the fields, that women worship God. Why say'st thou that the city women sole Are pious? Canst thou say my prayers for me?" "What pleasure have the country girls?" replied The city girl. "They've no amusements there. There's nothing to divert the eyes. Their hands They do not stain with henna, setting off A rounded arm. Rich costumes they wear not, Which cost some hundred silver pieces each, Nor numerous garments decked with precious stones. They are not coifed with kerchiefs of foulard With flowers brocaded. Neither have they veils Nor handkerchiefs of silk and broidered gold. They never have a negress nurse to bring Their children up and run on services Throughout the house. And yet they boast as loud As any braggart. Why bring'st thou the charge That I a blameful life do lead, whilst thine Deserves reproof? Dirt in the country holds Supreme control. The water's scarce enough To drink, with none left for the bath. The ground Serves you as bed, and millet is your food, Or rotten wheat and barley." Then took up The word, and spoke the Arab woman dark: "Who are thy ancestors? Which is thy tribe Among all those that fill the mighty world? You're only Beny Leqyt, and the scum Of people of all sorts. Thou call'st thyself A city woman. What are city men? Thy lords don't slander folk. 'Tis only those Who come whence no one knows who have so rude A tongue. Thou wouldst insult me, thou, of stock Like thine, with such a name abroad! And thou Wouldst taunt a Qorechyte, a Hachemite Of glorious ancestors who earned their fame. Tis proper for a woman born of such A stock illustrious to vaunt herself Upon her origin. But thou, a vile Descendant of a conquered race! "Thou call'st Thyself a Sunnite, yet thou knowest not The three great things their Author gave to us: (He knows all secrets.) First is Paradise, Then the Koran, and then our Prophet great, Destroyer of false faiths and for all men The interceder. Whosoe'er loves him Doth love the Arabs, too, and cleaves to them. And whosoe'er hates them hates, too, in truth, The chosen one of God. Thou hatest him, For thou revil'st my ancestors, and seek'st To lower their rank and vilify their fame. Think on thine evil deeds, against the day When in thy grave thou'lt lie, and that one, too, When thou shalt rise again, insulter of The Arabs, king of peoples on the earth." "The Arabs I do not at all despise," The city woman said, "nor yet decry Their honor, and 'tis only on account Of thee I spoke against them. But 'tis thou Who hast insulted all my family, and placed Thy race above. He who begins is e'er At fault, and not the one who follows. Thou The quarrel didst commence. Pray God, our Lord, To pardon me, as I will pray him, too, And I the Arabs will no more attack. If they offend me I will pardon them And like them for our holy prophet's sake. I shall awake in Paradise some day. From them 'tis given, far beyond all price. Frankly, I love them more than I do love Myself. I love them from my very heart. He who a people loveth shall arise With them. And here's an end to all our words Of bickering and mutual abuse." I told them that it was my duty plain To reconcile them. I accorded both Of them most pure intentions. Then I sent Them home, and made agreeable the way. Their cares I drove away with honeyed words. I have composed the verses of this piece, With sense more delicate than rare perfume Of orange-flower or than sugar sweet, For those kind hearts who know how to forgive. As for the evil-minded, they should feel The zeqqoum. With the flowers of rhetoric My song is ornamented: like the breast Of some fair virgin all bedecked with stones Which shine like bright stars in the firmament. Some of its words will seem severe to those Who criticise. I culled them like unto A nosegay in the garden of allusions. May men of lion hearts and spirit keen-- Beloved by God and objects of his care-- Receive my salutations while they live, My countless salutations. I should let My name be known to him who's subject to The Cherfa and obeys their mighty power. The mym precedes, then comes the written ha. The mym and dal complete the round and make It comprehensible to him who reads Mahomet. May God pardon me this work So frivolous, and also all my faults And errors. I place confidence in him, Creator of all men, with pardon free For all our sins, and in his mercy trust, Because he giveth it to him who seeks. The country girl and city girl appeared Before the judge, demanding sentence just. In fierce invectives for a while they joined, But after all I left them reconciled.
(Apologies for its length)
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 20-Dec-2005 at 05:27
The VagabondGive to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me, Give the jolly heaven above And the byway nigh me. Bed in the bush with stars to see, Bread I dip in the river There's the life for a man like me; There's the life for ever.
Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me; Give the face of earth around And the road before me. Wealth I seek not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me; All I seek, the heaven above And the road below me.
Or let autumn fall on me Where afield I linger, Silencing the bird on tree, Biting the blue finger. White as meal the frosty field - Warm the fireside haven - Not to autumn will I yield, Not to winter even!
Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me; Give the face of earth around, And the road before me. Wealth I ask not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me; All I ask the heaven above, And the road below me.
Robert Louis Stevenson
"Songs of Travel"
http://www.rampantscotland.com/poetry/blpoems_vagabond.htm - http://www.rampantscotland.com/poetry/blpoems_vagabond.htm
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Socrates
Date Posted: 20-Dec-2005 at 09:25
Forgive this wild and wandering cries
confusions of a wasted youth
help them where they failed in truth
and in thy wisdom make me wise...
A.Tennyson
|
Posted By: rider
Date Posted: 23-Dec-2005 at 05:54
Oh. Tennyson at last. The Charge of the Light Brigade is my Favourite, and Raven seconds it.
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. "Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismayed? Not tho' the soldiers knew Someone had blundered: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell, Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air, Sab'ring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered: Plunging in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reeled from the sabre-stroke Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back, but not-- Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well, Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of the six hundred.
When can their glory fade? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, Noble Six Hundred!
Retrieved from " http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Charge_of_the_Light_Brigade - http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Charge_of_the_Light_Brigad e "
-------------
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 24-Dec-2005 at 08:11
The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that, the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
ROBERT FROST
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 30-Dec-2005 at 10:22
The Newsboy's Dream of the New Year
Under the bare brown rafters, In his garret bed he lay, And dreamed of the bright hereafters. And the merry morns of May.
The snowflakes slowly sifted In through each cranny and seam, But only the sunshine drifted Into the newsboy's dream.
For he dreamed of the brave tomorrows, His eager eyes should scan, When battling with wants and sorrows, He felt himself a Man.
He felt his heart grow bolder For the struggle and the strife, When shoulder joined to shoulder, In the battlefield of life.
And instead of the bare brown rafters, And the snowflakes sifting in, He saw in the glad hereafters, The home his hands should win.
The flowers that grew in its shadow, And the trees that drooped above; The low of the kine in the meadow, And the coo of the morning dove.
And dearer and more tender, He saw his mother there, As she knelt in the sunset splendour, To say the evening prayer.
His face--the sun had burned it, And his hands were rough and hard, But home, he had fairly earned it, And this was his reward!
The morning star's faint glimmer Stole into the garret forlorn, And touched the face of the dreamer With the light of a hope newborn.
Oh, ring harmonious voices Of New Year's welcoming bells! For the very air rejoices. Through all its sounding cells!
I greet ye! oh friends and neighbours The smith and the artizan; I share in your honest labours, A Canadian working-man.
To wield the axe or the hammer, To till the yielding soil, Enroll me under your banner, Oh Brotherhood of Toil!
Ring, bells of the brave tomorrows! And bring the time more near: Ring out the wants and the sorrows, Ring in the glad New Year!
Kate Seymour Maclean
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 03-Jan-2006 at 03:31
My Native Land
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
Sir Walter Scott
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/My_Native_Land.htm - http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/My_Native_Land.h tm
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 03-Jan-2006 at 13:33
|
|
I CALL on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent? Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content. He that in Sligo at Drumcliff Set up the old stone Cross, That red-headed rector in County Down, A good man on a horse, Sandymount Corbets, that notable man Old William pollexfen, The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back, Half legendary men. Infirm and aged I might stay In some good company, I who have always hated work, Smiling at the sea, Or demonstrate in my own life What Robert Browning meant By an old hunter talking with Gods; But I am not content.
William Butler Yeats
http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=3057&poem=13785 - http://www.poemhunter.com/p/m/poem.asp?poet=3057&poem=13 785
| |
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 04-Jan-2006 at 11:19
Barter
- Life has loveliness to sell,
- All beautiful and splendid things,
- Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
- Soaring fire that sways and sings,
- And children's faces looking up,
- Holding wonder like a cup.
- Life has loveliness to sell,
- Music like a curve of gold,
- Scent of pine trees in the rain,
- Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
- And for your spirit's still delight,
- Holy thoughts that star the night.
- Spend all you have for loveliness,
- Buy it and never count the cost;
- For one white singing hour of peace
- Count many a year of strife well lost,
- And for a breath of ecstacy
- Give all you have been, or could be.
- Sara Teasdale
http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/teasd01.html - http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/teasd01.html
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: Kapikulu
Date Posted: 29-Jan-2006 at 09:17
I really like William Blake...
Some is born to the sweetest light,
Some is born to the endless night...
William Blake
------------- We gave up your happiness
Your hope would be enough;
we couldn't find neither;
we made up sorrows for ourselves;
we couldn't be consoled;
A Strange Orhan Veli
|
Posted By: ulrich von hutten
Date Posted: 29-Jan-2006 at 10:07
The Hàvamàl - the words of the high. Oğins words 1. The man who stands at a strange threshold, Should be cautious before he cross it, Glance this way and that: Who knows beforehand what foes may sit Awaiting him in the hall?
2. Greetings to the host, The guest has arrived, In which seat shall he sit? Rash is he who at unknown doors Relies on his good luck.
3. Fire is needed by the newcomer Whose knees are frozen numb; Meat and clean linen a man needs Who has fared across the fells.
4. Water, too, that he may wash before eating, Handcloth's and a hearty welcome, Courteous words, then courteous silence That he may tell his tale.
5. Who travels widely needs his wits about him, The stupid should stay at home: The ignorant man is often laughed at When he sits at meat with the sage.
6. Of his knowledge a man should never boast, Rather be sparing of speech When to his house a wiser comes: Seldom do those who are silent Make mistakes; mother wit Is ever a faithful friend.
7. A guest should be courteous When he comes to the table And sit in wary silence, His ears attentive, his eyes alert: So he protects himself.
8. Fortunate is he who is favoured in his lifetime With praise and words of wisdom: Evil counsel is often given By those of evil heart.
9. Blessed is he who in his own lifetime Is awarded praise and wit, For ill counsel is often given By mortal men to each other.
10. Better gear than good sense A traveller cannot carry, Better than riches for a wretched man, Far from his own home.
11. Better gear than good sense A traveller cannot carry, A more tedious burden than too much drink A traveller cannot carry.
12. Less good than belief would have it Is mead for the sons of men: A man knows less the more he drinks, Becomes a befuddled fool.
13. I-forget is the name men give the heron Who hovers over the fast: Fettered I was in his feathers that night, When a guest in Gunnlod's court.
14. Drunk I got, dead drunk, When Fjalar the wise was with me: Best is the banquet one looks back on after, And remembers all that happened.
15. Silence becomes the Son of a prince, To be silent but brave in battle: It befits a man to be merry and glad Until the day of his death.
16. The coward believes he will live forever If he holds back in the battle, But in old age he shall have no peace Though spears have spared his limbs.
17. When he meets friends, the fool gapes, Is shy and sheepish at first, Then he sips his mead and immediately All know what an oaf he is.
18. He who has seen and suffered much, And knows the ways of the world, Who has travelled, can tell what spirit Governs the men he meets.
19. Drink your mead, but in moderation, Talk sense or be silent: No man is called discourteous who goes To bed at an early hour.
20. A gluttonous man who guzzles away Brings sorrow on himself: At the table of the wise he is taunted often, Mocked for his bloated belly.
21. The herd knows its homing time, And leaves the grazing ground: But the glutton never knows how much His belly is able to hold.
22. An ill tempered, unhappy man Ridicules all he hears, Makes fun of others, refusing always To see the faults in himself.
23. Foolish is he who frets at night, And lies awake to worry' A weary man when morning comes, He finds all as bad as before.
24. The fool thinks that those who laugh At him are all his friends, Unaware when he sits with wiser men How ill they speak of him.
25. The fool thinks that those who laugh At him are all his friends: When he comes to the Thing and calls for support, Few spokesmen he finds.
26. The fool who fancies he is full of wisdom While he sits by his hearth at home. Quickly finds when questioned by others. That he knows nothing at all.
27. The ignorant booby had best be silent When he moves among other men, No one will know what a nit-wit he is Until he begins to talk; No one knows less what a nit-wit he is Than the man who talks too much.
28. To ask well, to answer rightly, Are the marks of a wise man: Men must speak of men's deeds, What happens may not be hidden.
29. Wise is he not who is never silent, Mouthing meaningless words: A glib tongue that goes on chattering Sings to its own harm.
30. A man among friends should not mock another: Many believe the man Who is not questioned to know much And so he escapes their scorn.
31. The wise guest has his way of dealing With those who taunt him at table: He smiles through the meal, Not seeming to hear The twaddle talked by his foes.
32. The fastest friends may fall out When they sit at the banquet-board: It is, and shall be, a shameful thing When guest quarrels with guest.
33. An early meal a man should take Before he visits friends, Lest, when he gets there, he go hungry, Afraid to ask for food.
34. To a false friend the footpath winds Though his house be on the highway. To a sure friend there is a short cut, Though he live a long way off.
35. The tactful guest will take his leave Early, not linger long: He starts to stink who outstays his welcome In a hall that is not his own.
36. A small hut of one's own is better, A man is his master at home: A couple of goats and a corded roof Still are better than begging.
37. A small hut of one's own is better, A man is his master at home: His heart bleeds in the beggar who must Ask at each meal for meat.
38. A wayfarer should not walk unarmed, But have his weapons to hand: He knows not when he may need a spear, Or what menace meet on the road.
39. No man is so generous he will jib at accepting A gift in return for a gift, No man so rich that it really gives him Pain to be repaid.
40. Once he has won wealth enough, A man should not crave for more: What he saves for friends, foes may take; Hopes are often liars.
41. With presents friends should please each other, With a shield or a costly coat: Mutual giving makes for friendship, So long as life goes well.
42. A man should be loyal through life to friends, To them and to friends of theirs, But never shall a man make offer Of friendship to his foes.
43. A man should be loyal through life to friends, And return gift for gift, Laugh when they laugh, but with lies repay A false foe who lies.
44. If you find a friend you fully trust And wish for his good-will, exchange thoughts, exchange gifts, Go often to his house.
45. If you deal with another you don't trust But wish for his good-will, Be fair in speech but false in thought And give him lie for lie.
46. Even with one you ill-trust And doubt what he means to do, False words with fair smiles May get you the gift you desire.
47. Young and alone on a long road, Once I lost my way: Rich I felt when I found another; Man rejoices in man.
48. The generous and bold have the best lives, Are seldom beset by cares, But the base man sees bogies everywhere And the miser pines for presents.
49. Two wooden stakes stood on the plain, On them I hung my clothes: Draped in linen, they looked well born, But, naked, I was a nobody.
50. The young fir that falls and rots Having neither needles nor bark, So is the fate of the friendless man: Why should he live long?
51. Hotter than fire among false hearts burns Friendship for five days, But suddenly slackens when the sixth dawns: Feeble their friendship then.
52. A kind word need not cost much, The price of praise can be cheap: With half a loaf and an empty cup I found myself a friend.
53. Little a sand-grain, little a dew drop, Little the minds of men All men are not equal in wisdom, The half-wise are everywhere.
54. It is best for man to be middle-wise, Not over cunning and clever: The fairest life is led by those Who are deft at all they do.
55. It is best for man to be middle-wise, Not over cunning and clever: No man is able to know his future, So let him sleep in peace.
56. It is best for man to be middle-wise, Not over cunning and clever: The learned man whose lore is deep Is seldom happy at heart.
57. Brand kindles brand till they burn out, Flame is quickened by flame: One man from another is known by his speech The simpleton by his silence.
58. Early shall he rise who has designs On anothers land or life: His prey escapes the prone wolf, The sleeper is seldom victorious.
59. Early shall he rise who rules few servants, And set to work at once: Much is lost by the late sleeper, Wealth is won by the swift.
60. A man should know how many logs And strips of bark from the birch To stock in autumn, that he may have enough Wood for his winter fires.
61. Washed and fed, one may fare to the Thing: Though one's clothes be the worse for Wear, None need be ashamed of his shoes or hose, Nor of the horse he owns, Although no thoroughbred.
62. As the eagle who comes to the ocean shore, Sniffs and hangs her head, Dumfounded is he who finds at the Thing No supporters to plead his case.
63. It is safe to tell a secret to one, Risky to tell it to two, To tell it to three is thoughtless folly, Everyone else will know.
64. Moderate at council should a man be, Not brutal and over bearing: Among the bold the bully will find Others as bold as he.
66. Too early to many homes I came, Too late, it seemed, to some: The ale was finished or else un-brewed, The unpopular cannot please.
67. Some would invite me to visit their homes, But none thought I needed a meal, As though I had eaten a whole joint, Just before with a friend who had two.
68. These things are thought the best: Fire, the sight of the sun, Good health with the gift to keep it, And a life that avoids vice.
69. Not all sick men are utterly wretched: Some are blessed with sons, Some with friends, some with riches, Some with worthy works.
70. It is always better to be alive, The living can keep a cow. Fire, I saw, warming a wealthy man, With a cold corpse at his door.
71. The halt can manage a horse, the handless a flock, The deaf be a doughty fighter, To be blind is better than to burn on a pyre: There is nothing the dead can do.
72. A son is a blessing, though born late To a father no longer alive: Stones would seldom stand by the highway If sons did not set them there.
73. Often words uttered to another Have reaped an ill harvest: Two beat one, the tongue is head's bane, Pockets of fur hide fists.
74. He welcomes the night who has enough provisions Short are the sails of a ship, Dangerous the dark in autumn, The wind may veer within five days, And many times in a month.
75. The half wit does not know that gold Makes apes of many men: One is rich, one is poor, There is no blame in that.
76. Cattle die, kindred die, Every man is mortal: But the good name never dies Of one who has done well.
77. Cattle die, kindred die, Every man is mortal: But I know one thing that never dies, The glory of the great dead.
W.H.Auden & P.B.Taylor translation. Believed to be public domain. Source Rob Goodson.
-------------
http://imageshack.us">
|
Posted By: Jhangora
Date Posted: 02-Feb-2006 at 09:20
World Peace |
by Andrea Hill |
Mystifying beauty Captivating dreams Never-ending rainbows A world so full of dreams
These are misled thoughts Our world is not like this Hate has scoured our minds Hate will cause our deaths
Looking to the future Right now seem very bleak War is now an issue Peace is for the meek
Ignorance of man To look beyond ones faults Has caused a misconception Of others like ourselves
A join of hand and heart and will Would put and end to this The same value placed on others Like we place upon ourselves Would end the hate and violence That’s tearing out our hearts
When this is done Our world’s complete The pain and hardship gone And once again, just like before Peace will lead us on
http://www.netpoets.com/poems/society/0191007.htm - http://www.netpoets.com/poems/society/0191007.htm
|
------------- Jai Badri Vishal
|
Posted By: dirtnap
Date Posted: 16-Mar-2006 at 00:56
by Roselle Montgomery:
In them immortal gods are still astir,
The towers of Ilium are lifted still;
The Parthenon sits lovely on its hill,
And Rome’s magnificence is left to her.
The fleece still beckons the adventurer,
The face of Helen moves men to desire,
And desperate Dido builds a dreadful fire
To light the way of her lost voyager.
In them survive all glamorous, dream-touched things.
If these be dead, the gods indeed are dead.
Splendor, enchantment, and romance are fled,
If Pan no longer pipes, and Psyche’s wings
No longer poise. This dull world is bereft,
And youth is robbed, with only drabness left.
-------------
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 08:56
Deep in the crouching mist, lie the mountains.
Climbing the mountains are forests
Of rhododendron, spruce and deodar -
Trees of God, we call them - soughing
In the wind from Kumaon and Garhwal;
And the snow leopard moan softly
Where the herdsmen pass, their lean sheep cropping
Short winter grass
And clinging to the sides of the mountains,
The small stone houses of Garhwal,
Their thin fields of calcinated soil torn
From the old spirit-haunted rocks.
Pale women plough, they laugh at the thunder,
As their men go down to the plains;
Little grows on the beautiful mountains
In the east wind.
There is hunger of children at noon; and yet
There are those who sing of the sunset
And the gods and glories of Himaal,
Forgetting that no one eats sunsets.
Wonder, then, at the absence of the old men;
For some grow old at their mother's breasts,
In cold Himaal.
http://uttarakhand.prayaga.org/poem.html - http://uttarakhand.prayaga.org/poem.html |
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Ponce de Leon
Date Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 15:37
YOu think anyone made a poem about farting?
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 23-Mar-2006 at 16:24
Fart Poem
A fart can be quiet, A fart can be loud, Some leave a powerful, Poisonous cloud.
A fart can be short, Or a fart can be long, Some farts have been known, To sound just like a song.
Some farts do not smell, While others are vile, A fart may pass quickly, Or linger awhile.
A fart can create A most-curious medley, A fart can be harmless, Or silent, but deadly.
A fart can occur In a number of places, And leave everyone With strange looks on their faces.
From wide-open prairies, To small elevators, A fart will find all of us Sooner or later.
So be not afraid Of the invisible gas, For always remember, That farts, too, shall pass.
http://bathroomjokes.com/fart/poem.htm - http://bathroomjokes.com/fart/poem.htm
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 10:46
I found a Tomato Poem......
Introduction
(To the tune of 'Guantanamera' gone wrong)
A Seedy Love Story
I'm going to tell you a story That's neither gruesome nor gory About a boy in the farmland He was but a simple farmhand He gazed into the sky blue above And dreamed of meeting his true love
Chorus: He wanted to meet her Oh how he wanted to meet her Wanted to meet her Oh how he wanted to meet her
He'd seen her only from behind While standing in the check-out line Her hair was long fine and golden Her beauty had him beholden She smelt of oils exotic It made her seem so erotic
Chorus: He wanted to meet her Oh how he wanted to meet her Wanted to meet her Oh how he wanted to meet her
He knew if he could impress her Then may he could undress her Because he was a great farmer He knew just how to charm her He'd grow a special surprise for her Then she'd know that he adored her
Chorus: He grew a one tonne tomato He grew a one tonne tomato One tonne tomato He grew a one tonne tomato
Then he bribed the local mailman Who went and showed him her mailcan He waited till the dead of night Then drove to her house on his plight He put the tomato on her porch above The note attached told of his true love
Chorus: He left his one tonne tomato He left his one tonne tomato One tonne tomato He left his one tonne tomato
Well it's been over a year now And still the laugher you hear now As folks recall all the drama Of the young girl and the farmer And of what happened the next week When the tomato began to leak
Chorus: It was a one tonne tomato It was a one tonne tomato One tonne tomato It was a one tonne tomato
She'd been away on holiday And come back home on that Sunday To find her home grown all over The farmer's note said he loved her She was amazed how he'd figured it That big tomatoes were her favourite
Chorus: Of course she wanted to meet him Oh yes she wanted to meet him Wanted to meet him Oh yes she wanted to meet him
They fell in love, then they married A tomato bouquet she carried Tomatoes cooked to perfection Were served up at the reception As they drove off they were showered ...Not with tomatoes but flowers!
Chorus: Oh how they loved their tomatoes They fell in love with tomatoes They loved their tomatoes And their love grows like tomatoes
And again: One tonne tomato He grew a one tonne tomato One tonne tomato He grew a one tonne tomato
Copyright; Arcadia Flynn Email: funnypoets@yahoo.com Web Site: http://www.funnypoets.com/" target=_new>http://www.funnypoets.com
http://www.funnypoets.com/
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 12:09
A Fat Man Poem.....
When the prophet, a complacent fat man,
When the prophet, a complacent fat man, Arrived at the mountain-top, He cried: "Woe to my knowledge! I intended to see good white lands And bad black lands, But the scene is grey."
Stephen Crane
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799 - http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799
A comment.....
As I progress through my life, it is harder and harder to see too much in very stark, black & white terms, on most crucial matters the truth lies in the gray
Verna OBrien from United States http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799/comments - http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/stephencrane/11799/commen ts
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 24-Mar-2006 at 23:17
and a Jew Poem.....
First They Came for the Jews
First they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.
Pastor Martin Niemöller
http://www.telisphere.com/~cearley/sean/camps/first.html - http://www.telisphere.com/~cearley/sean/camps/first.html
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: DukeC
Date Posted: 25-Mar-2006 at 12:51
Survivor
I've been through the storm
looked the hurricane in the eye
I've felt the bitter sting of driven rain
been buffeted mercilessly by the wind
I've stood alone against the elements
hoping against hope that tomorrow the weather would clear
DCM
-------------
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 26-Mar-2006 at 19:44
SPRING POEM
While watching all these early buds and swallows, I can feel tonight that my heart's slowly growing over sorrows as someone's horizon on smiley days might;
that it's getting bigger like all plants around and light as a feather, and that all happiness that's above the ground and a Hell of pain wouldn't really matter:
It's longing for all things that a life as such could give nice to thy, and completely nothing wouldn't be too much-- its eager desire and hopes are so high.
Everything that's happened has been just a play of my heart on fire; my true love has never been given away as much as I could and as I desire;
There are, in my deeps, gentle tides of words never let outside; I could give my heart to everyone on worlds, yet, it would remain a lot of it inside.
Desanka Maksimovi Translation: Dragana Konstantinovi
http://www.geocities.com/draganakonstantinovic/library/maksimovic-e-springpoem.html - http://www.geocities.com/draganakonstantinovic/library/maksi movic-e-springpoem.html
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Gyadu
Date Posted: 28-Mar-2006 at 19:49
My Soccer Shoes
My Soccer Shoes As I walk on the field, Ready to play, I think myself, Will I play hard today? Will I be fierce, pumped, passion Filled, Or will I stand there and just get killed?
Then I think to myself, What would my shoes say? I think they would say I would play Hard today! They would say would say I would Be hungry to fight for the ball, I Would go through my opponent like they aren't there at all. Whistle blows, muscles tighten, My body surges, The goal is in sight.
Ally Dutton
http://www.fundamentalsoccer.com/members/PlacerPoem2.html - http://www.fundamentalsoccer.com/members/PlacerPoem2.html
------------- Izan zirelako gara...... Izan garelako izango dira....
|
Posted By: Mila
Date Posted: 28-Mar-2006 at 21:01
Still my favorite, I don't know if I posted it before...
Zemlja naša
Sve od Broda do Mostara,
pobijena naša raja.
Pobijena il' prognana
i po svijetu razaslana.
Do juče smo skupa bili,
zlo i dobro, sve, dijelili.
A sada nas protjeraše,
iz te Bosne, zemlje naše.
Our Land
Everywhere from Brod to Mostar,
Our folk are vanquished,
Vanquished or exiled,
And scattered around the world.
Until yesterday, we lived together,
Sharing all, both the good and bad.
Now they banish us
From Bosnia, from our own land.
------------- [IMG]http://img272.imageshack.us/img272/9259/1xw2.jpg">
|
Posted By: Jhuntadu
Date Posted: 31-Mar-2006 at 17:49
April Fool's DayMackenzie put a whoopie cushion
on the teacher's chair.
Makayla told the teacher
that a bug was in her hair.
Alyssa brought an apple
with a purple gummy worm
and gave it to the teacher
just to see if she would squirm.
Elijah left a piece of plastic
dog doo on the floor,
and Vincent put some plastic vomit
in the teacher's drawer.
Amanda put a goldfish
in the teacher's drinking glass.
These April Fool's Day pranks
are ones that you could use in class.
Before you go and try them, though,
there's something I should mention:
The teacher wasn't fooling
when she put us in detention.
--Kenn Nesbitt
------------- HAPPY ALL FOOL'S DAY
|
Posted By: DukeC
Date Posted: 09-Apr-2006 at 00:28
Home From The War
They were days of terror, of boredom and brotherhood
Of not knowing if the next moment would be the last
Seeing lives end every day and feeling the emotional arteries harden
I remember my true love from those times
She was long and lean with such a smooth action
The wild abandon I felt with her pressed tightly to my shoulder
High powered sensations running up my arms
And filling my existance
There was no time to feel shame at the destruction we caused
Just the joy of being the ones to live through the day
Those days are gone now and I have another love
One it hurts no one to hold
She wears a puzzled frown
At the wetness that sometimes comes to my eyes
But how do I tell her about that part of me
That will never come home from the war
DCM
-------------
|
Posted By: Guests
Date Posted: 15-May-2006 at 05:00
Originally posted by çok geç
Here is my best. I wrote that around the spring of 2001. Sorry if it carried too much feelings, but at that time, the emphasis was on that issue . I copied it back from Poetry.com (some of you know this website).
Let the Rocks Say, O'Jerusalem
Let the rocks speak and talk,Listen to them whimpering and walk, Let them tell you the story of Jerusalem's folk, And they will speak, O'Jerusalem. The appeal letters they send, The bloodshed that shall end, The injustice and malice cannot bend, And they will whisper, O'Jerusalem. See those young boys at the gates, Fighting tanks, and rocks are their mates, Death is watching, and their fates, And they will yell, O'Jerusalem. In day, lachrymose bombs are smelled, In night, gunshots are heard, Death became my friend, And they will call, O'Jerusalem. Children asking for peace,War that will not cease, All had to beg on knees, And you will still hear them, O'Jerusalem. By the sunset, I had to go,Leaving them as you know, Ask the rocks what they saw, And they will answer you, O'Jerusalem.
Wael Mansour Qassim
Copyright ©2005 Wael Mansour Qassim
|
nice...
-------------
|
Posted By: Pieinsky
Date Posted: 26-May-2006 at 20:13
Here's a Poem I wrote for english class about half a year ago. My teacher asked the class to base their poem on the style of Dillon Thomas. This is a new stlye for me, so please tell me what you think.
Clonmactose: Narrative Poem
Let us go back to the beginning, where not only the beginning began… On a winter’s morning dew, Listen, listen to the owls hooting under the woodllike sky, its sharpened voice echoes, hitting of the trees like needle on stalk. As the leaves hustle in the breeze. The night is still, with where one might hear the rare sound of an animal scurrying, as it rustles through the leaf stained floor. Be wary, a perched spectre lye’s sited on its woody vine. Its prey a victim to its desire. A spotted mouse below scurries under the brush like a Fugitive on the run. Swoosh. The large wings of the owl go. The mouse has been strangled by its demons claws.
Below is a Green sea.
Up up any mountain, down the rushy glen. Parsley.sage, rosemay and thyme
Down down into that hollow hole which is Clomactose, no one ever leaves, nor no one ever acknowledged existed.
Oh not again. The presidented politician mayor of all Clonmactose slumbers sureingly enough upon his pillow, pilling dash upon dash of endless complaints, constantly continuing through his mind. In one ear out the other, they go. His currency is overrated.
Shh, one must keep quiet in Clomactose, so not to awaken those asleep. Lawyers, doctors, politicians, schoolgirls, schoolboys, teachers, hairdresser, police, woodcutters, coalminers.
Each a sleap, all awake.
Schoolboys dream of wondrous adventures where ye must fight hand on weapon with a band of companions, against the forces of evil.
Schoolgirls of adventures too, but these of horses, and how they will have to attain that wonderful prize be it golden egg or crystal cup.
But now morning is coming, and one can hear that cunning cock while it plans its crow, while crouped upon its coup.
Morning has come and the sun is peeping its head above the horizon, and slowly seeping through the forest, bark after bark.
The silence breaks as the continuing thud of the woodsman’s axe, hears its way throughout the forest as it carves its way into a tree.
A statue UN built. It may be
I share creation, kings can do no more.
The silence is slowly dispersed, into that which is nothingness, as the chirping of birds can be heard, which is the recognition by all that morning has come.
The chirp of the birds start as flame but soon flame turns to fire, as noise erupts throughout the green woody like wood, as its inhabitants leave their homage.
As there is a lot to be done.
So that eternal wheel, which is Clomactose, slides down its infinite hill and the woodman cuts as in every morning.
Clang, Clang, Clang goes Clomactose.
Bits written in red not my’n.
This Narrative Poem attempts to copy the style of Dillon Tomas.
2005. Age 15
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 13-Sep-2007 at 09:54
Ah, just the kind of thread I was looking for. Some good stuff here.. But do we have any current members willing to post their own poems online for public scrutiny? I'm just afraid of copyright!
But seriously, anyone willing to post a poem?
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 13-Sep-2007 at 10:07
P.S
I also think this topic should be stickied as literary pursuits is a relatively inactive forum and this topic, I think, would attract more users who either like poetry, like reading other's poetry, or who like composing poetry and want to share it..
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 14-Sep-2007 at 04:53
Ok, owing to the 'huge' interest in this topic, I will push on anyway!
The Self-Unseeing
By http://www.daypoems.net/poets/317.html - Thomas Hardy 6/2/1840-1/11/1928
Here is the ancient floor, Footworn and hollowed and thin, Here was the former door Where the dead feet walked in.
She sat here in her chair, Smiling into the fire; He who played stood there, Bowing it higher and higher.
Childlike, I danced in a dream; Blessings emblazoned that day Everything glowed with a gleam; Yet we were looking away!
Nothing will Die - Alfred Lord Tennyson
When will the stream be aweary of flowing
When will the wind be aweary of blowing
When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting? When will the heart be aweary of beating?
Never, O, never, nothing will die;
The stream flows, The wind blows, The cloud fleets, The heart beats, Nothing will die.
Nothing will die; All things will change Thro’ eternity. ’Tis the world’s winter; Autumn and summer Are gone long ago; Earth is dry to the centre, But spring, a new comer, A spring rich and strange, Shall make the winds blow Round and round, Thro’ and thro’, Here and there, Till the air And the ground Shall be fill’d with life anew.
The world was never made; It will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind range; For even and morn Ever will be Thro’ eternity. Nothing was born; Nothing will die; All things will change.
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 14-Sep-2007 at 04:54
All Things will Die - Alfred Lord Tennyson
Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing
Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing
One after another the white clouds are fleeting; Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating
The stream will cease to flow;
The wind will cease to blow;
The clouds will cease to fleet;
The heart will cease to beat;
Spring will come never more.
See! our friends are all forsaking
The wine and the merrymaking.
We are call’d–we must go.
The merry glees are still;
Nor the wind on the hill.
The strong limbs failing;
Ice with the warm blood mixing;
Nine times goes the passing bell:
Ye merry souls, farewell.
And the old earth must die.
So let the warm winds range,
And the blue wave beat the shore;
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 14-Sep-2007 at 04:55
Does ANYONE have an interpretative flair for poetry??
-------------
|
Posted By: eaglecap
Date Posted: 10-Mar-2008 at 18:14
I am not sure how new this is but it is still in hard back. The computer here will not allow to to post the image of the book on properties but here is the amazon link:
It looks good so I will order it from Amazon, vs. $24.99 at Border's book store.
The Fall of Constantinople: The Ottoman conquest of Byzantium (General Military) (Hardcover) http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/1846032008/sr=1-1/qid=1205172759/ref=dp_image_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1205172759&sr=1-1 - http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/1846032008/sr=1-1/qid=1205172759/ref=dp_image_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books&qid=1205172759&sr=1-1
------------- Λοιπόν, αδελφοί και οι συμπολίτες και οι στÏατιÏτες, να θυμάστε αυτό Ïστε μνημόσυνο σας, φήμη και ελευθεÏία σας θα ε
|
Posted By: Seko
Date Posted: 10-Mar-2008 at 18:17
Seems like a nice book.
...and how is it related to poetry?
-------------
|
Posted By: Aster Thrax Eupator
Date Posted: 10-Mar-2008 at 20:47
This seems like a good poetry society - far too often poetry societies dissolve into Romanticism appreciation societies run by ponytailed ponces who think they are profound because they can plagurise Byron or Shelly and quote one sentance of Nietzche. Phew - sorry, I've had bad experiences with poetry societies!
-------------
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 22-Mar-2008 at 01:38
Poetry competition..I'll take to that
-------------
|
Posted By: Theodore Felix
Date Posted: 23-Jul-2008 at 07:02
These are a couple of poems from an Albanian poet who is one of my favorites: Gjergj Milosh Nikola AKA Migjeni(the acronym he is mostly known by). His poetry is usually of the depressing type and very detached from any sort of nationalist poetry that dominated at that time. He died at the very young age of 27.
These are rough translations of his poetry.
Blasphemy
The mosques and churches float through our memories,
Prayers devoid of sense or taste echo from their walls.
Never has the heart of god been touched by them,
And yet it beats on amidst the sounds of drums and bells.
Majestic mosques and churches throughout our wretched land,
Spires and minarets towering over lowly homes,
The voice of the hodja and priest in one degenerate chant,
Oh, ideal vision, a thousand years old!
The mosques and churches float through memories of the pious,
The chiming of the bell mingles with the muezzin's call,
Sanctity shines from cowls and from the beards of hodjas.
Oh, so many fair angels at the gates of hell!
On ancient citadels perch carrion ravens,
Their dejected wings drooping - the symbols of lost hopes,
In despair do they croak of an age gone by
When the ancient citadels once gleamed with hallowed joy.
Poem of poverty
Poverty, brothers, is a mouthful that's hard to swallow,
A bite that sticks in your throat and leaves you in sorrow,
When you watch the pale faces and rheumy eyes
Observing you like ghosts and holding out thin hands;
Behind you they lie, stretched out
Their whole lives through, until the moment of death.
Above them in the air, as if in disdain,
Crosses and stony minarets pierce the sky,
Prophets and saints in many colours radiate splendour.
And poverty feels betrayed.
Poverty carries its own vile imprint,
It is hideous, repulsive, disgusting.
The brow that bears it, the eyes that express it,
The lips that try in vain to hide it
Are the offspring of ignorance, the victims of disdain,
The filthy scraps flung from the table
At which for centuries
Some pitiless, insatiable dog has fed.
Poverty has no good fortune, only rags,
The tattered banners of a hope
Shattered by broken promises.
Poverty wallows in debauchery.
In dark corners, together with dogs, rats, cats,
On mouldy, stinking, filthy mattresses,
Naked breasts exposed, sallow dirty bodies,
With feelings overwhelmed by bestial desire,
They bite, devour, suck, kiss the sullied lips,
And in unbridled lust the thirst is quenched,
The craving stilled, and self-consciousness lost.
Here is the source of the imbeciles, the servants and the beggars
Who will tomorrow be born to fill the streets.
Poverty shines in the eyes of the newborn,
Flickers like the pale flame of a candle
Under a ceiling blackened with smoke and spider webs,
Where human shadows tremble on damp stained walls,
Where the ailing infant wails like a banshee
To suck the dry breasts of its wretched mother
Who, pregnant again, curses god and the devil,
Curses the heavy burden of her unborn child.
Her baby does not laugh, it only wastes away,
Unwanted by its mother, who curses it, too.
How sorrowful is the cradle of the poor
Where a child is rocked with tears and sighs.
Poverty's child is raised in the shadows
Of great mansions, too high for imploring voices to reach
To disturb the peace and quiet of the lords
Sleeping in blissful beds beside their ladies.
Poverty matures a child before its time,
Teaches it to dodge the threatening fist,
The hand which clutches its throat in dreams,
When the delirium of starvation begins
And when death casts its shadow on childish faces,
Instead of a smile a hideous grimace.
While the fate of a fruit is to ripen and fall,
The child is interred not maturing at all.
Poverty labours and toils by day and night,
Chest and forehead drenched in sweat,
Up to the knees in mud and slime,
And still the empty guts writhe in hunger.
Starvation wages! For such a daily ordeal,
A mere three or four leks and an 'On your way.'
Poverty sometimes paints its face,
Swollen lips scarlet, hollow cheeks rouged,
And body a chattel in a filthy trade.
For service in bed for which it is paid
With a few lousy francs,
Stained sheets, stained face and stained conscience.
Poverty leaves a heritage as well,
Not cash in the bank or property you can sell,
But distorted bones and pains in the chest,
Perhaps leaves the memory of a bygone day
When the roof of the house, weakened by decay,
By age and the weather collapsed and fell,
And above all the din rose a terrible cry
Cursing and imploring, as from the depths of hell,
The voice of a man crushed by a beam.
Under the heel, says the priest, of*god irate
Ends thus the life of a dissolute ingrate.
And so the memory of such misfortunes
Fills the cup of bitterness passed to generations.
Poverty in drink seeks consolation,
In filthy taverns, with dirty, littered tables,
The thirsting soul pours glass after glass
Down the throat to forget its many worries,
The dulling glass, the glass satanic,
Caressing with a venomous bite.
And when, like grain under the scythe, the man falls
To the floor, he giggles and sobs, a tragicomic clown,
And all his sorrow in drink he drowns
When one by one, a hundred glasses downs.
Poverty sets desires ablaze like stars in the night
And turns them to ashes, like trees struck by lightning.
Poverty knows no joy, but only pain,
Pain reducing you to such despair
That you seize the rope and hang yourself,
Or become a poor victim of 'paragraphs.'
Poverty wants no pity, only justice!
Pity? Bastard daughter of cunning fathers,
Who like the Pharisees, beating the drum
Ostentatiously for their own sly ends,
Drop a penny in the beggar's hands.
Poverty is an indelible stain
On the brow of humanity through the ages.
And never can this stain be effaced
By doctrines decaying in temples.
|
Posted By: Illirac
Date Posted: 24-Jul-2008 at 21:00
Oh nice nice, I write poems... there is only one problem: I've written some poetry I don't understand myself ... I'll post some later, because they are on paper and I have to put them on the computer...
------------- For too long I've been parched of thirst and unable to quench it.
|
Posted By: Illirac
Date Posted: 24-Jul-2008 at 22:22
If you don't like them: read some less: There will be no bore if after the first All the rest you suppress!
-Poésie, VLII
Thou
rob it from me!
Thou showed in all of thy beauty!
O fair maid, I could not resist…
It is my heart you took away,
O
white-bosomed maid,
The heart you are keeping
It’s flaring much…
Enhanced by the look of thee,
I
know this isn’t good,
May you so keep it,
I can live without it
If I know you have it…
-Poésie, LVII
I
dreamed a perfect world
Where the hen uses wings to fly
And nobody desires to know why.
They flew like a bird…
Where
all weapons melted down
To forge; and help those who really need it.
Here it’s at last, accomplished a myth:
A world that’s united under one crown.
A
world where hate is known,
But still, love holds us tight;
Where the skies are clear and bright.
A dream that won’t be renown…
-Poésie, LXVIII
How I was waved aside
Should I dare?
Tell me that old lies are alive:
And just be there.
The
more thou take,
The more I blame
For how I was fake…
But everything still feels the same.
I do take too much of a strain,
But I forgot to forget.
If I forget, what wilt I gain?
Nothing…
-Poésie, CXIII
Seldom thy quaff the
bitterness of life,
Whence there hast be no strife?
Haring in a hazard chase:
In the den, what wilt thou have to face?
Hark! In this chapter thou art
amid,
A life done’t, everyone needs to feed,
Hide, rather then living as a slave
Rather then dying as a brave…
Hare here and there
For someone should always care,
Rise high a home
Or at least, alone out, do not roam…
-Poésie, CXVII
In
this marvelous land I was born: The
sun rises from the foam of the deep, And sets, where the snow heap, All of its beauty I love, even its thorn.
During spring, there’s woods where to be, During winter, there’s snow where to play, During autumn, there are parks where to stay, During summer, there’s water where to flee.
You can always hear the whispers of the winds, The trees are above us, making shadows for
us, The woods, the fields, little river, made me
free. It’s the place where I dwell…
Poésie, CVLI
Always the same! So we march, Going here and there, take a drink Or a drunk that drunk more then his share And carry him somewhere…
Then back, and once again: All the way from the start, Come boys, drink and get drunk, And high till thou in the bottle sunk!
And thence confusion pursue me, So confusing: One disappears, hundred joins! Or am I just drunk – the plausible solution! By Stefano Segnan I will not post other poems, because I'm afraid someone will just copy-paste (even if those are not good, I don't care: What you read in a brief time I took several months to write).
p.s I have a problem in changing the fonts and the size of the letters - that's why it is a wee bit of all
------------- For too long I've been parched of thirst and unable to quench it.
|
Posted By: Northman
Date Posted: 25-Jul-2008 at 00:25
Impressive and provoking Illirac , and if some criminal should copy and paste your work, take it as a compliment.
Remember - everything on the net IS copyright material automatically, unless stated otherwise.
When I was your age, I also wrote poetry - or at least love-letters... with a rhyme.
btw. - if you copy and paste from a wordprocessor, you might get the result as in your post.
Copy and Paste to Notepad first, and the Copy from there and Paste in here. Then you are rid of hidden codes in the text.
This time I think I will post the lyrics of a beautiful song with a wholesome message we all can learn from....
"Imagine" by John Lennon.
Imagine there's no Heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today
Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace
You may say that I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world
You may say that I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one
-------------
|
Posted By: King Kang of Mu
Date Posted: 25-Sep-2008 at 05:01
My favorite poem from one of my favorite writer. I haven't read it in years, but tonight it fits almost too perfect
Samuel Beckett
Cascando
1
why not merely the despaired of occasion of wordshed
is it not better abort than be barren
the hours after you are gone are so leaden they will always start dragging too soon the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want bringing up the bones the old loves sockets filled once with eyes like yours all always is it better too soon than never the black want splashing their faces saying again nine days never floated the loved nor nine months nor nine lives
2
saying again if you do not teach me I shall not learn saying again there is a last even of last times last times of begging last times of loving of knowing not knowing pretending a last even of last times of saying if you do not love me I shall not be loved if I do not love you I shall not love
the churn of stale words in the heart again love love love thud of the old plunger pestling the unalterable whey of words
terrified again of not loving of loving and not you of being loved and not by you of knowing not knowing pretending pretending
I and all the others that will love you if they love you
3
unless they love you
(S. Beckett, 1936)
from Collected Poems in English and French, S. Beckett, Grove Press, Inc. N.Y. 1977
https://www.msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettPoem1.html - https://www.msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettPoem1.html http://webdelsol.com/CPR/Goodspeed/beckett.htm - http://webdelsol.com/CPR/Goodspeed/beckett.htm
------------- http://www.allempires.net/forum/forums.html
|
Posted By: Dolphin
Date Posted: 10-Mar-2009 at 00:09
I'm in the mood to share tonight. It feels like a deep expiration sometimes. This is a quickie I rustled up in a squeak of thoughtful activity. It doesn't mean much, I just write it like a think it!
When you have the urge you shouldn’t fight
it,
It comes at once with sleep invited.
Without the threshold of thoughts repressed
Hidden can become expressed.
Words combine in physique and rhyme
Sudden inspiration is the breath of time,
Juxtapose and intersperse
Felicitations of nouns in verse.
Talk forever in squalid tone
Seek the comfort of musing alone!
-------------
|
Posted By: Parnell
Date Posted: 06-Jun-2009 at 21:35
Thats a fine poem Dolphin (Bit late I know). Struck a chord with me. Reminds me of how I feel sometimes lying awake at night. Can never manage such a combination of words though
Here's a poem I ran across while sitting on a public bench. The first and last line was written in tipex on a metal railing. I was in a rather reflective mood and so I went back to the house and googled it. This was a good three months ago but its really stuck in my mind:
Its by W.H. Davies, and its called 'Leisure'
What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 23-Aug-2011 at 02:43
Vladimir Khlebnikov: Invocation of Laughter
O, laugh, laughers! O, laugh out, laughers! You who laugh with laughs, you who laugh it up laughishly O, laugh out laugheringly O, belaughable laughterhood - the laughter of laughering laughers! O, unlaugh it outlaughingly, belaughering laughists! Laughily, laughily, Uplaugh, enlaugh, laughlings, laughlings Laughlets, laughlets. O, laugh, laughers! O, laugh out, laughers!
1908-09
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 24-Aug-2011 at 02:27
Longfellow - "Aftermath":
When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.
Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowen mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 28-Aug-2011 at 20:39
I like this particular Burns' poem very much, thanks, Dragon.
Boris Pasternak:
Whether, as ever, it’s loneliness,
splashing
a branch, like lace, on the window,
or whether
perhaps there’s a witness.
Choked there beneath its swollen
burden –
earth’s nostrils, and audibly,
like
August, far off in the distance,
midnight, ripening slow
with the fields.
No sound. No one’s
in hiding.
Confirming its pure
desolation,
it
returns to its game – slipping
from
roof, to gutter, slides on.
I’ll moisten my
lips, listening:
whether,
as ever, I’m loneliness,
and
ready maybe for weeping,
or
whether perhaps there’s a witness.
But, silence. No
leaves trembling.
Nothing to see: sobs,
and cries
being
swallowed, slippers splashing,
between
them, tears and sighs.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 30-Aug-2011 at 13:39
Kiss the sun good bye for me, Oh, my living day Tear it to threads and flashes And then go away Let me run and let me go In the darkness black So I'll fight the fog for you And win you back Every strike is morning new Every blow is two Every song is one won battle Every poem too Every kiss is one new life Every spasm - mine Let me start the run for you Raise the Battle Cry! DQ
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 31-Aug-2011 at 19:57
Edgar Alan Po "Eldorado":
Gaily bedight, A gallant knight, In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old- This knight so bold- And o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be- This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied- "If you seek for Eldorado!"
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 05-Sep-2011 at 14:09
I am the Sign of the Beaver, I am a Hatchet, and Snake,
I am a kiss in the morning, I'm the pain that keeps you awake,
I am a Fear and Trembling, Spasm, and Sigh, Woe and Cry,
I'm the promise of pink Dawns, And the Grass that never dies.
In the laps of bellowing tornadoes My childhood was reared and raised
The winds had torn my haven Night after night every day.
My day is heavy with memories, I hear cries every night
For every lost generation, And for every unborn child.
I'm a kin to wizards and witches, Feeding on the stardust powder
In the enchanted forests Where the unicorns feed om flowers.
I'm the rays of sunshine, Peaking through the dusty glass,
And the breath of ancient ancestors Sleeping under quilts of dust.
Just like everyone else, every other, Like him, like her, I am
I speck of celestial powder Resting on a cosmic bedspread. DQ
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 10-Sep-2011 at 20:27
Emily Dickinson, my favorite American female poet:
If you were coming in the fall, I'd brush the summer by With half a smile and half a spum, As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year, I'd wind the months in balls, And put them each in separate drawers, Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed, I'd count them on my hand, Subtracting till my fingers dropped Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out, That yours and mine should be, I'd toss it yonder like a rind, And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length Of time's uncertain wing, It goads me, like the goblin bee, That will not state its sting.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 13-Sep-2011 at 18:58
Looking at Michelangelo's "Day" and "Night"
"Day"
"Night"
Day and Night are Lovers That can never touch For when the one is present The other is not such
For when the one is Living The others is a Ghost One the one is Running The other has to Stop
Only at Twilight and Dawn Their fingers for each other reach For a very brief "Hello" With no time to speak
Back to back with each other Like in a mystic Trance They go forever and after In an eternal Dance.
Day and Night are Lovers That can never together Be With all their given Freedom They can be never Free. DQ
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 15-Oct-2011 at 18:18
Looking At You
I look at you as you look at me too And fall in your eyes pinned on mine And then I think you are so beautiful When you look at me, look through me tonight. And then your eyes go somewhere else And then I see the shifting of the light In them, and then I think you are so beautiful When your eyes go there and you don't know That I have locked my gaze again on you When you don't know that I still walk my eyes Down your face, then run in disarray, You are so beautiful my heart is sinking down When you look at me and when you are away... Just keep on being you in everything you do Just keep your eyes the way you know not How much it is for me to look in them When you look at me and when you don't. DQ
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 28-Dec-2011 at 15:29
Rudyard Kipling - Contradictions
The drowsy carrier sways
To the drowsy horses' tramp.
His axles winnow the sprays
Of the hedge where the rabbit plays
In the light of his single lamp.
He hears a roar behind,
A howl, a hoot, and a yell,
A headlight strikes him blind
And a stench o'erpowers the wind
Like a blast from the mouth of Hell.
He mends his swingle-bar,
And loud his curses ring;
But a mother watching afar
Hears the hum of the doctor's car
Like the beat of an angel's wing!
So, to the poet's mood,
Motor or carrier's van,
Properly understood,
Are neither evil nor good --
Ormuzd not Ahriman!
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 26-Jan-2012 at 03:11
Madman
You ask me how I became a madman. It happened thus: One day, long before many gods were born, I woke from a deep sleep and found all my masks were stolen,--the seven masks I have fashioned an worn in seven lives,--I ran maskless through the crowded streets shouting, 'Thieves, thieves, the cursed thieves.'
Men and women laughed at me and some ran to their houses in fear of me.
And when I reached the market place, a youth standing on a house-top cried, 'He is a madman.' I looked up to behold him; the sun kissed my own naked face for the first time. For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, 'Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks.'
Thus I became a madman.
And I have found both freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.
But let me not be too proud of my safety. Even a Thief in a jail is safe from another thief.
Khalil Gibran
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 26-Jan-2012 at 21:16
Fadwa Tuqan
The Deluge and the Tree
When the hurricane swirled and spread its deluge
of dark evil
onto the good green land
'they' gloated. The western skies
reverberated with joyous accounts:
"The Tree has fallen !
The great trunk is smashed! The hurricane leaves no life in the Tree!"
Had the Tree really fallen?
Never! Not with our red streams flowing forever,
not while the wine of our thorn limbs
fed the thirsty roots,
Arab roots alive
tunneling deep, deep, into the land!
When the Tree rises up, the branches
shall flourish green and fresh in the sun
the laughter of the Tree shall leaf
beneath the sun
and birds shall return
Undoubtedly, the birds shall return.
The birds shall return.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 28-Jan-2012 at 23:47
A Grief Ago
A grief ago
She who was who I hold, the fats and the flower, Or, water-lammed, from the scythe-sided thorn, Hell wind and sea, A stem cementing, wrestled up the tower, Rose maid and male, Or, master venus, through the paddler's bowl Sailed up the sun;
Who is my grief, A chrysalis unwrinkling on the iron, Wrenched by my fingerman, the leaden bud Shot through the leaf, Was who was folded on the rod the aaron Road east to plague, The horn and ball of water on the frog Housed in the side.
And she who lies, Like exodus a chapter from the garden, Brand of the lily's anger on her ring, Tugged through the days Her ropes of heritage, the wars of pardon, On field and sand The twelve triangles of the cherub wind Engraving going.
Who then is she, She holding me? The people's sea drives on her, Drives out the father from the caesared camp; The dens of shape Shape all her whelps with the long voice of water, That she I have, The country-handed grave boxed into love, Rise before dark.
The night is near, A nitric shape that leaps her, time and acid; I tell her this: before the suncock cast Her bone to fire, Let her inhale her dead, through seed and solid Draw in their seas, So cross her hand with their grave gipsy eyes, And close her fist.
Dylan Thomas
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 29-Jan-2012 at 16:16
A Villonard - Ballad of the Gibbet
SCENE: 'En ce bourdel ou tenons nostre estat.'
It being remembered that there were six of us with Master Villon, when that expecting presently lo be hanged he writ a ballad whereof ye know:
‘Freres humains qui apres nous vivez.'
Drink ye a skoal for the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me, Drink we the comrades merrily That said us, 'Till then' for the gallows tree!
Fat Pierre with the hook gauche-main, Thomas Larron 'Ear-the-less', Tybalde and that armouress Who gave this poignard its premier stain Pinning the Guise that had been fain To make him a mate of the 'Haulte Noblesse' And bade her be out with ill address As a fool that mocketh his drue's disdeign.
Drink we a skoal for the gallows tree! Francois and Margot and thee and me, Drink we to Marienne Ydole, That hell brenn not her http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-villonaud-ballad-of-the-gibbet/# - Ezra Pound
Ezra Pond wrote this for Fransoa Villon, a 15 century rogue poet, who was hung for theft; Marriet, Tybald, Fat Pierre etc are characters of Villon's poems. His last poem, written in the eve of his hanging, was this one:
Je suis François, dont il me poise,
Né de Paris emprés Pontoise,
Et de la corde d'une toise
Saura mon col que mon cul poise.
I'm currently not able to find an authorized translation for it, the following is my attempt for one.
I'm Francois, like this you knew me,
I was born in Paris, near Pontois,
My neck, grabbed in the rope pretty soon
Will understand what my bum already knew.
The sentence "'En ce bourdel ou tenons nostre estat.'" /in a bordello like ours we occupy/ is from a poem of his I currently haven't located yet. "...‘Freres humains qui apres nous vivez.'.." /Britehrs humans, whoa re born after us/ is from another Villon's poem, called
The Ballad of the Hanged Men
Men my brothers who after us live, have your hearts against us not hardened. For—if of poor us you take pity, God of you sooner will show mercy. You see us here, attached. As for the flesh we too well have fed, long since it's been devoured or has rotted. And we the bones are becoming ash and dust.
Of our pain let nobody laugh, but pray God would us all absolve.
If you my brothers I call, do not scoff at us in disdain, though killed we were by justice. Yet ss you know all men are not of good sound sense. Plead our behalf since we are dead naked with the Son of Mary the Virgin that His grace be not for us dried up preserving us from hell's fulminations.
We're dead after all. Let no soul revile us, but pray God would us all absolve.
Rain has washed us, laundered us, and the sun has dried us black. Worse—ravens plucked our eyes hollow and picked our beards and brows. Never ever have we sat down, but this way, and that way, at the wind's good pleasure ceaselessly we swing 'n swivel, more nibbled at than sewing thimbles.
Therefore, think not of joining our guild, but pray God would us all absolve. Prince Jesus, who over all has lordship, care that hell not gain of us dominion. With it we have no business, fast or loose. People, here be no mocking, but pray God would us all absolve.
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 01-Feb-2012 at 22:51
And
you as well must die, beloved dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,—this wonder fled.
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how beloved above all else that dies.
Edna
St. Vincent Millay
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 03-Feb-2012 at 00:59
Be Still, My Soul, Be Still
Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear
are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and
founded strong.
Think rather,—call to thought, if now you
grieve a little,
The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were
long.
Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the
quarry
I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not
mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never
sorry:
Then it was well with me, in days ere I was
born.
Now, and I muse for why and never find the
reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel
the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a
season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the
prime foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all
are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate and fear and
indignation—
Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?
A.E. Housman
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 05-Feb-2012 at 22:54
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek
fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land
to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates
shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose
flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her
name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes
command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities
frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied
pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your
tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe
free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming
shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost
to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden
door!"
Emma Lazarus
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 06-Feb-2012 at 21:16
The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness
calls;
The little waves, with their soft,
white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their
stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
-------------
|
Posted By: Don Quixote
Date Posted: 07-Feb-2012 at 22:34
Vysotsky:
Song about the Earth
Russian title: http://www.kulichki.com/vv/pesni/kto-skazal-vse-sgorelo.html - Pesnya o Zemle
Who has said "All is burned into ash?
No more seed in the Earth can be sown"
Who has said that the Earth is now dead?
No! For a time she quieted down.
Motherhood can't be taken from her,
Try to scoop up an ocean with leaves
Who believed that the Earth has been burnt
No! She has blackened from grief.
Like gashes, the trenches were laid
And like gaping wounds ravens were gawking
Naked nerves of Earth, our maid,
Pain unearthy experieced knowing.
She'll endure all, she'll go on living
Don't write of Earth as if she is crippled!
Who has said that the Earth doesn't sing?
That forever she's silenced and muffled?
No! She is ringing and deafening groans,
Coming from all her wounds and her roots,
Because Earth - is really our soul,
And a soul can't be trampled by boots!
Who believed that the Earth has been burnt?
No! She just quited down for a time.
[TUBE]Ho6EK2-D8jU[/TUBE]
-------------
|
|