GameBanshee Forums

@craig: Your poem was very ... visceral. Not unlike a... root canal.


Mother of us all
Place of our birth
How can we stand aside
And watch the rape of the world
This the beginning of the end
This the most heinous of crimes
This the deadliest of sins
The greatest violation of all time
Mother of us all
Place of our birth
We all are witness
To the rape of the world

You've seen her stripped mined
You've heard of bombs exploded underground
You know the sun shines
Hotter than ever before
Mother of us all
Place of our birth
We all are witness
To the rape of the world

Some claim to have crowned her
A queen
With cities of concrete and steel
But there is no glory no honor
In what results
From the rape of the world...

Tracy Chapman

[ 07-12-2001: Message edited by: thantor3 ]

Environment

Bent old men and women and dirty children scavenging for scraps of paper to pack in immense bundles on their backs for a few centavos
They keep the streets clean
They are also shining your shoes and polishing your sports car and scrubbing out your toilet bowl
They are puking in their piles of rags
They are pawing through your garbage can for something to eat
They are so hungry they will do anything for a drink
they are selling their sick sisters to tourists
They are even pretending to smile
And you are so used to seeing all this that you hardly consider it anymore
Or maybe it's because their skins are darker than yours that you dismiss it as part of the natural order
But listen to me Fatty
They are living and dying and waiting the slow wait of the desperate
Degredadation would finish them off if it wasn't for their hatred
and there is a rumour that something is going to happen
The police have began searching for guns stored in the barrios
(it has happened before in other places you know)
And don't go putting me down as just another one of those social-protest boys
Because I'm not protesting in the least
I'm just telling you what's going on
So you won't be too surprised when it happens

Lionel Kearns, 1969

Butterfly on Rock

The large yellow wings, black-fringed,
were motionless

They say the soul of a dead person
will settle like that on the still face

But I thought: the rock has borne this;
this butterfly is the rock's grace,
its most obstinate and secret desire

to be a thing alive made manifest

Forgot were the two shattered porcupines
I had seen die in the bleak forest.
Pain is unreal; death, an illusion:
There is no death in all the land,
I heard my voice cry;
And I brought my hand down on the butterfly
And felt the rock move beneath my hand.

Irving Layton

[ 07-11-2001: Message edited by: dragon wench ]

Requiem - anna akhmatova

no, not under the vault of alien skies,
and not under the shelter of alien wings -
i was with my people then,
there, where my people unfortunatly, were.
(1961)

v
for seventten monts i've been crying out,
calling you home.
i flung myself at the hangman's feet,
you are my son and my horror.
everything is confused forever,
and it's not clear to me
who is a beast now, who is a man,
and how long before the execution.
and there are only dusty flowers,
and the chinking of the censer, and tracks
from somewhere to nowhere.
and staring me straight in the eyes,
and threating impending death,
is an enormous star.
(1939)

Seems we have a lot of poet lovers here.

Aren't we the edumacated lot

Originally posted by Vehemence:
<STRONG>Seems we have a lot of poet lovers here.

Aren't we the edumacated lot </STRONG>

Which do you want...... an obomabo, a viomalin, ahhhh a saxamaphone.....

Like a Bird on the Wire

Like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.
Like a worm on a hook,
like a knight from some old fashioned book
I have saved all my ribbons for thee.
If I, if I have been unkind,
I hope that you can just let it go by.
If I, if I have been untrue
I hope you know it was never to you.

Like a baby, stillborn,
like a beast with his horn
I have torn everyone who reached out for me.
But I swear by this song
and by all that I have done wrong
I will make it all up to thee.
I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch,
he said to me, "You must not ask for so much."
And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,
she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?"

Oh like a bird on the wire,
like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free.

Leonard Cohen

Making love with you
Is like drinking sea water.
The more I drink
The thirstier I become,
Until nothing can slake my thirst
But to drink the entire sea.

Marichiko

My personal favorite :

A Dragon's Soul

I have been in this form so long,
I have forgotten what I once was.
Human flesh surrounds me, all of
my family is of the human race.

But a body is a weak, mortal thing,
souls are etherial, immortal and powerful.
My heart beats fiercely under my skin,
and sometimes I feel distant fire in my veins.
My soul rises like a butterfly yearning
to be free, it stretches like a rose
opening form the bud.
My soul is the most precious thing
about me, it is the center of my being.

My soul guides me to the dragons.
In that secret, magical place I see
the noble creatures. They are beautiful,
creatures of awesome mystery and power.
The dragons come in every color, shape
and size. They are wise, strong and good.
No evil dragons dwell in my dreams.

My soul cries out and I remember a time
when I was one of them. How I long for
the shining scales to cover my skin, how
I want the muscular body of a dragon!
I long for the horns to adorn my head, and
claws to replace my fingers. Most of all
I want the glorious wings to arch form my back,
to let me explore the skies.
But alas, I am trapped in this corporeal,
earth-bound form. I may be a pathetic human,
but I have a dragon's soul.

© Lady Seraphina - Author

Arriesgare la Piel
(I will risk my skin)

Last night, perhaps it may
Have been necessary
To make the useless decision
Of seeing you
Be it in the middle of the night
Be it in the middle of death

My heart is a winged horse
My decision is a bitter spade
I will come back searching for what I love

In spite of the uncertainty that seizes me
I will risk my skin to see you again
Even with a high price
For the misunderstanding
Because life is like an instant
Within the past vastness of this year

A year of waiting and a year
Without memories
Which I prefer not to prolong
Between the knife of your past
And the wounds of my awakenings

Inti-Illimani

[ 07-17-2001: Message edited by: dragon wench ]

Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me:
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

--Ben Jonson, Song to Celia

What an educated and artistic group we have! I myself am an engineer, but ... my favorite is Heinrich Heine and his awesome "Deutschland." It's a whole book in verse, but the opening lines are awesome:

Im traurigen Monat November wars,
Die Tage wurden trueber,
Der Wind riss von den Baeumen das Laub,
Da reist ich nach Deutschland hinueber.

Und als ich an die Grenze kam
Da fuehlt ich ein staerkeres Klopfen
In meiner Brust, ich glaube sogar
Die Augen begunnen zu tropfen.

Und als ich die deutsche Sprache vernahm,
Da ward mir seltsam zu Mute;
Ich meinte nicht anders, als ob das Herz
Recht angenehm verblute

(For those of you who speak German )

Here's some more Frost to add to Kayless' recitation. This is for the tree climbers of the world.

INTO MY OWN

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e'er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if I still held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew -
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

MUTABILITY

The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.

Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.

Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou--and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

A Poem by Aegis....

Death
Dying
Living
Ageing
Birthing
Death...

Funny how it always ends (begins?) with death...

I will never understand poetry...
Ramblings of Lum the Mad I say.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

--Dylan Thomas

The finals of the National Poetry Contest last year came down to two
finalists. One was a Duke University Law School graduate from an upper
crust family; well-bred, well-connected, and all that goes with it.
The other finalist was a redneck from Texas A&M. The rules of the
contest required each finalist to compose a four-line
poem in one minute or less, and the poem had to contain the
word"Timbuktu".

The Duke graduate went first. About thirty seconds after the clock
started he jumped up and recited the following poem:

"Slowly across the desert sand
Trekked the dusty caravan.
Men on camels, two by two
Destination -- Timbuktu."

The audience went wild. How, they wondered, could the redneck top that?
The clock started again and the redneck sat in silent thought. Finally, in
the last few seconds, he jumped up and recited:

"Tim and me, a-huntin' went.
Met three whores in a pop-up tent.
They was three, we was two,
So I bucked one and Timbuktu."

This is an oldie but a goodie. It seemed like with our new folks, we might want to bring it up, again. Have at it.

I always liked this thread Here is one I recently found written by Viggo Mortensen of all people...


COMMUNION

1.
WE'VE LEFT SHORE SOMEHOW
BECOME THE FRIENDS
OF EARLY THEORY
CLOSE ENOUGH TO SPEAK
DESIRE AND PAIN OF ABSENCE
OF MISTAKES WE'D MAKE
GIVEN THE CHANCE.


EACH SMILE RETURNED
MAKES HARDER AVOIDING
DREAMS THAT SEE US
LYING IN EARLY EVENING
CURTAIN SHADOWS, SKIN
SAFE AGAINST SKIN.
BLOOM OF COMPASSION
RESPECT FOR MOMENTS
EYES LOCK TURNS
FOREVER INTO ONE MORE
VEIL THAT FALLS AWAY.


2.
THIS AFTER SEEING YOU
LAST NIGHT, FIRST TIME
SMELLING YOU WITH
PERMISSION: SHOULDERS TO
WONDER OPENLY AT
AS CAREFULLY KISSED
AS THOSE ARMS
WAITED IMPOSSIBLY ON.
THEY'VE HELD ME NOW
AND YOUR BREATH
DOWN MY BACK
SENT AWAY NIGHT AIR
THAT HAD ME SHAKING
IN THE UNLIT ANGLICAN
DOORWAY.


3.
ARE WE RUINED FOR
FINDING OUR FACES FIT
AND WANT TO KNOW MORE
ABOUT MORNING? IS
FRIENDSHIP CANCELLED
IF WE CAN'T CALL
EACH OTHER ANYMORE
IN AMNESIA, INVITE
OURSELVES TO LAST GLANCES
UNDER SUSPICIOUS CLOCKS
TELLING US WHEN WE'VE
HAD ENOUGH?


4.
YOUR STEADY HANDS
CRADLING MY GRATEFUL
SKULL: WERE YOU TAKING
IN MY FACE TO
SAVE AN IMAGE
YOU'VE RARELY ALLOWED
YOURSELF AFTER LEAVING
THAT COLD ALCOVE?
AM I A PHOTOGRAPH
YOU GAZE AT IN
MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS?


YOU ORDERED ME
OFF MY KNEES
INTO YOUR ARMS.
WASN'T TO BEG
THAT I KNELT; ONLY
TO SEE YOU ONCE
FROM BELOW.


TRIED TO SAY SOMETHING
THAT FILLED MY MOUTH
AND LONGED TO REST
IN YOUR EAR.
DON'T DARE WRITE
IT DOWN FOR FEAR IT'LL
BECOME WORDS, JUST
WORDS.