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Theme Changer

 Topic: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others

 (Read 36627 times)
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  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #90 - January 13, 2011, 10:14 PM
    Quote from: arX on January 13, 2011, 05:27 PM
    Ha.  There used to be a series of threads on the old RD.net forums called 'Entwined Haiku'..

    And they fall in place
    as pieces of a subtle puzzle
    destined to unfold

    .. or some shit like that.  XD


    Haiku are strange, yes?
    Remind me, they do, of that
    little guy, Yoda
    Too fucking busy, and vice versa.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #91 - January 13, 2011, 10:15 PM
    Hey, I'm not complaining.
    Too fucking busy, and vice versa.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #92 - January 13, 2011, 10:17 PM
    When by my solitary hearth I sit,
    And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
    When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
    And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
    Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
    Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
    Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
    And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
    Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
    And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!

    Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
    Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
    When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
    Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
    Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
    And fright him as the morning frightens night!

    Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
    Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
    O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
    Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
    Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
    From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
    O let me think it is not quite in vain
    To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
    Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
    And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    In the long vista of the years to roll,
    Let me not see our country's honour fade:
    O let me see our land retain her soul,
    Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
    From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed
    Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!

    Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
    Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
    With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
    Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
    But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
    That fill the skies with silver glitterings!

    And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
    Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
    Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
    So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
    Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
    Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!

    ~ John Keats, To Hope
    Too fucking busy, and vice versa.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #93 - January 15, 2011, 02:30 AM
    How many of Omar's rubaiyat one should memorize to be considered an Ex-Muslim hafiz?

    This forum is great - I used to read rubaiyat translated into my native language, but could not find a good English translation. Is there a good link for Richard Le Gallienne's translation?
    "That it is indeed the speech of an illustrious messenger" (The Koran 69:40)
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #94 - January 15, 2011, 02:56 AM
    It's interesting that Omar is claimed both by ex-muslims and sufis as an authentic muslim.
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings. - Stevens
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #95 - January 15, 2011, 06:10 AM
    OK - authentic Muslim?  Cheesy
    "That it is indeed the speech of an illustrious messenger" (The Koran 69:40)
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #96 - January 16, 2011, 07:32 PM
    Quote
    Another winter,
    And here am I,
    By the side of the stove,
    that a woman might dream of me,
    That I might bury in her breast
    A secret she would not mock;
    Dreaming that in my fading years
    I might spring forth as light,
    And she would say:
    This light is mine;
    Let no woman draw near it.
    Here,
    By the side of the stove,
    Another winter,
    And here Am I,
    Spinning my dreams and fearing them,
    Afraid her eyes would mock
    My bald, idiotic head,
    My greying, aged soul,
    Afraid her feet would kick
    My love,
    And here, by the side of the stove,
    I would be lightly mocked by a woman.
    Alone,
    Without love, or dreams, or a woman,
    And tomorrow I shall die of the cold within,
    Here, by the side of the stove.

    That is from a  well know man and   Kurdish  Poet died in mid 90s..  "BULAND AL-HAIDARI" who has died in London aged 69, was an Iraqi poet, art critic and journalist..

    Quote
    The Ba'ath party seized power in Iraq in 1963, and launched a campaign against dissidents, Communists, Kurds, and anyone seen as a potential political opponent. Al-Haidari was imprisoned and sentenced to death, but pardoned five minutes before he was due to be hanged, possibly because of his prominence as a poet. On his release from prison, he went into exile in Lebanon with his wife and son. He spent 14 years in Lebanon, which he came to regard as his second homeland.  

    Do not let silence become your legacy.. Question everything   
    I renounced my faith to become a kafir, 
    the beloved betrayed me and turned in to  a Muslim     
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #97 - January 18, 2011, 01:39 AM
    The sun ablaze as Maria's foot touches the surface of sand
    On northern land
    As human contraband
    Some rico from Jalisco passed her name to the boss
    She stuffed ten to a truckbed
    She clutches her cross
    Here comes the exhaust and it rips through her lungs
    She's off fast to the pasture
    Like cattle she'll cross
    Degree 106
    Sweat and vomit are thrown
    And she prays and suffocates upon the memories of home
    Of Yanqui guns for blood debts on the loans
    Of smouldering fields, rape, rubble and bones
    Of graves hidden trapped up in visions of war
    Of nothing, no one, nobody, no more

    These are her mountains and skies, and she radiates
    And through history's rivers of blood, she regenerates
    And like the sun disappears, only to reappear
    She's eternally here
    Her time is near
    Never conquered but here

    And now she got a quota
    The needle and thread crucifixion
    Sold and shipped across the new line of Mason Dixon
    Rippin' through denim
    The point an inch from her vein
    The foreman approach
    His steps now pound in her brain
    His presence it terrifies and eclipses her days
    No minutes to rest
    No moment to pray
    And with a whisper, he whips her
    Her soul chained to his will
    “My job is to kill if you forget to take your pill”
    Her arms jerks
    The sisters gather round her and scream
    As if in a dream
    Eyes on the crimson stream
    Numb as her wrists spit shots of blood to the floor
    Of nothing, no one, nobody, no more

    These are her mountains and skies and she radiates
    And through history's rivers of blood she regenerates
    And like the sun disappears only to reappear
    Maria she's eternally here
    Her time is near
    Never conquered but here

    ~ Zack de la Rocha, Maria
    Too fucking busy, and vice versa.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #98 - January 23, 2011, 04:02 AM
    "Darest thou now O soul,
    Walk out with me toward the unknown region,
    Where neither ground is for the feet nor any path to follow?

    "No map there, nor guide,
    Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
    Not face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.

    "I know it not O soul,
    Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,
    All waits undream'd of in that region, that inaccessible land.

    " Till when the ties loosen,
    All but the ties eternal, Time and Space.
    Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bounding us.

    "Then we burst forth, we float,
    In Time and Space O soul, prepared for them,
    Equal, equipt at last, (O Joy! O fruit of all!) them to fulfill O Soul."

    Walt Whitman in "Leaves of Grass"
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings. - Stevens
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #99 - March 10, 2011, 10:58 PM
    Verse 239-266 of the epic poem 'Javid Nama' by Allama Iqbal, translated from the persian by himself:

    Art thou in the stage of 'Life', 'death', or 'death-in-life'?
    Invoke the aid of three witnesses to verify thy 'Station'.
    The first witness is thine own consciousness-
    See thyself, then, with thine own light.
    The second witness is the consciousness of another ego-
    See thyself, then, with the light of an ego other than thee.
    The third witness is God's consciousness-
    See thyself, then, with God's light.
    If thou standest unshaken in front of this light,
    Consider thyself as living and eternal as He!
    That man alone is real who dares-
    Dares to see God face to face!
    What is 'Ascension'? Only a search for a witness
    Who may finally confirm thy reality-
    A witness whose confirmation alone makes thee eternal.
    No one can stand unshaken in His presence;
    And he who can, verily, he is pure gold.
    Art thou a mere particle of dust?
    Tighten the knot of thy ego;
    And hold fast to thy tiny being!
    How glorious to burnish one's ego
    And to test its lustre in the presence of the Sun!
    Re-chisel, then, thine ancient frame;
    And build up a new being.
    Such being is real being;
    Or else thy ego is a mere ring of smoke!

    exhilating!
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings. - Stevens
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #100 - March 10, 2011, 11:27 PM

    Monster by Dr Kanye West and Dame Nikki Minaj


    Gossip gossip
    N-ggas just stop it
    Everybody know (I’m a muthaf-cking monster)
    I’ma need to see your f-cking hands at the concert
    I’ma need to see your f-cking hands at the concert
    Profit profit, n-gga I got it
    Everybody know I’m a muthaf-cking monster
    I’ma need to see your f-cking hands at the concert
    I’ma need to see your f-cking hands at the

    The best living or dead hands down huh?
    Less talk more head right now huh?
    And my eyes more red than the devil is
    And I’m bout to take it to another level bitch
    There you go again, aint nobody as cold as this
    Do the rap and the track tripled up and no assist
    But my only focus is staying on some bogus sh-t
    Argue with my older bitch acting like I owe her sh-t
    I heard the people sayin raps are gettin trap mayne
    Bought the chain that always give me back pain
    F-ckin up my money so yeh I had to act sane
    Chi n-gga but he’s hold of his accent
    She came up to me and said this the number 2
    If you wanna make it number one your number 2 now
    This that goose an’ malibu I call it Malibooya
    God damn Yeezy How I hit em with the new style
    Know that muthaf-cker well, what you gon do now

    Whatever ever I wanna do, gosh its cool now
    Nah gonna do, uhh its a new now
    Think yo muthaf-cker really reall need to cool down
    Cause you will never get on top off this
    So mommy best advice is to get on top of this
    Have you ever had sex with a pharoah
    I put the p-ssy in a sarcophagus
    Now she claiming I bruise her esophagus
    Head of the class and she just want a swallowship
    I’m living the future so the presence is my past
    My presence is a present kiss my ass





    Pull up in the monster
    Automobile gangster
    With a bad b-tch that came from Sri Lanka
    Yeah I’m in that Tonka, colour of Willy Wonka
    You could be the King but watch the Queen conquer
    Ok first things first I’ll eat your brains
    Then I’mma start rocking gold teeth and fangs
    Casue that’s what a muthaf-cking monster do
    Hairdresser from milan, thats what monster do
    Monster Giuseppe heel that’s the monster shoe
    Young money is the roster and the monster crew
    And I’m all up all up all up in the bank with the funny face
    And if I’m fake I aint notice cause my money aint
    So let me get this straight wait I’m the rookie
    But my features and my shows ten times your pay
    50k for a verse no album out!
    Yeah my money’s so tall that my barbie’s gotta climb it
    Hotter than a middle eastern climate
    Find it 20 mataran dutty whine it
    While it, nicki on a pit while I sign it
    How these n-ggas so one-track minded
    But really really I don’t give a F-U-C-K
    Forget barbie f-ck nicki she’s fake
    She’s on a diet but my pockets eating cheese cake
    And I’ll say boy the Chucky is Child’s play
    Just killed another career it’s a mild day
    Besides ‘Ye they can’t stand besides me
    I think me, you and (?) menage friday
    Pink wig thick ass give em whip lash
    I think big get cash make em blink fast
    Now look at what you just saw I think this is what you live for
    Aaahhhh, I’m a muthaf-cking monster!

    "we can smell traitors and country haters"


    Quote from: arX on May 01, 2011, 03:33 AM
    God is Love.
    Love is Blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God.

  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #101 - March 17, 2011, 01:41 AM
    Then, even nothingness was not, nor existence.
    There was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it.
    What covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping?
    Was there then cosmic water, in depths unfathomed?

    Then there was neither death nor immortality,
    nor was there then the torch of night and day.
    The One breathed windlessly and self-sustaining.
    There was that One then, and there was no other.

    At first there was only darkness wrapped in darkness.
    All this was only unillumined water.
    That One which came to be, enclosed in nothing,
    arose at last, born of the power of heat.

    In the beginning desire descended on it -
    that was the primal seed, born of the mind.
    The sages who have searched their hearts with wisdom
    know that which is, is kin to that which is not.

    And they have stretched their cord across the void,
    and know what was above, and what below.
    Seminal powers made fertile might forces.
    Below was strength, and over it was impulse.

    But, after all, who knows, and who can say
    whence it all came, and how creation happened?
    The gods themselves are later than creation,
    so who knows truly whence it has arisen?

    Whence all creation had its origin,
    he, whether he fashioned it or whether he did not,
    he, who surveys it all from highest heaven,
    he knows - or maybe even he knows not.
    ~ Rig Veda, 10:129
    Too fucking busy, and vice versa.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #102 - April 01, 2011, 03:32 PM
    Quote
    ON A DREAM
    by John Keats

    As Hermes once took to his feathers light
    When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept,
    So on a Delphic reed my idle spright
    So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft
    The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes,
    And, seeing it asleep, so fled away:
    Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
    Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev'd a day;
    But to that second circle of sad hell,
    Where 'mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
    Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
    Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
    Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form
    I floated with, about that melancholy storm.


    ^^^ Which sinner can't love this poem lol


    Quote
    Sir Walter Raleigh

    Even such is time, that takes in trust
    Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
    And pays us but with earth and dust;
    Who, in the dark and silent grave,
    When we have wandered all our ways,
    Shuts up the story of our days;
    But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
    My God shall raise me up, I trust.


    Don't believe in his final 2 lines though, but poetry doesn't need my belief to be beautiful.
    Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #103 - April 01, 2011, 09:29 PM
    wonderful poems berbs, thanks for sharing Smiley
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings. - Stevens
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #104 - April 01, 2011, 10:24 PM
    The Stolen Child    
    by W. B. Yeats

    Where dips the rocky highland
    Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
    There lies a leafy island
    Where flapping herons wake
    The drowsy water rats;
    There we've hid our faery vats,
    Full of berrys
    And of reddest stolen cherries.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wave of moonlight glosses
    The dim gray sands with light,
    Far off by furthest Rosses
    We foot it all the night,
    Weaving olden dances
    Mingling hands and mingling glances
    Till the moon has taken flight;
    To and fro we leap
    And chase the frothy bubbles,
    While the world is full of troubles
    And anxious in its sleep.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wandering water gushes
    From the hills above Glen-Car,
    In pools among the rushes
    That scarce could bathe a star,
    We seek for slumbering trout
    And whispering in their ears
    Give them unquiet dreams;
    Leaning softly out
    From ferns that drop their tears
    Over the young streams.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Away with us he's going,
    The solemn-eyed:
    He'll hear no more the lowing
    Of the calves on the warm hillside
    Or the kettle on the hob
    Sing peace into his breast,
    Or see the brown mice bob
    Round and round the oatmeal chest.
    For he comes, the human child,
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.
    "Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused."
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #105 - April 01, 2011, 10:24 PM
    A Dream Deferred
    by Langston Hughes

    What happens to a dream deferred?

    Does it dry up
    like a raisin in the sun?
    Or fester like a sore--
    And then run?
    Does it stink like rotten meat?
    Or crust and sugar over--
    like a syrupy sweet?

    Maybe it just sags
    like a heavy load.

    Or does it explode?
    "Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused."
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #106 - April 01, 2011, 10:28 PM

    Ian McEwan described this poem by Philip Larkin as "One of the supreme secular meditations on death.......We confront our mortality in private conversations, in the familiar consolations of religion - "That vast moth-eaten musical brocade," thought Larkin, "Created to pretend we never die."


    ++++++

    Aubade

    I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
    Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
    In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
    Till then I see what's really always there:
    Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
    Making all thought impossible but how
    And where and when I shall myself die.
    Arid interrogation: yet the dread
    Of dying, and being dead,
    Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
    The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
    - The good not done, the love not given, time
    Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because
    An only life can take so long to climb
    Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
    But at the total emptiness for ever,
    The sure extinction that we travel to
    And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
    Not to be anywhere,
    And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

    This is a special way of being afraid
    No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
    That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade
    Created to pretend we never die,
    And specious stuff that says No rational being
    Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
    That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,
    No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
    Nothing to love or link with,
    The anasthetic from which none come round.

    And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
    A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill
    That slows each impulse down to indecision.
    Most things may never happen: this one will,
    And realisation of it rages out
    In furnace-fear when we are caught without
    People or drink. Courage is no good:
    It means not scaring others. Being brave
    Lets no one off the grave.
    Death is no different whined at than withstood.

    Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
    It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
    Have always known, know that we can't escape,
    Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.
    Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
    In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
    Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
    The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
    Work has to be done.
    Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

     
    "we can smell traitors and country haters"


    Quote from: arX on May 01, 2011, 03:33 AM
    God is Love.
    Love is Blind. Stevie Wonder is blind. Therefore, Stevie Wonder is God.

  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #107 - April 01, 2011, 10:29 PM
    Why should we but in the assembly pray?
    Only when friends are gathered call for wine?
    Lo, I have done with this hypocrisy,
    And ever pray and drink the cup divine.

    The fountain of my spirit has run dry,
    So that in tears no more my sorrow flows,
    Mute is the heart that wailed continuously,
    Silent the bulbul in the garden-close.

    Here, as we tread the pilgrim's way, we find
    The torch of inspiration like a fire,
    Men see it not, so dull they are and blind,
    They yearn not for the garments of desire.

    To each was given on the Creation-day
    His fitting portion, his appointed share,
    Why should'st thou then demand from destiny
    More joy than others have, less pain to bear?

    O Makhfi, for thy counsel all have come.
    Their secrets thou has kept concealed, apart,
    But why should'st thou, who for their sakes art dumb,
    Tell shamelessly the secrets of thy heart?

    -Mughal princess Zeb-un-Nisa Makhfi (1637 - 1702)
    "Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused."
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #108 - April 01, 2011, 10:29 PM
    Quote from: allat on April 01, 2011, 10:24 PM
    The Stolen Child    
    by W. B. Yeats
    <snip>

    For he comes, the human child,
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.[/i]


    I've always loved this poem. 
    Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #109 - April 01, 2011, 10:33 PM
    Quote from: BerberElla on April 01, 2011, 10:29 PM
    I've always loved this poem. 


    Me too. Gives me chills every time.
    "Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused."
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #110 - April 01, 2011, 10:34 PM
    I have always loved these two, always make me chuckle when I read them. 


    The passionate shepherd to his love by Cristopher Marlowe

    Come live with me and be my love,
    And we will all the pleasures prove
    That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
    Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

    And we will sit upon rocks,
    Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
    By shallow rivers to whose falls
    Melodious birds sing madrigals.

    And I will make thee beds of roses
    And a thousand fragrant poises,
    A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
    Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

    A gown made of the finest wool
    Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
    Fair lined slippers for the cold,
    With buckles of the purest gold;

    A belt of straw and ivy buds,
    With coral clasps and amber studs;
    And if these pleasures may thee move,
    Come live with me, and be my love.

    The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing
    For thy delight each May morning:
    If these delights thy mind may move,
    Then live with me and be my love.



    The nymphs reply to the shepherd by Sir Walter Raleigh

    If all the world and love were young,           
    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
    These pretty pleasures might me move
    To live with thee and be thy love.

    Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
    When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
    And Philomel becometh dumb;
    The rest complains of cares to come.

    The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
    To wayward winter reckoning yields:
    A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
    Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

    The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
    Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
    Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,—
    In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

    Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
    Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
    All these in me no means can move
    To come to thee and be thy love.

    But could youth last and love still breed,
    Had joys no date nor age no need,
    Then these delights my mind might move
    To live with thee and be thy love.
    Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #111 - April 01, 2011, 10:37 PM
    Just wrote this in a drunken stupor lol

    Always in my love's embrace
    With you beyond time and place

    Our hour upon the stages
    Passing through many ages

    Each day is yours to discover
    Each day a treasure to uncover

    Take the road less traveled,
    Perhaps truth is unraveled

    Whatever way you go
    You'll learn & grow

    Be filled with awe, sun or rain
    For joy is sweet with some pain

    See the mystery and majesty of the game
    Treat all imposters the same.

    (Doh wrong thread!)
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #112 - April 01, 2011, 10:38 PM
    This was my favourite poem in high school english class:

    The laboratory (Robert Browning)

    I

    NOW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
    May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
    As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy--
    Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

    II

    He is with her; and they know that I know
    Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
    While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
    Empty church, to pray God in, for them! -- I am here.

    III

    Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
    Pound at thy powder, -- I am not in haste!
    Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
    Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

    IV

    That in the mortar -- you call it a gum?
    Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
    And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
    Sure to taste sweetly, -- is that poison too?

    V

    Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
    What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
    To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
    A signet, a fan-mount, a filligree-basket!

    VI

    Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give
    And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
    But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head
    And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!

    VII

    Quick -- is it finished? The colour's too grim!
    Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?
    Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
    And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

    VIII

    What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me--
    That's why she ensnared him: this never will free
    The soul from those masculine eyes, -- say, 'no!'
    To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.

    IX

    For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
    My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
    Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,
    Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does not all!

    X

    Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
    Let death be felt and the proof remain;
    Brand, burn up, bite into its grace--
    He is sure to remember her dying face!

    XI

    Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose
    It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
    The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee--
    If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

    XII

    Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
    You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
    But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
    Ere I know it -- next moment I dance at the King's!
    At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
    Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
    Downward to darkness, on extended wings. - Stevens
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #113 - April 01, 2011, 10:41 PM
    Quote from: Hassan on April 01, 2011, 10:37 PM
    <snip>


    Love it Hass  Afro, way more optimistic than my dark scribblings lol which I will never post on here.  Grin

    Inhale the good shit, exhale the bullshit.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #114 - April 01, 2011, 10:51 PM
    tnx - I was tryin hard to be optimistic lol
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #115 - April 03, 2011, 09:08 AM
    Quote from: allat on April 01, 2011, 10:33 PM
    Me too. Gives me chills every time.


    Have you guys heard the song Loreena McKennitt made out of it? It's just lovely. Look it up on the tube.
    He's no friend to the friendless
    And he's the mother of grief
    There's only sorrow for tomorrow
    Surely life is too brief
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #116 - April 06, 2011, 04:30 AM
    Quote from: Naerys on April 03, 2011, 09:08 AM
    Have you guys heard the song Loreena McKennitt made out of it? It's just lovely. Look it up on the tube.


    Just looked it up... nice 001_wub Love Loreena McKennitt.

    "Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves, for they shall never cease to be amused."
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #117 - April 08, 2011, 08:08 AM
    Bluebird by Charles Bukowski


    there's a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I'm too tough for him,
    I say, stay in there, I'm not going
    to let anybody see
    you.

    there's a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
    cigarette smoke
    and the whores and the bartenders
    and the grocery clerks
    never know that
    he's
    in there.


    there's a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I'm too tough for him,
    I say,
    stay down, do you want to mess
    me up?
    you want to screw up the
    works?
    you want to blow my book sales in
    Europe?

    there's a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I'm too clever, I only let him out
    at night sometimes
    when everybody's asleep.
    I say, I know that you're there,
    so don't be
    sad.
    then I put him back,
    but he's singing a little
    in there, I haven't quite let him
    die
    and we sleep together like
    that
    with our
    secret pact
    and it's nice enough to
    make a man
    weep, but I don't
    weep, do
    you?
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #118 - April 08, 2011, 10:09 AM
    THE FLEA.
    by John Donne


    MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
    How little that which thou deniest me is ;
    It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
    Thou know'st that this cannot be said
    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
        Yet this enjoys before it woo,
        And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
        And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

    O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
    Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
    This flea is you and I, and this
    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
    Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
    And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
        Though use make you apt to kill me,
        Let not to that self-murder added be,
        And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
    Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
    Wherein could this flea guilty be,
    Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
    Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
    Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
    'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
    Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
    Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.
  • Re: Poetry time - Favourite poems by others
     Reply #119 - April 09, 2011, 11:36 AM
    A Winter Dream (translated from original French)

    In winter we’ll travel in a little pink carriage
    With cushions of blue.
    We’ll be fine. A nest of mad kisses waits
    In each corner too.

    You’ll shut your eyes, not to see, through the glass,
    Grimacing shadows of evening,
    Those snarling monsters, a crowd going past
    Of black wolves and black demons.

    Then you’ll feel your cheek tickled quite hard…
    A little kiss, like a maddened spider,
    Will run over your neck…

    And you’ll say: “Catch it!” bowing your head,
    – And we’ll take our time finding that creature
    – Who travels so far…

    Arthur Rimbaud
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