Two Watership Down inspired poems...don't worry, no rabbits here. Suitably long to celebrate the 100th post.
Fly Away, Great Bird So White
In my dreams a great bird came
A great white bird
Bringing me my dreams
Brining my dreams to me
In my dreams a great bird came
A great white bird
Carrying away my dreams
Carrying my dreams away
O Fly Away, Great Bird So White
And don't come back until midnight
Fly away with my dreams
And bring them back to me tonight
Fly beyond the horizon
Fly beyond the seas
Let my dreams see the world
Let my dreams fly
Fly away to Shangri-La
Fly away to heaven
Bring my dreams far and wide
And bring them back to me tonight
Bring my dreams back to me
Take them away young and frail
And bring them back strong and brave
Bring my dreams back to me
Bring me back dreams that have seen the world
Bring me back dreams that have flown
Bring them back to me tonight
So fly away, great bird so white
Fly away with my dreams
And don't come back until midnight.
Like Trees in November
Drifting away like autumn leaves
Scattering with the wind
Over rock, hills and plains
Over the distant sky
Our dreams scatter.
Like trees in November
We weep as our dreams leave
Weeping as they scatter
Over rock, hills and plains
Flying away with the wind
Our dreams scatter.
Like trees in November
We stand alone
Standing without our dreams
Weeping
Waiting
Waiting for the winter to pass
Waiting for spring to come again
Waiting for the time
When our dreams come again
Waiting for the time
When our dreams can grow again
Grow anew
Grow strong
And cover us in dreams
Autumns pass and winters come
The winter winds blow
Our dreams turn brown and wilt
Scattering with the winter winds
For the winter winds will not bear our dreams.
And so we wait
Like trees in November
Waiting for winter to pass
Waiting for the cold to fade
Waiting for the winds to go
Waiting for the day
When spring comes
The time when birds sing
When flowers bloom
When our dreams grow
Anew
Anew in a new world
A world that would bear our dreams
A world of dreams
Like trees in November
Not all will see the spring
Some of us will fall
Some of us will wilt
Some of us
Will never see our dreams return
But like trees in November
We will wait
We will hope
Waiting
Waiting for our dreams to return
Waiting for our spring
Like trees in November.
Poetry Corner (No Spam please)
-
Rookierookie
- Posts: 1253
- Joined: Fri Jun 04, 2004 2:22 am
- Contact:
The evil nature of GameBanshee revealed below!
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
-
Rookierookie
- Posts: 1253
- Joined: Fri Jun 04, 2004 2:22 am
- Contact:
Kipi 
The evil nature of GameBanshee revealed below!
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
-
Fiona
The Raven
Since it came up in discussions and also because I like it:
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
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 someone 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 name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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, something 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 the 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on that 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 he will 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, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus 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 lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O 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 name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 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 lamplight 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!
Since it came up in discussions and also because I like it:
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
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 someone 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 name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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, something 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 the 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 upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on that 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 he will 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, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
Thus 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 lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O 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 name Lenore---
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name 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 lamplight 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 think that God in creating man somewhat overestimated his ability.
- Oscar Wilde
The church is near but the road is icy; the bar is far away but I'll walk carefully.
- Russian proverb
- Oscar Wilde
The church is near but the road is icy; the bar is far away but I'll walk carefully.
- Russian proverb
-
Rookierookie
- Posts: 1253
- Joined: Fri Jun 04, 2004 2:22 am
- Contact:
The Christmas of 2005
What a plain Christmas.
Presents were exchanged
Like they were daily tasks
No novelty of giving
No gratitude or thanks
"Merry Christmas"
An afterthought
A realization
Of what must be said
But with no heart or soul in it
What a plain Christmas.
No Christmas lights on the road
No Christmas turkey meal
Simple meals, as always
Simple meals for Christmas day
Somewhere there might be parties
Somewhere there might be lights
Somewhere people might be cheering
But here, around me
They all bow down their heads to eat
To eat a plain meal
No Christmas turkey meal
What a plain Christmas.
Headlines full of Christmas joys
Channels filled with Christmas trees
What a fine, fine Christmas
To them
And what a plain, plain Christmas
To those whom Christmas did not touch
To me.
What a plain Christmas.
A paradise lost
All illusions gone
A Christmas absent of Christ
Absent of red coats, white beards, and hearty cheers
No longer children
No longer bearing hope
in Christmas
What a plain Christmas.
Some fifty dollars, or so
Around that much
Lay on wrapping papers
Things unwanted
Things unasked for
The things wanted
Lay, stll
Beyond rich
The Christmas of 2005
Was worth fifty dollars
Not a cent more
The Christmas of 2005
Was worthless
For all that lay on wrapping papers
Were unwanted
Worthless
As the Christmas of 2005 pass
I wish all of you a
Very merry Christmas
As I write this down
Passing, by myself
Such a plain Christmas
The Christmas of 2005 fades away
Passing away
Into time
What a plain Christmas.
What a plain Christmas.
Presents were exchanged
Like they were daily tasks
No novelty of giving
No gratitude or thanks
"Merry Christmas"
An afterthought
A realization
Of what must be said
But with no heart or soul in it
What a plain Christmas.
No Christmas lights on the road
No Christmas turkey meal
Simple meals, as always
Simple meals for Christmas day
Somewhere there might be parties
Somewhere there might be lights
Somewhere people might be cheering
But here, around me
They all bow down their heads to eat
To eat a plain meal
No Christmas turkey meal
What a plain Christmas.
Headlines full of Christmas joys
Channels filled with Christmas trees
What a fine, fine Christmas
To them
And what a plain, plain Christmas
To those whom Christmas did not touch
To me.
What a plain Christmas.
A paradise lost
All illusions gone
A Christmas absent of Christ
Absent of red coats, white beards, and hearty cheers
No longer children
No longer bearing hope
in Christmas
What a plain Christmas.
Some fifty dollars, or so
Around that much
Lay on wrapping papers
Things unwanted
Things unasked for
The things wanted
Lay, stll
Beyond rich
The Christmas of 2005
Was worth fifty dollars
Not a cent more
The Christmas of 2005
Was worthless
For all that lay on wrapping papers
Were unwanted
Worthless
As the Christmas of 2005 pass
I wish all of you a
Very merry Christmas
As I write this down
Passing, by myself
Such a plain Christmas
The Christmas of 2005 fades away
Passing away
Into time
What a plain Christmas.
The evil nature of GameBanshee revealed below!
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
--the Pious--
to those who live for after death:
can't you see the Lord sayeth
nothing? to deny yourself His
gifts to the lives of mankind is
the real blasphemy. Tragedy:
when one dies in chains he can't see.
and here's my favorite excerpt from the Bhagavad Gita:
...The flaw of pity blights my very being,
Conflicting sacred duties confound my reason...
to those who live for after death:
can't you see the Lord sayeth
nothing? to deny yourself His
gifts to the lives of mankind is
the real blasphemy. Tragedy:
when one dies in chains he can't see.
and here's my favorite excerpt from the Bhagavad Gita:
...The flaw of pity blights my very being,
Conflicting sacred duties confound my reason...
i'm breakin through i'm bending spoons i'm keepin flowers in full bloom i'm lookin for answers from the great beyond
-
Fiona
Short and sad.
The Letter
I have not seen your writing
For ages, nor have been fretting
To see it. As once, darling.
This letter will certainly be
About some book, written by you or by me.
You turned to other ghosts. So did I.
It stopped raining long ago
But drops caught up in the bough
Fall murderously on me now
Patricia Beer
The Letter
I have not seen your writing
For ages, nor have been fretting
To see it. As once, darling.
This letter will certainly be
About some book, written by you or by me.
You turned to other ghosts. So did I.
It stopped raining long ago
But drops caught up in the bough
Fall murderously on me now
Patricia Beer
-
Yshania
- Posts: 8572
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
- Contact:
Nocturne ~ Eugene O Neill
The sunset gun booms out in hollow roar,
Night breathes upon the waters of the bay.
The river lies, a symphony in grey,
Melting in shadow on the further shore.
A sullen coal barge tugs its anchor chain,
A shadow sinister, with one faint light
Flickering wanly in the dim twilight,
It lies upon the harbor like a stain.
Silence. Then through the stillness rings
The fretful echo of a seagull's scream,
As if one cried who sees within a dream
Deep rooted sorrow in the heart of things.
The cry that Sorrow knows and would complain
And impotently struggle to express --
Some secret shame, some hidden bitterness --
Yet evermore must sing the same refrain.
Silence once more. The air seems in a swoon
Beneath the heavens' thousand opening eyes,
While from the far horizon's edge arise
The first faint silvery tresses of the moon.
The sunset gun booms out in hollow roar,
Night breathes upon the waters of the bay.
The river lies, a symphony in grey,
Melting in shadow on the further shore.
A sullen coal barge tugs its anchor chain,
A shadow sinister, with one faint light
Flickering wanly in the dim twilight,
It lies upon the harbor like a stain.
Silence. Then through the stillness rings
The fretful echo of a seagull's scream,
As if one cried who sees within a dream
Deep rooted sorrow in the heart of things.
The cry that Sorrow knows and would complain
And impotently struggle to express --
Some secret shame, some hidden bitterness --
Yet evermore must sing the same refrain.
Silence once more. The air seems in a swoon
Beneath the heavens' thousand opening eyes,
While from the far horizon's edge arise
The first faint silvery tresses of the moon.
Parachute for sale, like new! Never opened!
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Guinness, black goes with everything.
-Remorse-
He’d slipped back into dreams.
It was too hot to cry, he was too scared to move.
He could see the gates from where he hid,
He could hear screams of no one he knew.
Alone he sought God though nobody responded.
When you hear demon’s footsteps around you
You realize you truly are doomed.
For him it was painful and tragic,
For him it was tragic and grim.
He saw himself as a boy sitting silent at Mass.
He saw a tear in his eye.
He reached out and wiped it, whispered in his ear.
Beautiful icons lined the not quite white walls.
Sanctuary.
He saw himself as a boy reading in his room.
Music to weave his thoughts into order.
Acid to pick them apart.
He read over his shoulder:
“The flaw of pity blights my very being;
Conflicting sacred duties confound my reason."
Detachment.
He saw a young man praying, looking up to the sky.
He saw an old man dancing in perfect time to an uneven beat.
The young man was proud, the old man wise,
One was accepted, and the other shunned.
I touched the old man, he sang me his song.
A mighty God is a living man.
Dance.
Heroes walked these corridors.
Far too long ago.
Is nothing Sacred any longer?
Fear keeps this mortal in line.
Lead him to the myths and legends.
Strengthen his sword hand.
Give him wine and women.
Give him life and land.
“The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom”.
Lady, let down your hair, keep out the night.
Love me.
Find Heaven in a wild flower.
Make children strong and beautiful.
Wake up to the sound of birds in the garden,
Find Eden surviving the storm,
Calling for company, crying for loneliness.
Be real toads in this Dreamtime garden.
Poetry.
Xanadu and Shangri-la
A dying man beckons.
House him in your Slopes and Rivers.
Caress his head and hide his tears.
Make him understand life’s cycles and irony.
Show him it will be alright.
Death.
Lady, you who have won the hearts of angels
Since the beginning of time,
Share your secrets with this man,
for soon he’ll ask no longer.
Hold his hand, Venus
Let him sink slowly.
Love.
Men, fight for him, for he is your brother.
Men, fight for others, for not all are strong.
Be righteous and noble,
Tender and wise.
Don’t condemn the innocent,
Enjoy what is given to you.
Fight.
In the window he sees his body,
Broken and bleeding.
Slumped over his dashboard.
He’d led his whole life as if it were nothing.
Unhappy and successful.
Excuses ran through his head:
He had bills to pay, he had people to see, he was depressed.
He’d lost sight of what was important.
He knew this dream, it wasn’t his first.
He woke but his eyes wouldn’t open,
He cried but no tears would come out.
His family had stopped visiting long ago.
He wanted to write his Poem.
Comatose.
Please, Please critisize this poem! Any suggestions would be great.
Tell me what you liked and didn't like.
Though, google something before asking what it means...
He’d slipped back into dreams.
It was too hot to cry, he was too scared to move.
He could see the gates from where he hid,
He could hear screams of no one he knew.
Alone he sought God though nobody responded.
When you hear demon’s footsteps around you
You realize you truly are doomed.
For him it was painful and tragic,
For him it was tragic and grim.
He saw himself as a boy sitting silent at Mass.
He saw a tear in his eye.
He reached out and wiped it, whispered in his ear.
Beautiful icons lined the not quite white walls.
Sanctuary.
He saw himself as a boy reading in his room.
Music to weave his thoughts into order.
Acid to pick them apart.
He read over his shoulder:
“The flaw of pity blights my very being;
Conflicting sacred duties confound my reason."
Detachment.
He saw a young man praying, looking up to the sky.
He saw an old man dancing in perfect time to an uneven beat.
The young man was proud, the old man wise,
One was accepted, and the other shunned.
I touched the old man, he sang me his song.
A mighty God is a living man.
Dance.
Heroes walked these corridors.
Far too long ago.
Is nothing Sacred any longer?
Fear keeps this mortal in line.
Lead him to the myths and legends.
Strengthen his sword hand.
Give him wine and women.
Give him life and land.
“The path of excess leads to the tower of wisdom”.
Lady, let down your hair, keep out the night.
Love me.
Find Heaven in a wild flower.
Make children strong and beautiful.
Wake up to the sound of birds in the garden,
Find Eden surviving the storm,
Calling for company, crying for loneliness.
Be real toads in this Dreamtime garden.
Poetry.
Xanadu and Shangri-la
A dying man beckons.
House him in your Slopes and Rivers.
Caress his head and hide his tears.
Make him understand life’s cycles and irony.
Show him it will be alright.
Death.
Lady, you who have won the hearts of angels
Since the beginning of time,
Share your secrets with this man,
for soon he’ll ask no longer.
Hold his hand, Venus
Let him sink slowly.
Love.
Men, fight for him, for he is your brother.
Men, fight for others, for not all are strong.
Be righteous and noble,
Tender and wise.
Don’t condemn the innocent,
Enjoy what is given to you.
Fight.
In the window he sees his body,
Broken and bleeding.
Slumped over his dashboard.
He’d led his whole life as if it were nothing.
Unhappy and successful.
Excuses ran through his head:
He had bills to pay, he had people to see, he was depressed.
He’d lost sight of what was important.
He knew this dream, it wasn’t his first.
He woke but his eyes wouldn’t open,
He cried but no tears would come out.
His family had stopped visiting long ago.
He wanted to write his Poem.
Comatose.
Please, Please critisize this poem! Any suggestions would be great.
Tell me what you liked and didn't like.
Though, google something before asking what it means...
i'm breakin through i'm bending spoons i'm keepin flowers in full bloom i'm lookin for answers from the great beyond
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ch85us2001
- Posts: 8748
- Joined: Wed Apr 13, 2005 7:53 pm
- Location: My mind dwells elsewhere . . .
Chu will now post a self made poem about being as random as Chu.
Chu knows he will regret this, and randomly delete it a half hour later. Whatever.
Lock me up.
By Chu.
Lock me up,
I cant keep control of myself,
Lock me up,
Before I can hurt someone else,
Lock me up,
I dont know what Im going to do,
Lock me up,
I hate feeling like this,
around you.
Chu knows he will regret this, and randomly delete it a half hour later. Whatever.
Lock me up.
By Chu.
Lock me up,
I cant keep control of myself,
Lock me up,
Before I can hurt someone else,
Lock me up,
I dont know what Im going to do,
Lock me up,
I hate feeling like this,
around you.
[url=tamriel-rebuilt.org]Tamriel Rebuilt and,[/url] [url="http://z13.invisionfree.com/Chus_Mod_Forum/index.php?"]My Mod Fansite[/url]
I am the Lord of Programming, and your Mother Board, and your RAR Unpacker, and Your Runtime Engine, can tell you all about it
I am the Lord of Programming, and your Mother Board, and your RAR Unpacker, and Your Runtime Engine, can tell you all about it
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Rookierookie
- Posts: 1253
- Joined: Fri Jun 04, 2004 2:22 am
- Contact:
If this poem looks like the lyrics for a song, it's because it is. Haven't bothered to write the melody for it - yet.
Remember
Remember
That seaside village
Your home, my home
Remember
The beaches we used to play on
The water, the wind
Where our memories were
These are all we have left
For you are gone
Left us all alone
Alone with memories
Of happier times
Remember
All our good friends
Laughing, playing
Remember
How we had shared each other's joy
The sorrow, the pain
The time we passed together
Now the joy has left us
For you are gone
And all that is left
Are tears we cried for you
To mourn your passing
We wish you would return
We long to join you
But all we can do now
Is watch the funeral pyre glow
Taking all that is left of you away
Away from us
Along with the times we had
Along with our memories
Remember
All the times we had
Bring it with you
Remember
For we will never forget
The joy, the laughter
All that you have given us
Until we meet again
Please remember
Do not forget us
For we will not forget
Your face and your smile
Someday we'll meet again
So don't forget
All that we had shared
And we will remember
All the joy we shared
Remember
Remember
That seaside village
Your home, my home
Remember
The beaches we used to play on
The water, the wind
Where our memories were
These are all we have left
For you are gone
Left us all alone
Alone with memories
Of happier times
Remember
All our good friends
Laughing, playing
Remember
How we had shared each other's joy
The sorrow, the pain
The time we passed together
Now the joy has left us
For you are gone
And all that is left
Are tears we cried for you
To mourn your passing
We wish you would return
We long to join you
But all we can do now
Is watch the funeral pyre glow
Taking all that is left of you away
Away from us
Along with the times we had
Along with our memories
Remember
All the times we had
Bring it with you
Remember
For we will never forget
The joy, the laughter
All that you have given us
Until we meet again
Please remember
Do not forget us
For we will not forget
Your face and your smile
Someday we'll meet again
So don't forget
All that we had shared
And we will remember
All the joy we shared
The evil nature of GameBanshee revealed below!
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
GameBanshee sells Xandax to make ends meet
Then, as if that was not enough, they decide to get rid of me via sweepstakes as well
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fable
- Posts: 30676
- Joined: Wed Mar 14, 2001 12:00 pm
- Location: The sun, the moon, and the stars.
- Contact:
When You are Old
by William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
by William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
To the Righteous belong the fruits of violent victory. The rest of us will have to settle for warm friends, warm lovers, and a wink from a quietly supportive universe.
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Siberys
- Posts: 6207
- Joined: Sat Apr 30, 2005 7:16 pm
- Location: I live in that one place with the thing
- Contact:
Well, wrote me own poetry, so tell me what you all think.
Snake Eyes-
Those burning bloody eyes,
This wound, this ache,
That look, filled with lies,
I see through deception, the fake.
That skin so slender, so sly,
Hard, scaly, nimble fingers,
That speech, that persuasive cry,
It's you, not fasting, you linger.
That slithering, that walk,
You subtely move about and mingle,
You sleight your hand as you talk,
Then move to exit with ease of handle,
With that pick pocket, your scandal,
Go on, grab the treasure, the coin,
Like you do, with ease of handle.
Let those eyes be your knife,
That burning bloody sight,
It hungers within your life,
Without worry, without plight,
And all the smooth talk,
That cool walk,
Dash to the door, a quick flight.
Escaped with a presence of fear,
Your prize was all to those eyes,
That look, that leer,
And when you meet with your guys,
You survey the prize,
Telling them of the lies,
And your almost demise,
But your ploy, your lie,
Was successful, it did not die.
Celebration is at hand,
With your golden sand,
and your right hand man,
Nigh is the dawn,
and at that, you quit the LAN.
Snake Eyes-
Those burning bloody eyes,
This wound, this ache,
That look, filled with lies,
I see through deception, the fake.
That skin so slender, so sly,
Hard, scaly, nimble fingers,
That speech, that persuasive cry,
It's you, not fasting, you linger.
That slithering, that walk,
You subtely move about and mingle,
You sleight your hand as you talk,
Then move to exit with ease of handle,
With that pick pocket, your scandal,
Go on, grab the treasure, the coin,
Like you do, with ease of handle.
Let those eyes be your knife,
That burning bloody sight,
It hungers within your life,
Without worry, without plight,
And all the smooth talk,
That cool walk,
Dash to the door, a quick flight.
Escaped with a presence of fear,
Your prize was all to those eyes,
That look, that leer,
And when you meet with your guys,
You survey the prize,
Telling them of the lies,
And your almost demise,
But your ploy, your lie,
Was successful, it did not die.
Celebration is at hand,
With your golden sand,
and your right hand man,
Nigh is the dawn,
and at that, you quit the LAN.
Listen up maggots, Mr. Popo's 'bout to teach you the pecking order.
It goes you, the dirt, the worms inside of the dirt, Popo's stool, Kami, then Popo.
~Mr. Popo, Dragonball Z Abridged
It goes you, the dirt, the worms inside of the dirt, Popo's stool, Kami, then Popo.
~Mr. Popo, Dragonball Z Abridged
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Oscuro_Sol
- Posts: 4475
- Joined: Sun Apr 10, 2005 1:02 pm
- Location: In the shadow of the mushroom cloud
- Contact:
Some stuff I wrote for school.
Melody of a Sunset
It slowly dawns at ending dusk,
A collage of sun and clouds,
The curtain opens with fading light,
Over the audience it shrouds.
A composition of beauty,
Rose, crimson and gold,
The sight of an incredible setting
Is too stunning to behold.
The baton is raised and the stars appear,
Back-dropping the sight at last,
Visitors stand in appreciation,
Applauding the musicians and cast.
In the composer’s final movement,
The Disappearance of the Sun,
The guests realize at last,
A sunset outranks everyone.
Alone
You sit there, just by yourself
Too many cares to think
You’re alone but there’s so many others
You’ve started to disappear and shrink
To them you’re just any other
Alone, and dirty, and cold
You’ve been in the dark for so long
There’s nothing left to hold
Your desperation is beyond tears
You’re hopeless, and tired, and scared
Don’t think about them, those others
They don’t understand, they don’t even care
Stay away from the hate and the crime
It’s not even worth the hurt
Just remember who you were once then
You’ll need it for the empty comfort
You reach up once, to the sky
Hoping to be saved once and for all
But you need the courage and the hope
For lack of made you first fall.
Melody of a Sunset
It slowly dawns at ending dusk,
A collage of sun and clouds,
The curtain opens with fading light,
Over the audience it shrouds.
A composition of beauty,
Rose, crimson and gold,
The sight of an incredible setting
Is too stunning to behold.
The baton is raised and the stars appear,
Back-dropping the sight at last,
Visitors stand in appreciation,
Applauding the musicians and cast.
In the composer’s final movement,
The Disappearance of the Sun,
The guests realize at last,
A sunset outranks everyone.
Alone
You sit there, just by yourself
Too many cares to think
You’re alone but there’s so many others
You’ve started to disappear and shrink
To them you’re just any other
Alone, and dirty, and cold
You’ve been in the dark for so long
There’s nothing left to hold
Your desperation is beyond tears
You’re hopeless, and tired, and scared
Don’t think about them, those others
They don’t understand, they don’t even care
Stay away from the hate and the crime
It’s not even worth the hurt
Just remember who you were once then
You’ll need it for the empty comfort
You reach up once, to the sky
Hoping to be saved once and for all
But you need the courage and the hope
For lack of made you first fall.
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TonyMontana1638
- Posts: 4598
- Joined: Sat Aug 20, 2005 11:10 pm
- Location: Chasing nuns out in the yard
Probably my favorite poem of all time... I read it once and tried to find it a few years later but had trouble because I knew neither the author nor the name. I though it was "Vindictus" and so I searched that and came across a poem read by Timothy McVeigh, the man responsible for the Oklahoma City bombings, as his last words before he was executed. Whoever had created the page also had entitled it "Vindictus" and for awhile I thought that was the appropriate name. Eventually I discovered it was wrong, that it was titled "Invictus" and was slightly disturbed at the morbidly bizarre coincidence that had led me back to it. Anyways, let's see if I can recite this from memory, so pardon any grammatical errors. The title of the collection it's from, and one of the things I like so much about this poem, comes from the experience of an accident that resulted in his leg being amputated. This event and the pain and depression that resulted from it had a profound effect on his work and obviously on this poem. It's said Robert Louis Stevenson's character peg-legged Long John Silver in Treasure Island was inspired by Henley. Hope you guys like it as much as I do.
"Invictus"
-W.E. Henley, In Hospital
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.
In 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 straight the gait,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
@ OS: I really liked that second poem. That's quite good.
"Invictus"
-W.E. Henley, In Hospital
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.
In 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 straight the gait,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
@ OS: I really liked that second poem. That's quite good.
"Be thankful you're healthy."
"Be bitter you're not going to stay that way."
"Be glad you're even alive."
"Be furious you're going to die."
"Things could be much worse."
"They could be one hell of a lot better."
"Be bitter you're not going to stay that way."
"Be glad you're even alive."
"Be furious you're going to die."
"Things could be much worse."
"They could be one hell of a lot better."
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Fiona
This is a war poem, but not very typical. For me it captures the boredom of army training and the pointlessness of all that stuff. Might not be the same for any soldiers out there, though, I realise
NAMING OF PARTS
To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
Henry Reed
NAMING OF PARTS
To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.
This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.
This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.
And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.
They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.
Henry Reed