Favourite Poems

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Another revival of a popular thread, folks.

In the old board, this thread brought in some wonderful poetry from many contributors - thankee guys.

And it also carried some excellent original poems from members - almost like the small poetry magazines which largely have sadly ceased to exist in print.

So I'll kick it off -

This is quoted by Sai King in Danse Macabre as the epitome of what a good horror movie should do. -


FROM 'BUT EVEN SO' by KENNETH PATCHEN

Come now,
my child,
if we were planning
to harm you, do you think
we'd be lurking here
beside the path
in the very dark-
est part of
the forest?

'This is the mood which the best films of mythic 'fairy-tale' horror summon up in us'. Sai King


Long days and pleasant nights

[motherwolf]

:cool2::oh: I'm not 100% sure, but I think my very most all time favorite poem is the little Haiku that Ben wrote for Beverly in 'It'. I've got to look that up, I haven't read it in along time! Mornin' Sai!

[La Belladonna]

Thankee John - I always enjoyed the poem postings. I love this poem...it really needs to be read out loud for all to hear. I may not be able to relate to it on all of its levels, but as a woman this poem really speaks to and for me.


Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

[Anni M]

Perfect for this time of year...

WHEN ICICLES HANG BY THE WALL

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

(William Shakespeare
from Love's Labour's Lost)

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Another one from Robert Burns (1759-1796), Scotland's National bard. It tells the story of the horrendous Act of Union in 1707 when a cabal of less than a hundred Edinburgh lawyers, politicians and nobles sold out Scotland's nationality for less than £100,000.

It appalled Burns, and it still appalls me.

This is dedicated, with absolutely no respect whatever, to Gordon Brown , Alastair Darling and their brood who so much besmirch the Scottish name.

And, indeed, to ALL politicians.


PARCEL OF ROGUES

Fareweel to all our Scottish fame
Fareweel our ancient glory
Fareweel even to the Scottish name
Sae famed in martial story
Now Sark runs over the Solway Sands
And Tweed runs to the ocean
To mark where England's province stands
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

What force or guile could not subdue
Through many warlike ages
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor's wages
The English steel we could disdain
Secure in valour's station
But English gold has been our bane
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation

Oh would, e're I'd seen the day
That treason thus could fell us
My old gray head had lain in clay
With Bruce and loyal Wallace
But pith and power, to my last hour
I'll make this declaration
We are bought and sold for English gold
By a parcel of rogues in a nation

We are bought and sold for English gold
By a parcel of rogues in a nation


Long days and pleasant nights

[MadamMack]

[QUOTE=La Belladonna;94482]Thankee John - I always enjoyed the poem postings. I love this poem...it really needs to be read out loud for all to hear. I may not be able to relate to it on all of its levels, but as a woman this poem really speaks to and for me.


Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou


Maya Angelou is a favorite of mine . . .

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Not only a great poem, Anni, but a beautiful presentation as well, thankee.

This is one of my own that I posted a while ago on the old board (isn't it funny how that sounds?), but it's a personal favourite of mine so I make no apologies for re-posting it. It's actually a song, although a song without music sounds like a poem to me LOL, and it was inspired by the fact that I saw a lot of young(ish) men treating their ladies with what I considered a lack of appreciation.

So I thought I'd give them the benefit of my long experience, whether they wanted it or not LOL. I've never been happy with the title though.


A BIT ABOUT WOMEN

I've been in love four times, or maybe it was five
Frankly I think I'm lucky, lucky to have survived
But I learned a bit about women, somewhere along the way
So guys, listen to me, let me have my say

Treasure every moment, every minute with your love
For love itself it is a gift from beyond the stars above
Cherish her and keep her deep inside your heart
Cause you never know the moment you might be wrenched apart

I've been in love three times, or maybe it was four
I can't remember any more what we all split up for
But I learned a bit about women, somewhere along the way
So guys, listen to me, let me have my say

Don't let foolish words or thoughts get in your way
Tell her that you love her each and every single day
Every day together is very, very precious
Savour every second as long as the gods let us

I've been in love two times, or maybe it was three
I guess that I have never really wanted to be free
But I learned a bit about women somewhere along the way
So guys, listen to me, let me have my say

Love it really is a truly mystic thing
But time has a way of changing everything
So kiss your lady and love her one more time for me
For in time you will both certainly be free

I've been in love one time, or maybe it was two
But the time that I remember best is the time I spent with you
But I learned a bit about women somewhere along the way
So guys, listen to me, let me have my say

Don't take love for granted, that's the one thing she can't stand
Treat each day as a new day, grasp it in your hand
Buy your lady flowers when you've done nothing wrong
Write a poem for her or put it in a song

I've been in love one time, that much I do know
And the one time that I'm sure of I gave her my very soul
And all I've learned about women doesn't matter to me now
So love your lady all you can, and you? You'll get by somehow


Long days and pleasant nights

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

One of my own -


HAPPY NEW YEAR

May I wish you a Happy New Year?
A year of hope, a year without fear
A year much better than the last
May all your futures surpass your past

I wish you all you'd wish yourselves
A year of good luck and better health
To you and yours, I wish you all the best
And may next year be better than the rest

So fill your glass and pause awhile
It's friends and family make life worthwhile
We'll drink a toast to absent friends
And shed a tear as the old year ends


Have a wonderful time, everybody, see you next year!

Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

Merrily swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers,
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,
Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest
Hear him call in his merry note:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Look, what a nice coat is mine.
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife,
Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life,
Broods in the grass while her husband sings
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear
Thieves and robbers while I am here.
Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay,
Flecked with purple, a pretty sight!
There as the mother sits all day,
Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
Nice good wife, that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-linl,
Spink, spank, spink;
This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,
Half forgotten that merry air:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and out nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,
Spink, spank, spink;
When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.


"Robert of Lincoln"
William Cullen Bryant

(A childhood favorite_

[Charms7]

This thread is neato to the cheeto, John! I mean, it's very enjoyable. Thankee for starting it. Now, I've got to get busy looking up poems well loved.

[Charms7]

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

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.

By Dylan Thomas

[Moderator]

We may need to start applying the same rule here as in the favorite lyrics thread, i.e. to put the poem within a spoiler notice if it is lengthy in order to conserve space. If you come back and the poem you posted has been put in a spoiler since your last visit, that's why.

[Charms7]

We may need to start applying the same rule here as in the favorite lyrics thread, i.e. to put the poem within a spoiler notice if it is lengthy in order to conserve space. If you come back and the poem you posted has been put in a spoiler since your last visit, that's why.

I'm cool with that. Thanks, Ms. Mod.

[bookworm101]

I posted this one on the old board, so in honor of my Grandmother I'll post it here, for she is the one who taught it to me when I was but knee high to a grasshopper.


Mary had a little lamb
she tied him to the heater
and every time he turned around
he burned his little peter

Thank you.

[Gwenivere]

I posted this one on the old board, so in honor of my Grandmother I'll post it here, for she is the one who taught it to me when I was but knee high to a grasshopper.


Mary had a little lamb
she tied him to the heater
and every time he turned around
he burned his little peter

Thank you.

:rofl:

[MadamMack]

I posted this one on the old board, so in honor of my Grandmother I'll post it here, for she is the one who taught it to me when I was but knee high to a grasshopper.


Mary had a little lamb
she tied him to the heater
and every time he turned around
he burned his little peter

Thank you.



:rofl:

:rofl: Is that the same granny that taught you to make those tittie cookies?

:rofl:

[cleon02]

Mine, without a doubt is Robert Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[Sai Jen]

This is some of Jim Morrison's writings, one of my faves of his poetry. It's not titled, like a lot of his work.


I am troubled
immeasurably
By your eyes

I am struck
By the feather
of your soft
Reply

The sound of glass
Speaks quick
Disdain

And conceals
What your eyes fight
To explain

[bookworm101]

:rofl:

:rofl: Is that the same granny that taught you to make those tittie cookies?

:rofl:

yes ma'am she be the one. Now that I'm a Grandmother I have big shoes to fill.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

With the New Year looming, I thought I'd post Robert Burns 'Auld Lang Syne' as everybody sings the first verse or so over the festivities, but few know all the verses -


AULD LANG SYNE

Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
And days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne
We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne

We twa hae run about the braes
And pulled the gowans fine
But we've wandered many a weary foot
Since auld lang syne

We twa hae paddled in the burn
Frae mornin' sun till dine
But seas between us braid hae roared
Since auld lang syne

And here's a hand, my trusty frien'
And gie's a hand o' thine
And we'll tak a right good willie-waught
For auld lang syne

And surely you'll be your pint-stoup
And surely I'll be mine
And we'll tak a cup of kindness yet
For auld lang syne


Great thing this spoiler button; makes these threads so much easier to navigate IMO.

Long days and pleasant nights

[smjohn]

I posted this one on the old board, so in honor of my Grandmother I'll post it here, for she is the one who taught it to me when I was but knee high to a grasshopper.


Mary had a little lamb
she tied him to the heater
and every time he turned around
he burned his little peter

Thank you.


I love your grandmother:rofl:

[Gwenivere]

Fair Jessica
By
Bobette Bryan
http://www.underworldtales.com/poetry.htm


Darkness calling
Shadows falling in the creepy anteroom,
I stood upon the basement stairs,
And pondered all the gloom
Jessica, Fair Jessica
Is buried just below.
Spewing, seeping, rotting, reeking
Into the earth so slow.
Moonlight splashing
Starlight flashing in the bleakness of the night,
I stood upon the manor porch
And remembered the desperate plight
Jessica, fair Jessica
Ever heavy on my mind.
Stabbing, clawing, choking, mauling
Of the most laborious kind.
Raindrops falling
Lightning galling in the early morning light.
I stood next to the rotted corpse
And cut her up just right.
Jessica, fair Jessica
Would fit in the trunk somehow.
Sawing, hacking, riping, slashing,
The task was utterly foul!
Sunlight blistering,
Water glistering in the brightness of the day
I hauled the trunk into the sea
And watched it float away.
Jessica, fair Jessica,
Now your home is far below.
Drifting, sinking, rocking, drinking
With the hue of an algael glow.
-The End-

[bookworm101]

I love your grandmother:rofl:


me too, I miss her.

[cleon02]

Here are some poems by one of my favorite authors, H. P. Lovecraft: Yule Horror
by H. P. Lovecraft


There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un- hallowed and old.

There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.

To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.


The Cats
by H. P. Lovecraft

Babels of blocks to the high heavens towering
Flames of futility swirling below;
Poisonous fungi in brick and stone flowering,
Lanterns that shudder and death-lights that glow.


Black monstrous bridges across oily rivers,
Cobwebs of cable to nameless things spun;
Catacomb deeps whose dank chaos delivers
Streams of live foetor that rots in the sun.


Colour and splendour, disease and decaying,
Shrieking and ringing and crawling insane,
Rabbles exotic to stranger-gods praying,
Jumbles of odour that stifle the brain.


Legions of cats from the alleys nocturnal.
Howling and lean in the glare of the moon,
Screaming the future with mouthings infernal,
Yelling the Garden of Pluto's red rune.


Tall towers and pyramids ivy'd and crumbling,
Bats that swoop low in the weed-cumber'd streets;
Bleak Arkham bridges o'er rivers whose rumbling
Joins with no voice as the thick horde retreats.


Belfries that buckle against the moon totter,
Caverns whose mouths are by mosses effac'd,
And living to answer the wind and the water,
Only the lean cats that howl in the wastes.

Where Once Poe Walked
by H. P. Lovecraft

Eternal brood the shadows on this ground,
Dreaming of centuries that have gone before;
Great elms rise solemnly by slab and mound,
Arched high above a hidden world of yore.
Round all the scene a light of memory plays,
And dead leaves whisper of departed days,
Longing for sights and sounds that are no more.


Lonely and sad, a specter glides along
Aisles where of old his living footsteps fell;
No common glance discerns him, though his song
Peals down through time with a mysterious spell.
Only the few who sorcery's secret know,
Espy amidst these tombs the shade of Poe.

[Patricia A]

This is not a poem. It's more of a video essay I suppose. I just thought I'd share it with you guys. Be warned though, it may offend people who are defensive about their religious beliefs and evolution etc, so if anyone gets up about it, remember... you were warned. :smile2: :exclaim:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a15KgyXBX24

[Harley Wench]

The lightning passed and the rain ceased,
the tide slipped out of Half Moon Beach.
I thought of pirates and salty dogs,
as children ran along driftwood logs.
I crouched low at the water's lip,
the sun returned to guide a tall ship.
A toddler dug with shovel and pail,
a sea breeze billowed the ship's tall sail.
My eyes rolled over seaweed and sand,
the salt in my nose was heavenly grand.
I saw something then, amongst bits of shell,
above me, a black backed gull let out a yell.
I pulled it out of the sopping wet grit,
and used my shirt to clean it a bit.
A smile slowly slid over my face,
as two teenage boys swam a race.
Inside, a story began cooking with gas,
while I admired my cobalt sea glass.
I tucked it away, keeping it safe,
took a long look at this ancient place.
The ship was nearly gone from view,
and the sea glass, well, I found a few.
There's no rhyme or reason for telling you this,
only that, at the shore, do I find bliss.
~Sea Glass
Biff

[rlg]

For those of you whom have yet to read it and for those of you who wish to read it again, and again, and again....:wink2:

http://http://www.heise.de/ix/raven/Literature/Lore/TheRaven.html

Enjoy
Robert

[GuitarDemiGod]

My own poems as well as these few...

On The Eve Of His Execution by Chidiock Tichbourne
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot
The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot
One and Twenty by A.E. Housman

[mstay]

I haven't looked at this thread until today. It is fantastic!

John - your song about women is beautiful.

MM and La Bella - I also like Maya Angelou. "Ain't I A Woman" is one of my favorites.

[mstay]

Okay...

Turns out I'm an idiot:oops:

"Ain't I A Woman" is really a speech from Sojourner Truth, who was a black slave. I heard a reading of it given by Maya Angelou. Sorry.

But it's really good anyway. Here it is:

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere.
Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place!
And ain't I a woman?
Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me!
And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man - when I could get it - and bear the lash as well!
And ain't I a woman?
I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me!
And ain't I a woman?

[Kim L.]

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like
a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

[Cola]

me too, I miss her.

Aww ((((((((((BW))))))))))

[motherwolf]

:cool2: 'El Dorado' by Edgar Allen Poe:smile2:

[Firetalion]

Thou shalt find to the left of the House of Hades a spring,
And by the side thereof standing a white cypress.
To this spring approach not near.
But thou shalt find another, from the Lake of Memory
Cold water flowing forth, and there are guardians before it.
Say, "I am a child of Earth and starry heaven;
But my race is of Heaven (alone). This ye know yourselves.
But I am parched with thirst and I perish. Give me quickly
The cold water flowing forth from the Lake of Memory."
And of themselves they will give thee to drink of the holy spring.
And there after among the other heroes thou shalt have lordship.

-- From the Funerary Gold Plates from Petelia, Italy, fourth-third century BC

[Gwenivere]

May the road rise up to meet you
may the wind always be at your back,
and the sun always upon your face,
may the rains fall softly upon your fields
and may the wings of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars
Until we meet again.

An Old Irish Blessing

[Cola]

May the road rise up to meet you
may the wind always be at your back,
and the sun always upon your face,
may the rains fall softly upon your fields
and may the wings of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars
Until we meet again.

An Old Irish Blessing

I LOVE this one :)

[Harley Wench]

Once upon a time, in the land of hush-a-bye, around about the wondrous days of yore, they came across a kind of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks and labeled "Kindly do not touch it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout and a gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don't ever play about with war.
Well, the children understood. Children happen to be good and they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks or break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither. They were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid and spilled the insides out across the floor. A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair was that it didn't really seem to care much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly, it bumps them every day and more, and more, and leaves them dead, and burned, and dying, thousands of them sick and crying. Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure that we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncing round for years and years. In spite of all the wisdom 'wiz since those wondrous days of yore and the time they came across the box, bound up with chains and locked with locks, and labeled "Kindly do not touch, it's war."
John Denver

[Cola]

Once upon a time, in the land of hush-a-bye, around about the wondrous days of yore, they came across a kind of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks and labeled "Kindly do not touch it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout and a gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don't ever play about with war.
Well, the children understood. Children happen to be good and they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks or break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither. They were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid and spilled the insides out across the floor. A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair was that it didn't really seem to care much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly, it bumps them every day and more, and more, and leaves them dead, and burned, and dying, thousands of them sick and crying. Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure that we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncing round for years and years. In spite of all the wisdom 'wiz since those wondrous days of yore and the time they came across the box, bound up with chains and locked with locks, and labeled "Kindly do not touch, it's war."
John Denver


That was lovely :love: sad but lovely :)

[Spideyman]

John Denver did have a way with words. Thanks for posting it Harley.

[Irene]

Here is my recent favorite.

I sit night after night and watch you sleep,

Wondering what will be,



caressing your face,

staring at a shadow of what we used to be,



Day after day my love for you grows stronger,

Wondering how much you really love me,



I try so hard to be what you want me to be,

but i wonder if you even notice me,



Wondering if someday you will realize how much you mean to me,

I couldn't picture my self with a eternity with out you,



My heart pounds as i cry,

as I try to get through to you,



you've built a wall around the man you used to be,

the man who loved me with a burning love so hot you made the sun jealous,



I stare in the mirror,

but I cant remember who is starring back at me,

a girl lost to what she used to be,



I look at the floor,

at the pieces of what used to be me,

I ignore the writing on them,

the writing of lies you've told me,



I want us to reach inside,

and try to find what we used to be,

the love we had when we got married


Irene, I put this in a spoiler to try to conserve space not because there was anything objectionable about it.

[motherwolf]

:cool2::eyebrow:I LOVE this one :)..."... and may all our enemies be lame, so we may know them by their limping!"...... Something close to that, it's been too long since I heard it!

[La Belladonna]

Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

[MadamMack]

Okay...

Turns out I'm an idiot:oops:

"Ain't I A Woman" is really a speech from Sojourner Truth, who was a black slave. I heard a reading of it given by Maya Angelou. Sorry.

But it's really good anyway. Here it is:

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere.
Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place!
And ain't I a woman?
Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me!
And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man - when I could get it - and bear the lash as well!
And ain't I a woman?
I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me!
And ain't I a woman?

It was an honest mistake. I adore Maya Angelou. Have you ever read Langston Hughes?

[Patricia A]

Annabel Lee by E.A. Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
in this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love~
I and my Annabel Lee~
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.

The Angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud,chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we~
And neither the angels in heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee~

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, may darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulcher there by the sea~
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Molly Malone

In Dublin's fair city,
where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She was a fishmonger,
And sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

Two of my favorites and probably the most depressing poems ever.
Molly Malone is actually not a poem strictly speaking. But I never speak strictly strictly speaking. :smile2:

[motherwolf]

:cool2::oh::smile2:Annabel Lee by E.A. Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,
in this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love~
I and my Annabel Lee~
With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud by night
Chilling my Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.

The Angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me;
Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud,chilling
And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we~
And neither the angels in heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee~

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, may darling, my life and my bride
In her sepulcher there by the sea~
In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Molly Malone

In Dublin's fair city,
where the girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she wheeled her wheel-barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She was a fishmonger,
And sure 'twas no wonder,
For so were her father and mother before,
And they each wheeled their barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

She died of a fever,
And no one could save her,
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone.
Now her ghost wheels her barrow,
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh!"

"Alive, alive, oh,
Alive, alive, oh",
Crying "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh".

Two of my favorites and probably the most depressing poems ever.
Molly Malone is actually not a poem strictly speaking. But I never speak strictly strictly speaking. :smile2:Really good ones 'P.'!!!!! Glad you brought Molly! Never saw that one before! I like EA Poe's stuff too! 'Annabel Lee' and 'the lost Lenore' of the Raven were his all about his wife!!! As well as other poems! I always liked that sad but touching fact about him!!! And doesn't ' El Dorado' often bring our Roland to mind!!!!

[Patricia A]

:cool2::oh::smile2:Really good ones 'P.'!!!!! Glad you brought Molly! Never saw that one before! I like EA Poe's stuff too! 'Annabel Lee' and 'the lost Lenore' of the Raven were his all about his wife!!! As well as other poems! I always liked that sad but touching fact about him!!! And doesn't ' El Dorado' often bring our Roland to mind!!!!

Yes it does much.

El Dorado

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of El Dorado.

But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like El Dorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of El Dorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for El Dorado!"

I'd forgotten about that one.
&
Molly Malone is an old Irish Ballad that I have loved my whole life. My G-niece Nynaeve sings it like a wee angel... it makes me cry. I'm such a softie...

[Ellen Allison]

Phenomenal Black Woman by Maya Angelou this so far is my all time fav.

[tcgob]

my fave poem:

i like eels
except for the way they feels
and as meals

--ee cummings

[PLx81]

5150
Current mood: crazy


if you could only see, tha twisted wayz that warped my mentaldy

you'd probaly just say, **** it and run away

feelinz those are my true demonz

depressed by my obsesstion, but obsessed wit my depresstion

had a shrink quit after one session, now i just sit here wit this smith&wession

stay open to suggestion, but it seemz nobody studied the lessonz

in witch they preach, & i find that to be a lil week

how you gonna constantly holla, some **** you dont even follow

i cant stand hipahcrites, exspecaily those that try to diss

but dont even rhyme, dot know why i waste my time

and get so frustraded, need to stay focused on just making it

this aint even ah third of my problems, yet id sell my soul to sovle them

call me what you want, i no longer respond to tauntz

some of yall understand most dont, & never will, so ill just keep eating these pillz

everyone sayz im addicted and dont belive im ill

my calls for help are persistent, thougth of suicide but so far resisted

5150 crazy person in need of assistance

there is alot of misspelled words but this one of mine. sorry about any foul words ms mod

[PLx81]

Ah nagging life alone
with traveling feet yet its only my mind that roamz
contsantly strugging to recall lost thoughtz
but freely fogeting all at all cost
alwayz eager to feed the addictions
even though limiting myself by those same convictions
learned to live with sleepless nightz
fishing 4 sheep but only my nailz get bitez
if only i teach my mind to turn off the lightz
maybe then rest would come
but then where would these linez come from

this is my fav out of all the crap ive wrote over the years

[Patricia A]

PLx81, I like your stuff. It's very real and heartfelt. It's earthy and honest. Good stuff, thanks for sharing. Do I detect some hip hop chops here?

[Lilies13]

One of my favorite poet is Elizabeth Barrett Browning who was incidentally married to Robert Browning.
This one is one of my favorite, it's very long so I've only typed the beginning.

Sonnets From A Portuguese

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,
"Guess now who holds thee ?" - "Death," I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,"Not Death, but Love."

But only three in all God's universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. "Nay" is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,on mine, the dew,
And Death must dig the level where these agree.

Hope you'll like it enough to one day check out the rest

[Kim L.]

Stevie Smith - Not Waving But Drowning

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.


Thanks, La Belladonna! I've always liked the title of this poem, but hadn't actually read it before.

[Kim L.]

:cool2::oh::smile2:Really good ones 'P.'!!!!! Glad you brought Molly! Never saw that one before! I like EA Poe's stuff too! 'Annabel Lee' and 'the lost Lenore' of the Raven were his all about his wife!!! As well as other poems! I always liked that sad but touching fact about him!!! And doesn't ' El Dorado' often bring our Roland to mind!!!!

We used to sing "Molly Malone" in grade school music class.

[Kim L.]

I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes


I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

[MadamMack]

Phenomenal Woman by Maya Angelou this so far is my all time fav.

I posted that one on the old board. It is a wonder poem.

[PLx81]

PLx81, I like your stuff. It's very real and heartfelt. It's earthy and honest. Good stuff, thanks for sharing. Do I detect some hip hop chops here?

yes indeed, at one time me and my best friend had a group but we all live in different states. plus all hip hop is now days is a joke: big rims big cars, all the stuff they play on the radio is garbage, no one with anything real to talk about these day

[PLx81]

O yea thanx also patricia a

[MadamMack]

I, Too, Sing America
by Langston Hughes


I, too, sing America.

I am the darker brother.
They send me to eat in the kitchen
When company comes,
But I laugh,
And eat well,
And grow strong.

Tomorrow,
I'll be at the table
When company comes.
Nobody'll dare
Say to me,
"Eat in the kitchen,"
Then.

Besides,
They'll see how beautiful I am
And be ashamed--

I, too, am America.

Amen!

[La Belladonna]

Thanks, La Belladonna! I've always liked the title of this poem, but hadn't actually read it before.


You are very welcome! :smile2:

One of my favorite English profs gave me the poem after I broke down in her office because I felt overwhelmed by all these projects that were coming due all at one time. I've kept it ever since.

[Kim L.]

You are very welcome! :smile2:

One of my favorite English profs gave me the poem after I broke down in her office because I felt overwhelmed by all these projects that were coming due all at one time. I've kept it ever since.

I remember that feeling! I can see why she was a favorite of yours; a poem is a great gift.

[Kim L.]

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?


A Dream Deferred
Langston Hughes

[SirrusP]

Oh to lurk, and find something worthwhile. Poetry is so rarely given any real attention. Glad to see the thread here. I have read many of the poems before, but found a few new ones as well. Thanks to all for sharing. And oh, I can't resist: here's one from a lonely poet at heart, by no means in talent.



Early Morning Remembrance



I’m angry at the dewdrops
that cling to this early morning.
Reflections of what will pass
caught in those mirrors.

Surrounding lives sway there
as if they are happy, content,
in their reflected dance.
I see you between the tree limbs,

a full face and neck bearing fruit
of remembrance, of life still
in the depth of growth. But,
how the sunlight shines in the back-

ground, gives heat, displaces
that portrait, creates abstraction.
It’s not long before the blaze begins
to diminish frames, dry out the foliage,

make small the growth, the summer
extension of our time here in the blades.
I’m in this early morning. I’m angry
at the dewdrops that cannot hold on,

keep you in dawn, instead, let you fade.


And could someone please explain how to do one of those spoiler dealies? Thanks in advance.

Sirrus

[Moderator]

[quote=SirrusP;111820

And could someone please explain how to do one of those spoiler dealies? Thanks in advance.

Sirrus[/quote]


You need to be in the Go Advanced mode which will bring up the additional editing features. Type the words you want to put in the spoiler, highlight them with your cursor, then click the red/white button directly above the text box between the # and W, about 3/4 of the way over on the right. You can also do it with HTML coding if you're into that.

[Tery]

I love The Prophet by Khalil Gibran. I often use the following in wedding ceremonies:



Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."
And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them.
And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.
For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

[Tery]

And another short poem from Gibran:

My friend, you and I shall remain strangers unto life,
And unto one another, and each unto himself,
Until the day when you shall speak and I shall listen
Deeming your voice my own voice;
And when I shall stand before you
Thinking myself standing before a mirror.

[killyerdarlings]

Some really good stuff here. I love Angelou and Langston Hughes. I'm a bit surprised that no one has mentioned Coleridge's unfinished poem: Kubla Khan. Probably my all-time favorite just for the imagery.


In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

And here's one of my own short poems.



After

The world is purely relative
And we are naught but fools
To think ourselves contemplative
As if we knew the rules.

The things we do each day, and next,
Remain with us forever
And hate concealed in subtle text
Portrays us not as clever.

And when we’re done, and looking down
On all we have partaken
The question we must ask ourselves
Is will we be forsaken?

What actions, deeds, and words put forth
By me have truly mattered?
I hope to say mine all will prove
My soul was left untattered.

[Harley Wench]

The Void

There is a space where you were before
A place that I must now explore
A shadow passes by my eye
As I am left to wonder why
I want to call and say hello
To tell you how I love you so
The many things I often miss
Your loving touch and tender kiss
I feel an empty space inside
A place from which I can not hide
Hollowed out like a canoe
I wonder what am I to do
So many things you knew ahead
Yet let me learn my own instead
A missing button and a scraped knee
Little fixes meant much to me
You taught respect to all of us
Scolded well despite our fuss
When I hear a lullaby
I hear your song so close by
This scooped out feeling clings to me
I wish it was as it use to be
I remember your sharp wit
And memories do help a bit
When I guide my kids from wrong
Your words seem to flow along
My smile now is bittersweet
I wonder when again we’ll meet
Change is here upon the air
I can sense it as some despair
There is a void inside my heart
Yet how do I prepare to start
To capture what renders me
Feeling like a vacancy
Hold my hand from where you are
Kiss my brow you can’t be far
My love for you forever still
The void I feel will never fill
Until the day flowers I bring
And you again to me will sing
~Biff
October 26, 2007
1.

[Patricia A]

My poetry is not the best but I find it is a good way for me to exorcise my demons. I don't usually share what I write because it's well... kind of not, ummm good. :laugh:I like this one though, it's about this guy who I used to hang out with that did some dirty then took a hike. When he came back he didn't even apologize he just wanted to be pitied for being stupid, which I for one wasn't having any of. Well anyhow I wrote a little poem and it goes something like this.

ODE TO A BAD VIBE

I hear you knocking on the back door
I thought you said you weren’t coming no more
I know it's you with out even looking
You only came back ‘cause you smelled some good cooking
I hear you scratching, a wee dog at the door
Are you alone or did you bring your cur ho?
Go away now bad boy
No scraps here for you
No leavings or outcasts
for you to chew
No cats in the pantry
no bones to be picked
Just you and your assk that needs to be kicked
So go away little doggy
with your begging way
And when you get there, oh please won't you stay

[AmandaRose]

Two Witches


http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff157/AmandaRosexxx/witch.jpg

Two Witches



There was a witch
The witch had an itch
The itch was so itchy it
Gave her a twitch.

Another witch
Admired the twitch
So she started twitching
Though she had no itch.

Now both of them twitch
So it's hard to tell which
Witch has the itch and
Which witch has the twitch.

by Alexander Resnikoff

[Patricia A]

Two Witches


http://i242.photobucket.com/albums/ff157/AmandaRosexxx/witch.jpg

Two Witches



There was a witch
The witch had an itch
The itch was so itchy it
Gave her a twitch.

Another witch
Admired the twitch
So she started twitching
Though she had no itch.

Now both of them twitch
So it's hard to tell which
Witch has the itch and
Which witch has the twitch.

by Alexander Resnikoff



I Love this poem Amanda, LOL one of my all time favorites.
How we witches do admire our itchy twitches! To a fault I tell you, to a fault.
& where on Earth did you find that picture, it's too funny... so which witch is twitching? :wink2:

[AmandaRose]

I Love this poem Amanda, LOL one of my all time favorites.
How we witches do admire our itchy twitches! To a fault I tell you, to a fault.
& where on Earth did you find that picture, it's too funny... so which witch is twitching? :wink2:


LOl, that picture, well I wont say I 'designed', it ,sure far from that, lol, but I throwed it together cause, I needed two witches instead of one. Hmmnnn, I would say the witch riding shotgun is definetly twitching, lol.

and BTW, I LOVE your poem about the Bad Vibe, and you wrote that! beautifully written and very visual Pat! you are very talented!!!

[Patricia A]

LOl, that picture, well I wont say I 'designed', it ,sure far from that, lol, but I throwed it together cause, I needed two witches instead of one. Hmmnnn, I would say the witch riding shotgun is definetly twitching, lol.

and BTW, I LOVE your poem about the Bad Vibe, and you wrote that! beautifully written and very visual Pat! you are very talented!!!

:blush:

[JohnDalglish]

I throwed it together cause

Hi,

An hear I thot it wuz onle me wot started talking lik Pat's cats! LOL.

Sorry, Amanda, couldnt resist.

Long days and pleasant nights

[AmandaRose]

:blush:
\



aaah shes blushing, tis true love, I would Love to read another one if you will like writing another one, and Im not much a poetry writer but I could give it a shot, if you want me to, you know, really 'write' one myself .... :eyebrow:? lol

[Cowboy]

The Road Not Taken
by: Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the tother, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy ans wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.

[AmandaRose]

I throwed it together cause

Hi,

An hear I thot it wuz onle me wot started talking lik Pat's cats! LOL.

Sorry, Amanda, couldnt resist.

Long days and pleasant nights


did I say that? Lol , omg, its amazing how inspirational she is! and the same with her poetry its so earthy and real, and I think she should give us more! :love:

[Vendetta]

The Waste Lands - T.S. Eliot

It's a long poem, but here's my favorite excerpt:

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock, 25
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

Awesome imagery in this poem, and it inspired SK in the Dark Tower books.


I also love this poem by Stephen Crane:

http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/crane/crane.html

[Victoria]

Here is one of my favorites from Poe:

The Sleeper

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!- and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

O, lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully- so fearfully-
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold-
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals-
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone-
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

[Patricia A]

Im not much a poetry writer but I could give it a shot, if you want me to, you know, really 'write' one myself .... :eyebrow:? lol

We are still waiting Amanda... You has had plenty time to throwed one together! :biggrin2:

[AmandaRose]

We are still waiting Amanda... You has had plenty time to throwed one together! :biggrin2:



ooops I forgot, Im working on something, lets see what I can come up with for ya. :wink2:

[PLx81]

what has the world come to
they say there godz soldiers but they constantly judging you
like the cover of ah novel
my name, dont explain me
the feelingz in my heart grovel
my life has seen ah whole lot of wrong
but i confess by writing my own psalms
that deal with whatz really going on
so while tha church hidez behind there good lookz
& there good book
i inbrace my sin
cuz it in powerz my pen
& allows me to reinvent myself again&again
so you say your gonna pray for me
i think you should keep them prayers for yourself G
cuz i may not be the best of men
but i'm surely not the worst of them


another one of mine, i really dont read poetry but if any of yall have a myspace check out Poetris. The gril is bad i could only wish to be on her level

[Cowboy]

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

-Walt Whitman in reference to President Lincoln

[Kim L.]

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed,
And the great star early drooped in the western sky in the night,
I mourned, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.


O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night -O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappeared -O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless -O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed (part of it anyway)
Walt Whitman, also in reference to President Lincoln.

[Dylan Roberts]

I wrote this back in 2002 in Florida... I went out for a walk in the humid, twilight'ish evening, and just collected images which were all around me...And I thought, "wow..what if this were there was a massive solar flare which sucked the earth into the sun ??? What would be happening in those few moments where I am ??"

Sunstruck Land

In the evening, lizards escape their shadows
and croak endless cries of love
while the rustling wind shakes palm trees, imitating rain
falling to the sandy soil from the shafted sky above

And you and I watch as silent, the dove crashes,
into the anvils of the looming thunderhead
while wandering of foot aimlessly
collecting images and words we've lost and said.
As bats weave mystic patterns in twilight
over bicyclists and other lovers walking hand in hand,
I lift my eyes and stumble into spiderwebs spun last night
left hanging somewhere in the sunstruck land.

Fireworks and mosquitoes restlessly rattle,
A thousand silver doors hide the roars of tv's,
Kids in neighbour's pools splash and dog-paddle
while old men keep quiet council over frothing beer and fading memories.
While in the park, a pair of black lace panties,
remainders of some darkend, passionate tryst,
are snared by the waistband in the grass,
left to be discovered by an amused garbageman's grasping fist
while cleaning up the sunstruck land.

And what soft persuit this moonlight brings,
what strange ocean asphalt highway sings
past closed cafes with neon signs ablaze
proclaiming that all too soon, Dawn shall command
and repossess the struggling sunstruck land ?
What historic bones shall then lay ill concealed,
what will raging surf and crumbling reefs have revealed
when the laws of gravitational pull have been repealed ?
Nothing is solid when too quickly planned,
It took Seven days to make, but only one to break
this once mostly swamp, sunstruck land.

And while the last three manatees and the spanish moss
were boiled and baked and burned with mangrove and oak,
the universe it'sself barely noticed the loss,
and humanity, for one brief moment, realized it was a mere spoke
in some greater wheel spun chaotically by forces beyond their demand,
and the seas briefly shone only saline brightness upon the bleach-boned
sunstruck land.
Dylan Roberts

[Patricia A]

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

-Walt Whitman in reference to President Lincoln

One of my favorites Cowboy, it resonates still today.

[Cowboy]

One of my favorites Cowboy, it resonates still today.

I totally agree Patricia!

[Patricia A]

Is a limerick a poem?
Dunno... Here's one of my favorite limericks.

The Kilkenny Cats

There once were two cats of Kilkenny'
Each thought there was one cat too many
So they fought and they fit
And they scratched And they bit
Till excepting their nails
And the tips of their tails
Instead of two cats
There weren't any!

I recite this to my G-nieces when they spat, they think it's funny and they stop scrapping for a little while at least.

[Antony butterworth]

I Was Asked To Read This At A Funeral Recentley
DO Not Stand At My grave and Weep
I am not there .I do not sleep
I am the thousand winds that blow .
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain .
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the mornings hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight .
I am the soft stars that shine at night .
Do not stand at my grave and cry .
I am not there .I did not die.

[Pink&Gold]

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Berrett Browning

http://img175.imageshack.us/img175/4551/sunsetah0.jpg
By strawberryshot (http://profile.imageshack.us/user/strawberryshot) at 2008-01-30

[PyramidHead]

Most of my favorite poems are from Edgar Allan Poe. Some of the upper ones would be The Raven, Annabell Lee, and Dream Within A Dream

[Patricia A]

I wrote this back in 2002 in Florida... I went out for a walk in the humid, twilight'ish evening, and just collected images which were all around me...And I thought, "wow..what if this were there was a massive solar flare which sucked the earth into the sun ??? What would be happening in those few moments where I am ??"

Sunstruck Land

In the evening, lizards escape their shadows
and croak endless cries of love
while the rustling wind shakes palm trees, imitating rain
falling to the sandy soil from the shafted sky above

And you and I watch as silent, the dove crashes,
into the anvils of the looming thunderhead
while wandering of foot aimlessly
collecting images and words we've lost and said.
As bats weave mystic patterns in twilight
over bicyclists and other lovers walking hand in hand,
I lift my eyes and stumble into spiderwebs spun last night
left hanging somewhere in the sunstruck land.

Fireworks and mosquitoes restlessly rattle,
A thousand silver doors hide the roars of tv's,
Kids in neighbour's pools splash and dog-paddle
while old men keep quiet council over frothing beer and fading memories.
While in the park, a pair of black lace panties,
remainders of some darkend, passionate tryst,
are snared by the waistband in the grass,
left to be discovered by an amused garbageman's grasping fist
while cleaning up the sunstruck land.

And what soft persuit this moonlight brings,
what strange ocean asphalt highway sings
past closed cafes with neon signs ablaze
proclaiming that all too soon, Dawn shall command
and repossess the struggling sunstruck land ?
What historic bones shall then lay ill concealed,
what will raging surf and crumbling reefs have revealed
when the laws of gravitational pull have been repealed ?
Nothing is solid when too quickly planned,
It took Seven days to make, but only one to break
this once mostly swamp, sunstruck land.

And while the last three manatees and the spanish moss
were boiled and baked and burned with mangrove and oak,
the universe it'sself barely noticed the loss,
and humanity, for one brief moment, realized it was a mere spoke
in some greater wheel spun chaotically by forces beyond their demand,
and the seas briefly shone only saline brightness upon the bleach-boned
sunstruck land.
Dylan Roberts

WOW, Keep thinking! Thanks Dylan.

[Patricia A]

Hi,

One of my own -


HAPPY NEW YEAR

May I wish you a Happy New Year?
A year of hope, a year without fear
A year much better than the last
May all your futures surpass your past

I wish you all you'd wish yourselves
A year of good luck and better health
To you and yours, I wish you all the best
And may next year be better than the rest

So fill your glass and pause awhile
It's friends and family make life worthwhile
We'll drink a toast to absent friends
And shed a tear as the old year ends


Have a wonderful time, everybody, see you next year!

Long days and pleasant nights

More please sir...

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Anything to oblige, Pat.

I wrote this one just before the public smoking ban kicked in here, and it's in Scots.

One for the smokers LOL.


YOU CANNAE SMOKE IN SCOTLAND ANY MORE

You cannae smoke in Scotland any more
No' unless you're staunin' ootside the door
Smokin' in the rain, the wind and the snaw
No, you cannae smoke in Scotland any more

Politicians have let us doon again
Pushed us oot to be staunin' inside the rain
Another reason to be f**kin' off tae Spain
Politicians have let us doon again

We always knew that smokin' could kill
Now we're forced to staun in winter's bitter chill
Pneumonia an' pleurisy's gonny make us aw ill
But we always knew that smokin' could kill

Scotland's smokers shell out three million quid a day
In Excise Duty that's what we all pay
A billion pounds we give them every single year
Scotland's smokers are outcasts, never fear!

We pay for all the roads an' the hospitals
And for all this we matter not at all
Society sees as all as criminals
But we buy all the schools and the hospitals

Scotland's smokers buy all the schools and the hospitals

Long days and pleasant nights

[crystalshard]

I'll be honest, I'm not very familiar with most poetry other than some of poe's. Although I do have to say my all time favorite Is the "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It was written In the late 1700's, but definately woth checking out though.

[Wolf With The Red Roses]

This was written by a close friend of mine... it brings to mind Leland Gaunt... I guess we have all known a Leland Gaunt or two in our time

Be wary of the gentle man
Whose deeds belie his task
Whose withered face is well concealed
Behind his weathered masque
He’ll smile at you through yellow teeth
That hide the gloom within
And comfort you in times of dark
With the silence of his sin

He’ll walk his line with confidence
And he’ll calm you with his charms
And hold you in the cold embrace
Of his compromising arms
He’ll speak to you of healing ways
Of soul and love forlorn
While all the while extracting life
To leave you cold and worn

With razored eyes he’ll strip you bare
To find what lies beneath
And he’ll eat your fears and drink your tears
To hearten your belief
In dark of night he’ll take your soul
And feed it to the fire
And leave you crying in the night
With fear of lost desire

He’s the darkness of your nightmares
But in truth he’s not so wise
He’s nothing more than arrogance
When you look behind his eyes
He’s the monster in your closet
He’s the thing beneath your bed
He’s the fears that come to haunt you
When you’re wishing you were dead

He plies his trade with talent not
But feeds from those collected
Then leaves them drained and crying
Like long lost souls neglected
So be wary of the gentle man
And deprive him of his play
For veracity is only clear
With the dawning of the day

And even when the dawn reveals
The masque that hides the truth
His conjured words of innocence
Lay shadow on the proof
But be wary of the gentle man
Whose motives lay in spite
And who wanders in the darkest pits
And depths of coldest night

[La Belladonna]

I was telling stories about my grandmas the other day because my oldest daughter has a family history project due for Theology class. This poem is so right on about how they both were and how much I miss them. My maternal grandma was one of the hardest working women I ever knew. She raised 9 kids during the depression while married to my alcoholic fun-loving grandpa who ran moonshine to get drinking money. My paternal grandma got on a boat with her two brothers at the age of 17 to escape the communist movement that was taking over their part of Italy - this would have been around 1917 I think. They had only the clothes they were wearing, and a letter to give to an uncle in NYC as a way of introduction. I didn't get to know who as well because she passed aways when I was just a baby.

LINEAGE by Margaret Walker

My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
The touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories
Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands
They have many clean words to day.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not like they???

[Patricia A]

Hi,

Anything to oblige, Pat.

I wrote this one just before the public smoking ban kicked in here, and it's in Scots.

One for the smokers LOL.


YOU CANNAE SMOKE IN SCOTLAND ANY MORE

You cannae smoke in Scotland any more
No' unless you're staunin' ootside the door
Smokin' in the rain, the wind and the snaw
No, you cannae smoke in Scotland any more

Politicians have let us doon again
Pushed us oot to be staunin' inside the rain
Another reason to be f**kin' off tae Spain
Politicians have let us doon again

We always knew that smokin' could kill
Now we're forced to staun in winter's bitter chill
Pneumonia an' pleurisy's gonny make us aw ill
But we always knew that smokin' could kill

Scotland's smokers shell out three million quid a day
In Excise Duty that's what we all pay
A billion pounds we give them every single year
Scotland's smokers are outcasts, never fear!

We pay for all the roads an' the hospitals
And for all this we matter not at all
Society sees as all as criminals
But we buy all the schools and the hospitals

Scotland's smokers buy all the schools and the hospitals

Long days and pleasant nights

Thanks John, that is one of my favorites. You cannae smoke in Washington either.

[Gwenivere]

This was written by a close friend of mine... it brings to mind Leland Gaunt... I guess we have all known a Leland Gaunt or two in our time




:eek2::oh::eek2::oh:
Scary stuff!! I like!

[brownmouse]

Spaghetti
Spaghetti, spaghetti, all over the place,
Up to my elbows—up to my face,
Over the carpet and under the chairs,
Into the hammock and wound round the stairs,
Filling the bathtub and covering the desk,
Making the sofa a mad mushy mess
The party is ruined, I’m terribly worried,
The guests have all left (unless they’re all buried).
I told them, “Bring presents.” I said, “Throw confetti.”
I guess they heard wrong
‘Cause they all threw spaghetti!

By: Shel Silverstein

Ahh 4th grade

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Another one of mine. I wrote this about my father and his experiences in the Spanish Civil War -


SONG FOR MY FATHER

My father walked backwards slowly with a gun in his hand
Fighting a war for the Spanish people that today no-one understands
Moved to defend the socialist government that the people elected in Spain
They retreated through La Mancha, over ten thousand died on that plain
Walking from Madrid tae Calpe they lost their blood, their hopes and their lives
Only some six hundred survived it to go home to their wives

Living in another country fighting someome else's war
But they knew what they believed in, they knew what they were fighting for

When Spain called they came a'runnin', to bring the Spanish people aid
Fighting for a cause they did believe in, they joined the International Brigade
From the whole world in their thousands - the Scots, the Irish, English too
Americans, Canadians, Australians - Christians, Hindus and the Jews
But on Franco's side was Hitler, practising Blitzkrieg down in Spain
Guernica's only one example of how he brought the Spanish people pain

Living in another country, under another name
Fighting what what they believed in, fighting for the folks in Spain

My father always told me that if the world had backed the Spanish people then
The World War would not have happened, Hitler's forces would have broken in Spain
And I surely do remember that night in 'seventy five
How we partied and celebrated the night that General Franco died!
Then we left for Alicante so he could look up his old friends
And drink vino with the locals, happy to be back in Spain

Living in another country, fighting in a poor man's war
Fighting Franco's fascist army, fighting Hitler's awesome power

Living in another country, under another name
Fighting for what they believed in, fighting for the folks in Spain

Living in another country
Fighting someone else's war
But they knew what they believed in
They knew what they were fighting for


I'm very proud of my father, a Templar Knight.

He killed forty seven men in a just war.

BTW The refence 'under another name' refers to the fact that they were advised to sign on under false names in order to avoid reprisals - and (fact) thousands of Michael Mouse's died in the Spanish Civel War (1936-38)

Spanish Civil War

International Brigades

Long days and pleasant nights

[staropeace]

absolutely wonderful....like you John :biggrin2:

[Patricia A]

absolutely wonderful....like you John :biggrin2:
I agree. Well done!

[MadamMack]

This was written by a close friend of mine... it brings to mind Leland Gaunt... I guess we have all known a Leland Gaunt or two in our time

Be wary of the gentle man
Whose deeds belie his task
Whose withered face is well concealed
Behind his weathered masque
He’ll smile at you through yellow teeth
That hide the gloom within
And comfort you in times of dark
With the silence of his sin

I like this Wolf it describes Leland perfectly. I've met a few Lelands in my life too.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Another one of my own. I wrote this during last year's UK elections when I was asked 'Why is politix so boring?'. BTW I spell politix with an 'x' because I think it's the REAL X-rated subject.


WHY POLITIX IS BORING!

Politix is boring cause politicians make it so
They do this so you don't find out what they don't want you to know
Politix is boring cause politicians want it that way
Cause if you knew what they were doing they'd pretend you had a say

Politix is boring, they want to keep it just that way
Cause if you cared about it then they'd really rue the day
All politicians are bastards, it's in the genes, so Plato said
The world would be a better place if they'd all been born dead

Politix is boring so they can steal all your money
Buy a pint, have a ***, robbery's not funny
Politix is boring so you don't question what they do
With all the money that they're stealing just from you

Politix is boring so they can live right off your backs
Switch on the TV, pay the license, that's another tax!
How're you doing? How's your health? I hope you're very well
Cause if you need a hip replacement then you can go to hell

Do you like your Cruise missiles? Do you enjoy your war?
Can somebody please explain what we are fighting for?
Cheap petrol, the cynics say, well, IS it cheap for you?
Are you proud of your country? Do you approve of all they do?

Do you enjoy your strike aircraft? Do you love your submarines?
Is slaughtering civilians not cruel and obscene?
Do you like the newsreels of young folk in a box?
Does putting a flag over it make it easier for their folks?


Long days and pleasant nights

[The Raven]

We need a poetry thread. A writers haven, a nest for our minds. Those who can write can do it here without congesting the forum with threads.


I'll start off with a poem called Ridge of Dreams

As the poet sat alone in bed
she watched the ridge of dreams
alone and in the realm of dead
held by thought and seam.

The blood of her very mind
poured along the ridge of dreams
alone, away from love and kind
held by illusion and dream.

But as she stood to beseech the new day
in a half-forgotten notion
she sat back in bed, where forever she'll lay
without a single motion.

Preserved thoughts in pickle jars
who once were thought to fester
sit on shelves, row on row
awaiting their only master.

The poet awoke much later that day
her thoughts a broken seam
but knowing not, she continued that way
as she awaited the ridge of dreams.

[brownmouse]

I was telling stories about my grandmas the other day because my oldest daughter has a family history project due for Theology class. This poem is so right on about how they both were and how much I miss them. My maternal grandma was one of the hardest working women I ever knew. She raised 9 kids during the depression while married to my alcoholic fun-loving grandpa who ran moonshine to get drinking money. My paternal grandma got on a boat with her two brothers at the age of 17 to escape the communist movement that was taking over their part of Italy - this would have been around 1917 I think. They had only the clothes they were wearing, and a letter to give to an uncle in NYC as a way of introduction. I didn't get to know who as well because she passed aways when I was just a baby.

LINEAGE by Margaret Walker

My grandmothers were strong.
They followed plows and bent to toil.
They moved through fields sowing seed.
The touched earth and grain grew.
They were full of sturdiness and singing.
My grandmothers were strong.

My grandmothers are full of memories
Smelling of soap and onions and wet clay
With veins rolling roughly over quick hands
They have many clean words to day.
My grandmothers were strong.
Why am I not like they???

That is wonderful and your Grandmother sounds great too. My Busha(grandma)-was 1st generation American. She was 100% Polish:-oldest daughter of 7 -Her mother never spoke English and they lived through some rough times. Busha definitely had strength, and she never lost her Polish accent which always mystified my husband as she was born in America.:oo: I guess she got it from living in the Polish neighborhood near Cleveland. She married a man of polish descent-my Grandpa-who is still so dear to my heart though he passed around @20 years ago. She and my grandpa were awesome and I miss them dearly. Thanks for sharing that poem and bringing up fond memories. Man I miss them!

[EmeraldSails]

I like many poems, and some already listed, but I think my most favorite was one by Emily Dickinson...A Bird came down the Walk--

A Bird came down the Walk--
He did not know I saw--
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass--
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass--

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around--
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought--
He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger; Cautious,
I offerred him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home--

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam--
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.

( Taken from EMILY DICKINSON: SELECTED POEMS, Sweet Water Press, 2006)

[pepino]

I don't exactly have a favorite poem, but I am partial to Emily Dickinson's works. Here's a few.

Forbidden fruit
a flavor has
that lawful orchards mock
How luscious lies the pea within
The pod that duty locks.


In this life
That lasts but an hour
How much
How little
Is within our power.



I MEASURE every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long, 5
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try, 10
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled—
Some thousands—on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse 15
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love. 20

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,—
Death is but one and comes but once,
And only nails the eyes.

There ’s grief of want, and grief of cold,— 25
A sort they call “despair”;
There ’s banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly, yet to me 30
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross,
Of those that stand alone,
Still fascinated to presume 35
That some are like my own.

[pepino]

Yeah John, I hate politics too. It's just a bunch of impotent, old men and post-menopausal women lying, scheming, and doing all types of unsrupulous things. I've elected to opt out of the whole process. Why vote at all? You may think the person you vote for represents your interests, but they are all panderers. They do and say whatever just to get the vote and then do whatever suits their political aspirations. I'm done with it. "The government that governs least, governs best."

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

For some reason the system objected to the word 'f a g' for a cigarette above.

?

Long days and pleasant nights


The term f a g in the U.S. is not about cigarettes, it's a derogatory term for someone who is homosexual.

[Patricia A]

Love the Politix John!

[Cowboy]

Hi,

Another one of my own. I wrote this during last year's UK elections when I was asked 'Why is politix so boring?'. BTW I spell politix with an 'x' because I think it's the REAL X-rated subject.


WHY POLITIX IS BORING!

Politix is boring cause politicians make it so
They do this so you don't find out what they don't want you to know
Politix is boring cause politicians want it that way
Cause if you knew what they were doing they'd pretend you had a say

Politix is boring, they want to keep it just that way
Cause if you cared about it then they'd really rue the day
All politicians are bastards, it's in the genes, so Plato said
The world would be a better place if they'd all been born dead

Politix is boring so they can steal all your money
Buy a pint, have a f ag, robbery's not funny
Politix is boring so you don't question what they do
With all the money that they're stealing just from you

Politix is boring so they can live right off your backs
Switch on the TV, pay the license, that's another tax!
How're you doing? How's your health? I hope you're very well
Cause if you need a hip replacement then you can go to hell

Do you like your Cruise missiles? Do you enjoy your war?
Can somebody please explain what we are fighting for?
Cheap petrol, the cynics say, well, IS it cheap for you?
Are you proud of your country? Do you approve of all they do?

Do you enjoy your strike aircraft? Do you love your submarines?
Is slaughtering civilians not cruel and obscene?
Do you like the newsreels of young folk in a box?
Does putting a flag over it make it easier for their folks?


Long days and pleasant nights

Great stuff John....thank you for sharing!

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Thankee all.

I was aware of it's alternative meaning (in the UK too), Ms Mod, but I object to established words like '***' and 'gay' etc. being hijacked and their connotations changed.

*** has been used for cigarette in the UK for at least 100 years. Methinks the software is overly politically (LOL) correct.

Long days and pleasant nights

Sorry, but our filter is set for primarily U.S. words and that one isn't one that most Americans would connect with a cigarette. It's not a word we use for cigarettes.

[pepino]

Hi,

For some reason the system objected to the word 'f a g' for a cigarette above.

?

Long days and pleasant nights


The term f a g in the U.S. is not about cigarettes, it's a derogatory term for someone who is homosexual.

That's so funny-my parents are about your age and when I was young they always referred to smokes as f a g s.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

No homosexuals were injured in the writing of this post.

Two nations divided by a common language again apparently (except in Central Illinois), and we won't discuss the word 'fanny' LOL

Long days and pleasant nights

[dragafari]

I love your Politix poem/song John! You are one of my favorite writers now that I know your work better. Keep your fiyah! :wow:

[TBlack]

"If you can keep your head
while all around you are losing theirs...


You don't fully understand the situation!":biggrin2:

[AmandaRose]

I love your Politix poem/song John! You are one of my favorite writers now that I know your work better. Keep your fiyah! :wow:


Youre one of my favorite writers too JohnD! and loveee your take on politics, and fannies and, cigs, all that stuff. :smile2:

[Kim L.]

Youre one of my favorite writers too JohnD! and loveee your take on politics, and fannies and, cigs, all that stuff. :smile2:

I agree with Amanda. Love reading what you write.

[brownmouse]

That's so funny-my parents are about your age and when I was young they always referred to smokes as f a g s.

Oooo, that's gotta hurt:biggrin2:

[brownmouse]

Hi,

Thankee all.

I was aware of it's alternative meaning (in the UK too), Ms Mod, but I object to established words like '***' and 'gay' etc. being hijacked and their connotations changed.

*** has been used for cigarette in the UK for at least 100 years. Methinks the software is overly politically (LOL) correct.

Long days and pleasant nights

Sorry, but our filter is set for primarily U.S. words and that one isn't one that most Americans would connect with a cigarette. It's not a word we use for cigarettes.

What gets me is that , while I agree with the discontinued use of words that can be hurtful, the "r" word is never on that list. Ms. Mod can you do anything about that? Is there a secret mod squad where you can get that word on the forbidden list? I often use the phrase mental retardation but never ret**d as that is defunct. I would be so grateful!!

[TBlack]

"F a g g o t" is "A bundle of sticks" John...:glare:
"G a y" is what we used to have with The Flintstones every night!:biggrin2:

[EmeraldSails]

:rofl: (to the "no homosexuals were harmed... part) too rich man!

[La Belladonna]

The Dear Little Shamrock
by Andrew Cherry

There's a dear little plant that grows in Ireland.
'Twas Saint Patrick himself sure that set it.
And the sun on his labor with pleasure did smile.
And a tear from his eyes oft-times wet it.
It grows thro' the bog, thro' the brake, and the mireland,
And it's called the dear little Shamrock of Ireland.
That dear little plant still grows in our land,
Fresh and fair as the daughters of Erin,
Whose smiles can bewitch, and whose eyes can command,
In each climate they ever appear in:
For they shine thro' the bog, thro' the brake, and the mireland,
Just like their own dear little Shamrock of Ireland.


That dear little plant that springs from our soil,
When its three little leaves are extended,
Denotes from the stalk we together should toil,
And ourselves by ourselves be befriended.
And still thro' the bog, thro' the brake, and the mireland,
From one root should branch, like the Shamrock of Ireland.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

I wrote this on the 21st of March two years ago as, like now, the daffodils started to bloom in Scotland.


THE FEAR OF LONELINESS

I love to see the daffodils
Now that winter's nearly done
I love to hear the wee birds sing
Now that Spring is nearly sprung
I love to feel the sunshine
Shining warm upon my face
But I hate the fear of loneliness
All alone in this Springtime place

Do what you love but shun what you hate
Get out off bed before it's too late
To be happy, make your wants few
It's never too late to start anew

I love the thought of spending
Summer back again in Spain
Drinking vino with the locals
Topping the tan up once again
I love the sound of splashing
My toes in the blue blue sea
But I hate the fear of loneliness
Crushing down again on me

Do what you love but shun what you hate
Get out of bed before it's too late
To be happy, make your wants few
It's never too late to start anew

I love to see the seasons
Turning back again towards May
For I hate the Northern winters
More than words alone can say
I fear the thought of living
All alone in a distant land
But I hate the fear of loneliness
More than you can understand


Long days and pleasant nights

[dragafari]

Wow John!
Your poem makes me cry, it's so like my own life story. I can feel the fear of loneliness right now and about starting anew... Oh God knows that it is what I'm trying to do! Once again, thanks John for nurturing our souls. You are just great bro!

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Thankee big big for the kind words, dragafari, much appreciated.

Long days and pleasant nights

[Patricia A]

Another Toast

To life I'll drink a cup
To love and fools and drink it up
I'll drink a toast to days gone by
Until the wine has all run dry
To time another toast
The bringer of hunger
A smoke colored ghost
Time in the wine
A once remembered kiss
Time to forget times that I miss
Drink to the heroes
Of forgotten wars
Drink to the wizards
Of never told lore
Drink to the memory
To remember no more
Drink to the many
who drank here before

by me,
and a bit brooding if I might add.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Well, I'll certainly drink a toast - 'To Patricia!'.

Excellent, Pat, and I didn't think it was overly 'brooding' at all - more reflective.

Long days and pleasant nights

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

I came across this one by Robert Creeley, quoted by Sai King in Christine.

As I sd to my
friend, because I am
always talking, - John I

sd, which was not his
name, the darkness
surrounds us, what

can we do against
it, or else, shall we &
why not, buy a goddam big car,

drive, he sd, for
christ's sake, look
out where yr going.


Long days and pleasant nights

[killyerdarlings]

Limited Closet Space

We gay men take a lot of flak
From strangers far and near
From those who hate and would attack
Any they knew were queer.

We walk, when young, on fields of glass
Tiptoeing every day
We hide from those who’d kick our ass
If they knew we were gay.

In school, in gym, the locker room
We dread the fateful shower
And pray our feelings don’t show through
And put us in their power

And so we make the gay jokes too,
We laugh a bit too loud,
We lie a little more each day
To fit in with the crowd

Yet deep inside our heart of hearts
We start to know the truth
That this is not a passing phase
That fades along with youth

Each day our closets seem to shrink;
It’s harder to fit in.
Our sanity comes to the brink–
It seems we cannot win

And in the news we see each day
Another dread attack
One gay man shot beside a bar,
One bludgeoned in the back.

“What can I do,” we ask ourselves,
“Why do I have this curse?
Why must I like attractive men?
It surely can’t get worse!”

And then, one day, the smallest thing
Or largest, I suppose
Lets us reveal to just one friend
What’s right before their nose.

They may be shocked, taken aback,
Some friends they may desert
Some may stare in disbelief,
Family may be hurt

But oh, the freedom, not to live
Beneath a shroud of lies
For now one can begin anew
No longer self-despised.

Sometimes it happens late in life,
And sometimes not at all
Sometimes we marry, take a wife,
The worst mistake of all.

But often, now, much more today
Than ever was before
We do decide to live as gay
And burst the closet door.

To live our lives as we were meant:
In honest, earnest ways.
To passionately represent
Those quiet, closet gays.

To show them, “Yes. I’ve been there too,
But it could be like this
You, too, could have a loving man
To greet you with his kiss

To hold you in his arms at night
When life is dark or cold,
But you must step first into light
A step that’s quick and bold.

The only choice you have is this:
To live a life of truth,
Or one replete with memories of
All your wasted youth.

Closets hold us deep inside
Despite the lack of space
Much more bright, a life outside
Where you can show your face.

Perhaps one day the day will come
We’re greeted open-armed,
Til then we must each other guard
And see that none are harmed.

To those who tell us, “You have sinned!
You’ve made your choice, repent!”
I say to you, it’s NOT a choice,
So if you would, get bent.

[killyerdarlings]

BTW, I wrote that a couple of years ago.

[Patricia A]

We gay men take a lot of flak
From strangers far and near
From those who hate and would attack
Any they knew were queer.

We walk, when young, on fields of glass
Tiptoeing every day
We hide from those who’d kick our ass
If they knew we were gay.

In school, in gym, the locker room
We dread the fateful shower
And pray our feelings don’t show through
And put us in their power

And so we make the gay jokes too,
We laugh a bit too loud,
We lie a little more each day
To fit in with the crowd

Yet deep inside our heart of hearts
We start to know the truth
That this is not a passing phase
That fades along with youth

Each day our closets seem to shrink;
It’s harder to fit in.
Our sanity comes to the brink–
It seems we cannot win

And in the news we see each day
Another dread attack
One gay man shot beside a bar,
One bludgeoned in the back.

“What can I do,” we ask ourselves,
“Why do I have this curse?
Why must I like attractive men?
It surely can’t get worse!”

And then, one day, the smallest thing
Or largest, I suppose
Lets us reveal to just one friend
What’s right before their nose.

They may be shocked, taken aback,
Some friends they may desert
Some may stare in disbelief,
Family may be hurt

But oh, the freedom, not to live
Beneath a shroud of lies
For now one can begin anew
No longer self-despised.

Sometimes it happens late in life,
And sometimes not at all
Sometimes we marry, take a wife,
The worst mistake of all.

But often, now, much more today
Than ever was before
We do decide to live as gay
And burst the closet door.

To live our lives as we were meant:
In honest, earnest ways.
To passionately represent
Those quiet, closet gays.

To show them, “Yes. I’ve been there too,
But it could be like this
You, too, could have a loving man
To greet you with his kiss

To hold you in his arms at night
When life is dark or cold,
But you must step first into light
A step that’s quick and bold.

The only choice you have is this:
To live a life of truth,
Or one replete with memories of
All your wasted youth.

Closets hold us deep inside
Despite the lack of space
Much more bright, a life outside
Where you can show your face.

Perhaps one day the day will come
We’re greeted open-armed,
Til then we must each other guard
And see that none are harmed.

To those who tell us, “You have sinned!
You’ve made your choice, repent!”
I say to you, it’s NOT a choice,
So if you would, get bent.

This is really good, who wrote it?

[BlackEye]

This has probably already been mentioned, but I have never found one I like more than The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.

[Patricia A]

BTW, I wrote that a couple of years ago.
That's a really good poem, do you have more?

[killyerdarlings]

[/SPOILER]

This is really good, who wrote it?

Me. Thanks! :blush:

[killyerdarlings]

Oh, and the title is "Limited Closet Space."

[Ms. Mod, could you maybe combine my replies? The Posting Rules box says I may edit my posts, but I can't find an "Edit" button on any of my posts!]


That generic instruction will need to be removed as editing isn't allowed since it could be used to defeat the purpose of the approval before posting. I'll add that in.

[Moderator]

FYI, I put it in a Spoiler because it was using a lot of space not because I had any objection to the poem itself.

[killyerdarlings]

FYI, I put it in a Spoiler because it was using a lot of space not because I had any objection to the poem itself.

Sure thing. Thanks for the clarification on the editing question. I thought I was going loopy. Well, moreso than usual. :rolleyes:

[killyerdarlings]

That's a really good poem, do you have more?

Not with me. I have some stuff scattered around the house somewhere, but poetry is just something I do when the muse carries me--I mean, I have to be in the mood. I haven't shown many of them to many people, but I was particularly proud of this one so took a chance here. I posted it to my blog a couple of years ago.

I did post a short poem earlier in this very thread. Right here. (http://www.stephenking.com/forums/showpost.php?p=112127&postcount=67)

I'm so glad you liked it! :smile2:

[leasa]

If I Had My Life To Live Over
By:Erma Bombeck

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the
carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the “GOOD” living
room and worried much less about the dirt when
someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather
ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up
on a summer day because my hair had just been teased
and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose
before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not
worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching
television and more while watching life.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of
pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if
I weren’t there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was
practical, wouldn’t show soil or was guaranteed to last
a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d
have cherished every moment realizing that the
wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in
life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never
have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

There would have been more “I love you’s” and more
“I’m sorry’s” …. but mostly, given another shot at life,

I would seize every minute …… look at it and really
see it …. live it …. And never give it back.

[Patricia A]

Me. Thanks! :blush:
Right on! Great title too. I have to admit to chuckling to myself at this stanza,
What can I do,” we ask ourselves,
“Why do I have this curse?
Why must I like attractive men?
It surely can’t get worse!”
I was thinking, yes it could be worse you could like the ugly ones. I have a warped mind, and a peculiar sense of humor. Forgive please. But seriously I really enjoy your writing and the content is a subject that's close to my heart.

[LadyPain]

Hehe.. one of my favourite poems is from Mad Magazine. It's about five little hippies. Believe it or not I have remembered that thing since I was in high school.

Other than that, there are several poems by DH Lawrence that I really like, and a few by Leonard Cohen.

[Anni M]

John say: I wrote this on the 21st of March two years ago as, like now, the daffodils started to bloom in Scotland.

This was aces John...loved it.:smile2:




We CAN say that, can't we Mod? ACES? http://us.i1.yimg.com/us.yimg.com/i/mesg/tsmileys2/20.gif

[**Jae**]

FYI, I put it in a Spoiler because it was using a lot of space not because I had any objection to the poem itself.

How do I do a spoiler button? My dumb butt can't figure it out.:sad:

You need to be in Go Advanced mode so that you will see the entire line of code options directly above the text box. First type your message, highlight the words you want to be in the spoiler with your cursor, and then click the red/white icon between the # and W. Or, if you're into typing code you can use the html coding with your message in between.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Yeah, very good indeed, very moving and honest, thankee killyerdarlings.

Long days and pleasant nights

[killyerdarlings]

I was thinking, yes it could be worse you could like the ugly ones.


I've read that three times and am still laughing.

Thanks everyone.

[Patricia A]

I've read that three times and am still laughing.

Thanks everyone.

:wink2::biggrin2:

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

(Excerpt from 'Paranoid - A chant' - Sai King - Skeleton Crew 1985


I have seen strange lights in the sky.
Last night a dark man with no face crawled through nine
miles
of sewer to surface in my toilet, listening
for phone calls through the cheap wood with
chrome ears.
I tell you, man, I hear.

I saw his muddy handprints
on the porcelain.

I don't answer the phone now,
have I told you that?



Long days and pleasant nights

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

This is called 'Failure (in Waltz Time)'.


FAILURE (IN WALTZ TIME)

If I could sing like Otis Redding
If I could dance like Fred Astaire
If I'd these things in my favour
I'd a been a millionaire
But I sing like Noel Redding
And I dance like Red Adair
With these things in my favour
I've learned to embrace failure

Failure's no successs at all
Least that's what Bob Dylan said
If I'd had Bob Dylan's way with words
I'd have been much better paid

If I could think like Stephen Hawking
If I could write like Stephen King
If I'd these things in my favour
I would've made them till bells ring
But I think like Wile E. Coyote
And I write like McGonagall
With these things in my favour
I'm an out and out failure

But failure you must define it
Cause I've got two brilliant kids
And I've had a marvellous marriage
So that's what this failure did

If I could paint like Salvador Dali
If I could play like old Slowhand
If I'd these things in my favour
I'd have had a great rock band
But I paint like Mohammed Ali
And I play like Fozzie Bear
With these things in my favour
I'm a total failure

But success don't make you happy
Least it looks that way to me
If success can be a millstone
Then failure can set you free

Then failure can set you free


Long days and pleasant nights

[Ayla]

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
And i wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
Rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds
I come into the peace of wild things,
Who do not tax their lives with forethought
Of grief. i come into the presence of still water,
And i feel above the day-blind stars
Waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

By Wendell Berry

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

From T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land (1922).

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

Hi,

This is called 'Failure (in Waltz Time)'.


FAILURE (IN WALTZ TIME)

If I could sing like Otis Redding
If I could dance like Fred Astaire
If I'd these things in my favour
I'd a been a millionaire
But I sing like Noel Redding
And I dance like Red Adair
With these things in my favour
I've learned to embrace failure

Failure's no successs at all
Least that's what Bob Dylan said
If I'd had Bob Dylan's way with words
I'd have been much better paid

If I could think like Stephen Hawking
If I could write like Stephen King
If I'd these things in my favour
I would've made them till bells ring
But I think like Wile E. Coyote
And I write like McGonagall
With these things in my favour
I'm an out and out failure

But failure you must define it
Cause I've got two brilliant kids
And I've had a marvellous marriage
So that's what this failure did

If I could paint like Salvador Dali
If I could play like old Slowhand
If I'd these things in my favour
I'd have had a great rock band
But I paint like Mohammed Ali
And I play like Fozzie Bear
With these things in my favour
I'm a total failure

But success don't make you happy
Least it looks that way to me
If success can be a millstone
Then failure can set you free

Then failure can set you free


Long days and pleasant nights

Great poem, John! Is it a song?

[JohnDalglish]

Great poem, John! Is it a song?

Hi,

Thankee, Kim - much appreciated.

Yes, it is.

Long days and pleasant nights

[pepino]

Hi,

From T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land (1922).

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.

Long days and pleasant nights

Sooo true. Is summer ever going to get here? I think my desire has been stirring for months. Aaaaaaaagggggghhhh.

[All Hail The Crimson King]

My favorite stanza in one of my favorite poems, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came". The whole poem was too long to post.




Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolledIncreasing like a bell. Names in my earsOf all the lost adventurers my peers,--How such a one was strong, and such was bold,And such was fortunate, yet each of oldLost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, metTo view the last of me, a living frameFor one more picture! in a sheet of flameI saw them and I knew them all. And yetDauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,And blew. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came."

[Kim L.]

Night funeral
In Harlem:

Where did they get
Them two fine cars?

Insurance man, he did not pay--
His insurance lapsed the other day--
Yet they got a satin box
for his head to lay.

Night funeral
In Harlem:

Who was it sent
That wreath of flowers?

Them flowers came
from that poor boy's friends--
They'll want flowers, too,
When they meet their ends.

Night funeral
in Harlem:

Who preached that
Black boy to his grave?

Old preacher man
Preached that boy away--
Charged Five Dollars
His girl friend had to pay.

Night funeral
In Harlem:

When it was all over
And the lid shut on his head
and the organ had done played
and the last prayers been said
and six pallbearers
Carried him out for dead
And off down Lenox Avenue
That long black hearse done sped,
The street light
At his corner
Shined just like a tear--
That boy that they was mournin'
Was so dear, so dear
To them folks that brought the flowers,
To that girl who paid the preacher man--
It was all their tears that made
That poor boy's
Funeral grand.

Night funeral
In Harlem.

"Night Funeral in Harlem"
Langston Hughes

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Thankee Ayla and Kim, two excellent poems/poets that I'd never read before.

Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

My favorite stanza in one of my favorite poems, "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came". The whole poem was too long to post.




Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolledIncreasing like a bell. Names in my earsOf all the lost adventurers my peers,--How such a one was strong, and such was bold,And such was fortunate, yet each of oldLost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, metTo view the last of me, a living frameFor one more picture! in a sheet of flameI saw them and I knew them all. And yetDauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,And blew. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came."


This one always gives me chills, Crimson King.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Home - Thoughts from Abroad (1845) - Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!

Long days and pleasant nights

[Patricia A]

Hi,

Home - Thoughts from Abroad (1845) - Robert Browning

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!

Long days and pleasant nights
Beautiful.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

'Nother one of my own, this one's called Past Her Best.


PAST HER BEST

I want a woman who's past her best
A lady unlike all the rest
A woman who's been round the block
I need a lady who knows how to talk

I want a woman who knows the score
A lady who knows how to ask for more
No teenagers should apply
I need a lady who knows when to cry
Emotional baggage don't bother me
It takes some pain to learn to be free
Some stretch marks and a couple of kids
I'm looking for a lady who's learned how to live

I want a woman who can rock'n'roll
A lady with a lot of soul
A woman who can hold her drink
I want a lady who knows how to think

I want a woman who wears reading glasses
Not some lassie into making passes
A woman who knows how to cook
I need a lady who's learned how to look
I want a woman who's good in bed
A lady who knows her own head
A woman who knows when to go and come
I need a lady, not just anyone

I had a woman who fit the bill
A lovely lady who knew how to thrill
But now she's gone and I'm all alone
I'm looking for a lady to take me home

Take me home.


Long days and pleasant nights

[Cowboy]

Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

-Edgar Allen Poe

[MrsSmeej]

That is truly beautiful Sai... I wish you joy in the search and luck in the finding.

The poem that sticks with me is the one from Insomnia. I've let my father's wife borrow the book (she's suffering her own round of insomnia and I figured she'd either find a cure that worked for her or have a really good read during those long long hours that can make up the time between night and morning) so I'm not sure if I'm quoting exactly here, but;

Each thing I do, I rush through,
so I can do something else. In such a way do the days pass.
Through the windows of my speeding car I see all that I love falling away...

It makes me sad, but it resonates.

[smjohn]

Hi,

'Nother one of my own, this one's called Past Her Best.


PAST HER BEST

I want a woman who's past her best
A lady unlike all the rest
A woman who's been round the block
I need a lady who knows how to talk

I want a woman who knows the score
A lady who knows how to ask for more
No teenagers should apply
I need a lady who knows when to cry
Emotional baggage don't bother me
It takes some pain to learn to be free
Some stretch marks and a couple of kids
I'm looking for a lady who's learned how to live

I want a woman who can rock'n'roll
A lady with a lot of soul
A woman who can hold her drink
I want a lady who knows how to think

I want a woman who wears reading glasses
Not some lassie into making passes
A woman who knows how to cook
I need a lady who's learned how to look
I want a woman who's good in bed
A lady who knows her own head
A woman who knows when to go and come
I need a lady, not just anyone

I had a woman who fit the bill
A lovely lady who knew how to thrill
But now she's gone and I'm all alone
I'm looking for a lady to take me home

Take me home.


Long days and pleasant nights

As usual, John, I love your poem:love:

[BlackThorn]

I have a hard time with favorite poems. Every poem is a beautiful poem to me, every story, every lyric in every song.

Some are so beautiful they hurt, and I'll admit, those are the ones I'm always looking for.

I'm sure I've done at least 90% of Damascena Korwen poems on the old board, but they're the ones I always keep on me, and when I was going through a horrible time of my life, I printed up a copy of all of her poems, and put a copy of the fractal art she had made that used to be on her web site, before she passed, on the back of the sheets. I still think I have that text copy somewhere around too. Seal-a-mealed and in storage maybe, in case of emergency. Here's one of my alltime favorites by her.



ALL TRUE SONGS

There is nothing else to write about but time.
Even love songs have meaning only because
love passes while life goes on, or life
runs too quickly through love, or waiting is
dreary, meetings sudden, partings early, opportunities
passed, reconciliations late, awakenings
delayed, recognitions hesitant, moments
strewn about the floor
creating little obstacles
on which we lose our footing and
tumble endlessly
into the clutter of red paper hearts, torn
photographs, empty wineglasses,
reflections of past and future,
of sorrow and delight.

Love songs ask,
"Will you wait for me?" and love songs say,
"I remember" and love songs always cry
"Forever" even when they are wailing
"Never."

They always sing of time;
it's the only tune in town.

And all true songs are love songs.

[Harley Wench]

Wolf with Roses Red...love that poem!! When you see your friend tell them congrats!! More than well done.
IF YOU WERE BUSY..Author: Unknown
If you were busy being kind
Before you knew it, you would find
You'd soon forget to think 'twas true
That someone was unkind to you.

If you were busy being glad
And cheering people who were sad,
Although your heart may ache a bit
You'd soon forget to notice it.

If you were busy being true
To what you know you ought to do
You'd be so busy you'd forget
The blunders of the fools you met.

[SwitchbladeNymphony]

i rather like simple poems with alot of meaning-

Mask(1985)-

These things are good: ice cream and cake, a ride on a harley, seeing monkeys in the trees, the rain on my tongue, and the sun shining on my face. These things are a drag: dust in my hair, holes in my shoes, no money in my pocket, and the sun shining on my face.

[Kim L.]

i rather like simple poems with alot of meaning-

Mask(1985)-

These things are good: ice cream and cake, a ride on a harley, seeing monkeys in the trees, the rain on my tongue, and the sun shining on my face. These things are a drag: dust in my hair, holes in my shoes, no money in my pocket, and the sun shining on my face.

I've been trying to remember those lines; thankee, SwitchbladeNymphony. A great movie.

[Patricia A]

Wolf with Roses Red...love that poem!! When you see your friend tell them congrats!! More than well done.
IF YOU WERE BUSY..Author: Unknown
If you were busy being kind
Before you knew it, you would find
You'd soon forget to think 'twas true
That someone was unkind to you.

If you were busy being glad
And cheering people who were sad,
Although your heart may ache a bit
You'd soon forget to notice it.

If you were busy being true
To what you know you ought to do
You'd be so busy you'd forget
The blunders of the fools you met.

:love: I've never heard that before, it's so true, thanks for that.

[SwitchbladeNymphony]

I've been trying to remember those lines; thankee, SwitchbladeNymphony. A great movie.

very great movie.

[blackwingedbird]

nice... i have many... one cannot limit themselves when it comes to poetry... so i'd say mostly Brown Penny William Butler Yeats, Design Robert Frost ( What but design of darkness to appall? If design govern in a thing so small.) Preludes TS Eliot ( I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling:
The motion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing.)
Snake DH Lawrence Prayer Before Birth & Sunlight on the Garden (And not expecting pardon,
Hardened in heart anew,
But glad to have sat under
Thunder and rain with you,
And grateful too
For sunlight on the garden.)Louis Macneice
to name a few:smile2:

[AmandaRose]

Hi,

'Nother one of my own, this one's called Past Her Best.


PAST HER BEST

I want a woman who's past her best
A lady unlike all the rest
A woman who's been round the block
I need a lady who knows how to talk

I want a woman who knows the score
A lady who knows how to ask for more
No teenagers should apply
I need a lady who knows when to cry
Emotional baggage don't bother me
It takes some pain to learn to be free
Some stretch marks and a couple of kids
I'm looking for a lady who's learned how to live

I want a woman who can rock'n'roll
A lady with a lot of soul
A woman who can hold her drink
I want a lady who knows how to think

I want a woman who wears reading glasses
Not some lassie into making passes
A woman who knows how to cook
I need a lady who's learned how to look
I want a woman who's good in bed
A lady who knows her own head
A woman who knows when to go and come
I need a lady, not just anyone

I had a woman who fit the bill
A lovely lady who knew how to thrill
But now she's gone and I'm all alone
I'm looking for a lady to take me home

Take me home.


Long days and pleasant nights


Ooooh John, this is beautiful! Im sure me and all the other ladies with stretchmarks, wait, I dont have any! right! lol, we are going... I do, I do. ha ha. Seriously, this is a beauty my friend, you're making a lot of us feel like real women when we read this too. ;) verrry nicely done John. :love:

[Wolf With The Red Roses]

Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned…

[motherwolf]

:cool2::down::oh::love:Hi,

'Nother one of my own, this one's called Past Her Best.


PAST HER BEST

I want a woman who's past her best
A lady unlike all the rest
A woman who's been round the block
I need a lady who knows how to talk

I want a woman who knows the score
A lady who knows how to ask for more
No teenagers should apply
I need a lady who knows when to cry
Emotional baggage don't bother me
It takes some pain to learn to be free
Some stretch marks and a couple of kids
I'm looking for a lady who's learned how to live

I want a woman who can rock'n'roll
A lady with a lot of soul
A woman who can hold her drink
I want a lady who knows how to think

I want a woman who wears reading glasses
Not some lassie into making passes
A woman who knows how to cook
I need a lady who's learned how to look
I want a woman who's good in bed
A lady who knows her own head
A woman who knows when to go and come
I need a lady, not just anyone

I had a woman who fit the bill
A lovely lady who knew how to thrill
But now she's gone and I'm all alone
I'm looking for a lady to take me home

Take me home.


Long days and pleasant nightsSai!!! I am so sorry I am only seeing this now!!! A triumph John! What a poet and a sweet thoughtful man you are!!!! All the women, everywhere will love and appreciate this!!! Especially us 'old and busted' ones!!!LOL! MADE MY DAY!!!! A Prince of a Bard!!!! ( I need to come back here more often!!!!! If I could take you home I'd be on my way to get you right now!!!! LOL!)

[motherwolf]

:cool2::biggrin2::cool2::oh::love:Sai!!! I am so sorry I am only seeing this now!!! A triumph John! What a poet and a sweet thoughtful man you are!!!! All the women, everywhere will love and appreciate this!!! Especially us 'old and busted' ones!!!LOL! MADE MY DAY!!!! A Prince of a Bard!!!! ( I need to come back here more often!!!!! If I could take you home I'd be on my way to get you right now!!!! LOL!) JUST KIDDING!!! Everyone knows Smokin'Joe has my heart forever more!!! But Sai Dalglish is one of 'the best of the best'!!!!

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

LMAO Motherwolf.

Thankee very much to everyone who's commented - VERY much appreciated!

Long days and pleasant nights

[MadamMack]

Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned…

Wonderful writing Ozz . . .

[Spideyman]

Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned…


Thank you for posting that beautiful poem. The words speak the truth.

[Kim L.]

very great movie.

I think of it every time I hear "Ripple."

[MadamMack]

Remember this one by Gwen?

The King Gang

In a world of many paths we found our way here.
Hail Sai King you can hear us all cheer.

Americans, Canadians, Britians, and Aussies alike.
Some newbies and veterans, did you read Stationary Bike?

Christine and Cujo, Carrie and Cell.
These stories we’ve read and all know them so well.

We know Roland and Randall, Dolores and Charlie McGee.
We’ve all seen the lobstrosoties the live by some sea.

We read and we write and sometimes shoot the breeze.
We stop by the Cantina for Motherwolf’s cinnamon rolls please.

We sing and we joke even howl at the moon.
If you ask Firetalion nicely he will sing you a tune.

We laugh and we cry, we hug and we smooch.
We’ve even got someone who calls himself Gooch.

There’s Susan, Amanda, Bookworm and Biff.
Dylan Roberts can even play you a riff.

Volic, Spidey, and Charms are the welcoming committee.
We come from the farms and the towns and the city.

If your in the mood for some witty chat.
Somewhere around here you’ll find Pat the Hat.

Harley and Bella Donna come from the land of the bools.
Nozza la, Madam Mack, and Smjohn what can I say but you are 2 cool.

We’ve survived Tommyknockers, Langoliers, and Pennywise.
Volic, Artista, Patricia, and Anni have gots the Cat’s Eyes

Msay, Cola, Kim L., Sherlynn, you’re so sweet.
Come on in and stay a while, they will save you a seat.

One man brought us together he hails from Maine.
We love horror and mystery and Msdeschain.

Then there’s our beloved all seeing Ms Mod.
Who we are eternally thankful for with a wink and a nod.

Anthony Butterworth, Sai Jen, Ayla, Tery, and Chaos lets not forget.
With 10,000 members my sincerest apologies to the one I did not get.

We’ll be going into 2008 with a new board, I know we can make it.
Our dearest John….. Just don’t picture him naked!

Seasons will change some will come and some will go, but when you finish
That newly released novel.
We will welcome you back with open arms, no need to grovel.

If something should happen and the world goes by way of The Stand.
I’ll need a shoulder.
I’ll just pack up my things and see you all in Boulder….

[Kim L.]

Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned…

Terrific poem. Is it yours?

[Volic]

Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned…

So beautiful......

[Patricia A]

Here's another one I wrote. LOL
It makes no sense what so ever, but then little does.

I TRY

I try so hard not to show my cards
while laying them out on the table
I struggle through what I cannot do
just to prove that I am able

[motherwolf]

:cool2:Following a discussion on death of loved ones, and the consequent mourning, with a fellow MB'er I was asked to post this...


Mourn

we mourn,
not for those we have lost
but for we who are left behind,
searching,
crying out for answers
to questions left unasked,
and we cry,
not for those who have gone,
but for we who are left to mourn,
delivering
ourselves from an evil
that lies within,
thrashing at the chains,
biting through the rope
that is our soul,
torturing,
teasing,
drawing us forth
to display our pain,
to parade our grief,
and still
though the pain has gone
we wear it
like a badge of courage,
in reality
a badge of terror,
waiting
for the day
that we too,
are to be the mourned… Beautiful Wolf-Red!!! Much appreciated and needed at this time! Hell of a good work! Thankyou for bringing it to us!!!

[brownmouse]

Here's another one I wrote. LOL
It makes no sense what so ever, but then little does.

I TRY

I try so hard not to show my cards
while laying them out on the table
I struggle through what I cannot do
just to prove that I am able

Love it!!

[brownmouse]

Ooooh John, this is beautiful! Im sure me and all the other ladies with stretchmarks, wait, I dont have any! right! lol, we are going... I do, I do. ha ha. Seriously, this is a beauty my friend, you're making a lot of us feel like real women when we read this too. ;) verrry nicely done John. :love:

I liked that poem too, Very nicely done- me and my stretch marks agree!!

[Wolf With The Red Roses]

Terrific poem. Is it yours?

Yes it is, thank you

[Todash]

:cool2::eyebrow:..."... and may all our enemies be lame, so we may know them by their limping!"...... Something close to that, it's been too long since I heard it!
I'm sure someone's already put this in, but I haven't read the whole thread yet and didn't want to lose the thought in case no one had:

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

[Todash]

"There Will Come Soft Rain" by Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

[JohnDalglish]

Here's another one I wrote. LOL
It makes no sense what so ever, but then little does.

I TRY

I try so hard not to show my cards
while laying them out on the table
I struggle through what I cannot do
just to prove that I am able

Hi,

Love it, Pat, thankee.

And very moving indeed, Wolf.

Long days and pleasant nights

[killyerdarlings]

Considering April is National Poetry Month, a trip back through this thread is quite appropriate today. There's some good stuff in here.

[blackwingedbird]

I like many poems, and some already listed, but I think my most favorite was one by Emily Dickinson...A Bird came down the Walk--

A Bird came down the Walk--
He did not know I saw--
He bit an Angleworm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass--
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass--

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all around--
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought--
He stirred his Velvet Head

Like one in danger; Cautious,
I offerred him a Crumb
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home--

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam--
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon
Leap, plashless as they swim.

( Taken from EMILY DICKINSON: SELECTED POEMS, Sweet Water Press, 2006)

oooh i love this would never have known it existed if not for this group thank you!!!!

[Kim L.]

Having carried your own
terrible frailness
to the edge of the water


you bent your body sharply
like a broken stick, until
you were kneeling in the sand.


If the world weren't so damned
beautiful, you said, maybe
dying wouldn't be so bad—


But then you saw how a small rain
had pocked the creamy skin
of the beach overnight


causing snails to leave their sanctuaries,
and the pursed hibiscus buds
to fatten and explode,


and with the sea collapsing around us,
thinning to a glassy sheen
that blinded you


you hid your face
behind your hands and shook
with unrequited love.

"Leaving the Clinic"
Marilyn Taylor

[MadamMack]

"There Will Come Soft Rain" by Sara Teasdale

There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;

Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.

That's beautiful.

[motherwolf]

:cool2:I'm sure someone's already put this in, but I haven't read the whole thread yet and didn't want to lose the thought in case no one had:

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping. That is it! Thankyou Todash!!! And Sara Teasdale's poem is lovely. (I like your handle!)

[Todash]

:cool2: That is it! Thankyou Todash!!! And Sara Teasdale's poem is lovely. (I like your handle!)You're welcome! And thanks. When I signed up on the boards, I was amazed to find that user name available. :)

Little bit of trivia about the poem: it's quoted in its entirety in a very good story of the same name written by Ray Bradbury in 1950.

[motherwolf]

:cool2::smile2:

Here's another one I wrote. LOL
It makes no sense what so ever, but then little does.

I TRY

I try so hard not to show my cards
while laying them out on the table
I struggle through what I cannot do
just to prove that I am able

You're welcome! And thanks. When I signed up on the boards, I was amazed to find that user name available. :)

Little bit of trivia about the poem: it's quoted in its entirety in a very good story of the same name written by Ray Bradbury in 1950. Makes perfect sense to me Purrrrrtricia! And it is the kind/style of poem I love best! Todash thankyou for the Ray Bradbury tip, haven't read that one by him before, now I must! (I must find some of the poems I've written. Some are good enough for public consumption. MORE STUFF I HAVE IN STORAGE. ( In storage. Like so most of my life and thoughts and emotions, like so much of me. Before I ventured over to THIS beam.)

[Tery]

John has asked me to post this Hawai'ian song and explanation of the lyrics. As I mentioned in the other thread (Native American), Hawai'ian songs work on two levels. The surface is the one that tells a story or describes a place, etc. Under that, the meanings get more interesting. To whit:

Ka Uluwehi O Ka Kai

Such a delight to see
The great big ocean
So familiar and very cherished
With its fragrance of the lîpoa

It is lîpoa which washed ashore
Onto the shiny white sand
Hot from the heating sun as you step on it
Don't think that this is fun

How enticing is the display of limu kohu
Atop the rocks
Enticing one to pick them
As they sway to and fro

Let the story be told
Of the lîpoa and the limu kohu
Close companions of the pâhe`e
Intermingled with the lîpalu

Now, the hidden meaning is in the lipoa and limu; one is female and the other male. Note how the lipoa has a fragrance. This is code for a woman. It is "hot from the heating sun"... <ahem> and is making an enticing display. Then they sway to and fro, these close companions. It's a really dirty song. Many popular hula songs have an underlying meaning. Of course, it's not always this...erm... earthy. It can be the use of lei or a flower as representative of a lover. Or a mountain for a Mother. The Hawai'ian word for this is kauna; the hidden meaning inside Hawaiian language, wherein it seems one is speaking about something obvious when one is actually talking about something completely different.

Here is a great website for more about Hawai'ian music: http://www.eyeofhawaii.com/Music/music.htm

Aloha, BTW, refers to sharing breath. That's why it means "hello"; the ancient Hawai'ians would greet one another nose to nose and literally share breath.

Enjoy!

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Thankee big-big, Tery, it's a beautiful song, and I love the concept of 'kauna'.

I'll be browsing the link at leisure, what a good noise, as Lennon would have said.

Long days and pleasant nights

[killyerdarlings]

Fifty Arms At Yoga

Spring comes soon. It’s

Not quite here yet

There are trees behind me, and in front

Mud that sun will dry

Look, up where leaves will be:

Fifty Arms at Yoga

Jutting out from every side

Balanced.

Holding

Breath,

And waiting.

[Patricia A]

John has asked me to post this Hawai'ian song and explanation of the lyrics. As I mentioned in the other thread (Native American), Hawai'ian songs work on two levels. The surface is the one that tells a story or describes a place, etc. Under that, the meanings get more interesting. To whit:

Ka Uluwehi O Ka Kai

Such a delight to see
The great big ocean
So familiar and very cherished
With its fragrance of the lîpoa

It is lîpoa which washed ashore
Onto the shiny white sand
Hot from the heating sun as you step on it
Don't think that this is fun

How enticing is the display of limu kohu
Atop the rocks
Enticing one to pick them
As they sway to and fro

Let the story be told
Of the lîpoa and the limu kohu
Close companions of the pâhe`e
Intermingled with the lîpalu

Now, the hidden meaning is in the lipoa and limu; one is female and the other male. Note how the lipoa has a fragrance. This is code for a woman. It is "hot from the heating sun"... <ahem> and is making an enticing display. Then they sway to and fro, these close companions. It's a really dirty song. Many popular hula songs have an underlying meaning. Of course, it's not always this...erm... earthy. It can be the use of lei or a flower as representative of a lover. Or a mountain for a Mother. The Hawai'ian word for this is kauna; the hidden meaning inside Hawaiian language, wherein it seems one is speaking about something obvious when one is actually talking about something completely different.

Here is a great website for more about Hawai'ian music: http://www.eyeofhawaii.com/Music/music.htm

Aloha, BTW, refers to sharing breath. That's why it means "hello"; the ancient Hawai'ians would greet one another nose to nose and literally share breath.

Enjoy!



Most beautiful!

[MrsSmeej]

Thank you Tery. That was fascinating. :smile2:

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

I posted this one on the Old Board, but someone asked me to post it again, so here is 'If Wishes Were Horses' - taken from an ancient Celtic saying.


IF WISHES WERE HORSES

I'll never get to say 'I love you' again
Never say how good you look
I'll never get to say 'I love you' again
Cause the author has finished the book
I wish you were by my side again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could hear your voice again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never get to kiss your neck again
Never tickle your toes
I'll never get to kiss your neck again
If I ever see you again only Heaven knows
I wish I could see your face again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could smell your scent again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never cuddle you at night again
Never keep you nice and warm
I'll never cuddle you at night again
Cause my love couldn't save you from the storm
I wish I was in your arms again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish that we were together again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never take you for a meal again
Never wash your dirty dishes
I'll never take you for a meal again
Never taste your tender kisses
I wish, I wish, in vain again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could turn back time again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I wish I could turn back time again.


Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

Hi,

I posted this one on the Old Board, but someone asked me to post it again, so here is 'If Wishes Were Horses' - taken from an ancient Celtic saying.


IF WISHES WERE HORSES

I'll never get to say 'I love you' again
Never say how good you look
I'll never get to say 'I love you' again
Cause the author has finished the book
I wish you were by my side again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could hear your voice again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never get to kiss your neck again
Never tickle your toes
I'll never get to kiss your neck again
If I ever see you again only Heaven knows
I wish I could see your face again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could smell your scent again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never cuddle you at night again
Never keep you nice and warm
I'll never cuddle you at night again
Cause my love couldn't save you from the storm
I wish I was in your arms again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish that we were together again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I'll never take you for a meal again
Never wash your dirty dishes
I'll never take you for a meal again
Never taste your tender kisses
I wish, I wish, in vain again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride
I wish I could turn back time again
But if wishes were horses beggars would ride

I wish I could turn back time again.


Long days and pleasant nights

Makes me cry everytime. Thankee for posting it.

[La Belladonna]

A Spring View

by Tu Fu

Though a country be sundered, hills and rivers endure;
And spring comes green again to trees and grasses
Where petals have been shed like tears
And lonely birds have sung their grief.
...After the war-fires of three months,
One message from home is worth a ton of gold.
...I stroke my white hair. It has grown too thin
To hold the hairpins any more.


The line "Where petals have been shed like tears" grabbed me and has never let go....:smile2:

[La Belladonna]

God divided beauty and ten carried it away

Soap, henna and silk -- these are three

The plough, the flocks, the swarms of bees

That's six

The sun when it rises on the mountain tops --

That's seven.

The crescent moon, thin as a Christian's knife --

That's eight

With horses and with books we come to ten.

(Berber poem)

[losers_club]

This poem makes me cry every time I read it.

AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION
Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they may be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

[Kim L.]

Svmer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu!
Groweþ sed and bloweþ med
And springþ þe wde nu,
Sing cuccu
Middle English round


Modern Translation:
Summer has come in,
Loudly sing, Cuckoo!
The seed grows and the meadow blooms
And the wood springs anew,
Sing, Cuckoo!


Ezra Pound's parody:
Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm.
Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

[constantreader85]

John

I can understand you being appalled by scottish nationality being sold out, I know my Irish history too well.

But on a Lighter night, When i was in school, there was a poem by this chap Shakespeare one of his sonnets All I remember is, there is nothing more beautiful than a woman who wears no make up.

Other poem hmm The ballad of reading gaol, Ozymandis is rather interesting, a debate is on as to whether the writer was on opium at the time

[brownmouse]

Once upon a time, in the land of hush-a-bye, around about the wondrous days of yore, they came across a kind of box, bound up with chains and locked with locks and labeled "Kindly do not touch it's war."
A decree was issued round about, and all with a flourish and a shout and a gaily-colored mascot tripping lightly on before. Don't fiddle with this deadly box, or break the chains, or pick the locks. And please don't ever play about with war.
Well, the children understood. Children happen to be good and they were just as good around the time of yore. They didn't try to pick the locks or break into that deadly box. They never tried to play about with war. Mommies didn't either, sisters, aunts, grannies neither. They were quiet, and sweet, and pretty in those wondrous days of yore. Well, very much the same as now, not the ones to blame somehow for opening up that deadly box of war.
But someone did. Someone battered in the lid and spilled the insides out across the floor. A sort of bouncy, bumpy ball made up of guns and flags and all the tears, and horror, and death that comes with war. It bounced right out and went bashing all about, bumping into everything in store. And what was sad and most unfair was that it didn't really seem to care much who it bumped, or why, or what, or for.
It bumped the children mainly. And I'll tell you this quite plainly, it bumps them every day and more, and more, and leaves them dead, and burned, and dying, thousands of them sick and crying. Cause when it bumps, it's really very sore.
Now there's a way to stop the ball. It isn't difficult at all. All it takes is wisdom, and I'm absolutely sure that we can get it back into the box, and bind the chains, and lock the locks. But no one seems to want to save the children anymore.
Well, that's the way it all appears, cause it's been bouncing round for years and years. In spite of all the wisdom 'wiz since those wondrous days of yore and the time they came across the box, bound up with chains and locked with locks, and labeled "Kindly do not touch, it's war."
John Denver

I think that was originally written by some one named Lascelles Abercrombie:I only know this because I stumbled on this cool site called 'Songs of Darkness'-it's really not satanic or anything :wow:-it just has a whole bunch of great poems and some great short stories.

[smooth operator]

I also love Still I Rise. Some of my other favorites: Shakespeare's sonnets, Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnets, T. S. Eliot, EA Poe's The Conqueror Worm, and Robert Frost's The Road not Taken.

[Samantha_]

"Sea Chest" by Carl Sandburg.

There was a woman loved a man
as the man loved the sea
Her thoughts of him were the same
as his thoughts of the sea
They made an old sea chest for their belongings
together.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Like most parents, there's a certain 'no-one is good enough for my child' attitude to your kid's choice of partner , and for the first year my son David and Kareen had been together, I certainly had a bit of that. One night, about three years ago, everyone else except Kareen and I went to bed, and we sat up with a bottle of vodka and got drunk together and sorted out all the world's problems, as you do. Ever since, we've been the best of friends and I love her very much, so I wrote this for her, it's called Diamond (BTW She had the six month checkup on Monday and everything is absolutely tickety boo) -


DIAMOND

I wouldn't know a diamond
If I held one in my hand
Cause I am just a poor boy
I'm sure you'll understand
And I've never seen a diamond
Except just one time before
So I am slow to recognise
What I might be looking for

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

A diamond, so they tell me
Looks like a bit of stone
Until it's cut and polished
And it's beauty can be shown
And it took some time for me to see
The inner strength within
The beauty of the soul
Hidden deep beneath the skin

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

Failed by crap education
Failed by society
Her deepest soul lay hidden
In a place I could not see
But now my eyes are open
I see how I was blind
To the creative intelligence
She's kept hidden in her mind

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

And I love her like a daughter
And I love her like a friend
And I see her time is surely coming
But I do not know just when
And I'm so glad to see her
Growing into her life
And I'm so glad for David
She agreed to be his wife


Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

Hi,

Like most parents, there's a certain 'no-one is good enough for my child' attitude to your kid's choice of partner , and for the first year my son David and Kareen had been together, I certainly had a bit of that. One night, about three years ago, everyone else except Kareen and I went to bed, and we sat up with a bottle of vodka and got drunk together and sorted out all the world's problems, as you do. Ever since, we've been the best of friends and I love her very much, so I wrote this for her, it's called Diamond (BTW She had the six month checkup on Monday and everything is absolutely tickety boo) -


DIAMOND

I wouldn't know a diamond
If I held one in my hand
Cause I am just a poor boy
I'm sure you'll understand
And I've never seen a diamond
Except just one time before
So I am slow to recognise
What I might be looking for

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

A diamond, so they tell me
Looks like a bit of stone
Until it's cut and polished
And it's beauty can be shown
And it took some time for me to see
The inner strength within
The beauty of the soul
Hidden deep beneath the skin

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

Failed by crap education
Failed by society
Her deepest soul lay hidden
In a place I could not see
But now my eyes are open
I see how I was blind
To the creative intelligence
She's kept hidden in her mind

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

And I love her like a daughter
And I love her like a friend
And I see her time is surely coming
But I do not know just when
And I'm so glad to see her
Growing into her life
And I'm so glad for David
She agreed to be his wife


Long days and pleasant nights

What a wonderful poem, John and how lucky she is to have a father-in-law like you. And great news about her 6-month scan. You're going to be a grandpa soon; hope you're ready!

[Patricia A]

That is so nice John, she must love her poem, and I bet you got a good hug too. :smile2:
It's a good thing to actually love your loved ones.

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

In another thread I mentioned the sectarian rift that so disfigures my city. At the weekend Celtic played Rangers (3-2), known collectively as the 'Old Firm' and we had the usual psuedo-religious violence on the streets of one of the world's most violent cities. In the Wiki link you'll find the history of this crap, and if you click on 'Sectarianism in Glasgow' you'll learn more than you ever wanted to know. Glasgow's done a pretty good job of hiding this shame from outsiders, but I wrote this a couple of years ago about it, (BTW Celtic wear Green and Rangers wear blue) -

Old Firm


GREEN AND THE BLUE

I love Glasgow as much as anyone I hear
But my city is divided into two unequal tiers
One goes tae Parkhead and the other tae Ibrox Park
But one side can't see the other cause they're both still in the dark

Chorus -
Let us all come together, let us be all we can
What we need is a Glaswegian brotherhood of man
Let us all come together, let us be all we can
I look forward to the day when we all stand hand in hand

John Knox he was a hard man and he split the Scottish mind
The one half he made cruel and the other half unkind
In this city without pity split between the green and the blue
The first thing employers ask you is 'What school did you go to?'

Chorus

'Divide and rule' the Romans said so that's what the English did
But we can't let them break us up to fuel their empire's greed
A city thus divided csan't stand against their plans
But if Glasgow stood together then they'd have tae understand

Chorus

Hatred splits our city and it seeps into our souls
A god who tolerates bigotry ain't no kinda god at all
With one hand on a rosary and the other hand on a sash
Together we stand divided while politicians steal our cash

Chorus to coda


Long days and pleasant nights

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

ALWAYS NINETEEN

Always nineteen, always nineteen
She'll always be nineteen to me
Always nineteen, always nineteen
That's what I'll always see

There's an empty chair at my table
There's an empty space in my bed
I'd tell you more if I was able
About the emptiness in my head
There's an empty ring on my finger
There's a vacancy in my soul
They say things can only get better
If I lose myself in rock'n'roll

Always nineteen, always nineteen
I see her face every day
Always nineteen, always nineteen
The years simply faded away

There's an empty seat on my sofa
There's lots of space for my clothes
I know in my mind that it's over
But knowledge can stop the woe
There's an empty parking space outside
Just waiting for her car
But nowadays I don't get to ride
And I don't travel very far

Always nineteen, always nineteen
Her soul shines through the years
Always nineteen, always nineteen
I see her face through my tears

There's an empty space in my future
There's an empty hand on my arm
I don't know about next year
But this year the world's lost it's charm
There's an empty seat in the Doublet
There's a space for me to talk in
But I've nothing to say about it
I'm just waiting for her to walk in

Always nineteen, always nineteen
My love will never die
Always nineteen, always nineteen
Till I see her again in the sky


Long days and pleasant nights

(PS - The 'empty space in my future' appears to be filled. Thankfully.

[motherwolf]

:cool2::smile2:Hi,

Like most parents, there's a certain 'no-one is good enough for my child' attitude to your kid's choice of partner , and for the first year my son David and Kareen had been together, I certainly had a bit of that. One night, about three years ago, everyone else except Kareen and I went to bed, and we sat up with a bottle of vodka and got drunk together and sorted out all the world's problems, as you do. Ever since, we've been the best of friends and I love her very much, so I wrote this for her, it's called Diamond (BTW She had the six month checkup on Monday and everything is absolutely tickety boo) -


DIAMOND

I wouldn't know a diamond
If I held one in my hand
Cause I am just a poor boy
I'm sure you'll understand
And I've never seen a diamond
Except just one time before
So I am slow to recognise
What I might be looking for

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

A diamond, so they tell me
Looks like a bit of stone
Until it's cut and polished
And it's beauty can be shown
And it took some time for me to see
The inner strength within
The beauty of the soul
Hidden deep beneath the skin

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

Failed by crap education
Failed by society
Her deepest soul lay hidden
In a place I could not see
But now my eyes are open
I see how I was blind
To the creative intelligence
She's kept hidden in her mind

Someday soon she's gonna fly
Spread her wings and kiss the sky
Someday soon, Deo Volante, someday soon

And I love her like a daughter
And I love her like a friend
And I see her time is surely coming
But I do not know just when
And I'm so glad to see her
Growing into her life
And I'm so glad for David
She agreed to be his wife


Long days and pleasant nightsSo good to get the news about Kareen Sai!!! And such a beautiful poem you have written for her!!! One of your very best I think!

[godgott]

Ich liebe meine Gedichte!!!Ja ja ja

[skimom]

Fire and ice
Some say the world will end by fire,
some say by ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
to say that for destruction ice
is also great, and would suffice
Robert Frost

[Kim L.]

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;

James Russell Lowell

[Kim L.]

Silvia Brandon-Pérez

Requiescat in pacem



sitting in my car
on my way to buy groceries
a picture came unbidden
as he was before he went away
so thin, so peaceful and so quiet
my burly father become small and bony
my loud boisterous father become silent
able to communicate only by tears
unable to tell jokes or to sing songs
to play guitar
to laugh or make me laugh
and all must leave
in time
but why so soon
why so irrevocable the goodbye
why this grief that tears
with sharpened teeth
engulfing all

[Patricia A]

How Do We Forgive Our Fathers?

How do we forgive our Fathers?
Maybe in a dream
Do we forgive our Fathers for leaving us too often or forever
when we were little?

Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage
or making us nervous
because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.

Do we forgive our Fathers for marrying or not marrying our Mothers?
For Divorcing or not divorcing our Mothers?

And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning
for shutting doors
for speaking through walls
or never speaking
or never being silent?

Do we forgive our Fathers in our age or in theirs
or their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it?

If we forgive our Fathers what is left?

Sherman Alexie

[motherwolf]

:cool2::smile2:How Do We Forgive Our Fathers?

How do we forgive our Fathers?
Maybe in a dream
Do we forgive our Fathers for leaving us too often or forever
when we were little?

Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage
or making us nervous
because there never seemed to be any rage there at all.

Do we forgive our Fathers for marrying or not marrying our Mothers?
For Divorcing or not divorcing our Mothers?

And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness?
Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning
for shutting doors
for speaking through walls
or never speaking
or never being silent?

Do we forgive our Fathers in our age or in theirs
or their deaths
saying it to them or not saying it?

If we forgive our Fathers what is left?

Sherman Alexie A great one "P." Thanks for bringing it again. I really like this one. ( I would say the answer to the final question there, would be...Peace.)

[Patricia A]

:cool2::smile2: A great one "P." Thanks for bringing it again. I really like this one. ( I would say the answer to the final question there, would be...Peace.)
Good one, and then forgiving ourselves would work too. I just love this poem, it makes me think.

[BlackThorn]

Dama Flood [01/30]


THE PROMISE OF TOMORROW

A halo of silver 'rounds a brilliant Moon,
while the dry leaves blow.
The Moon is pale and full of power,
an essence beyond comprehension,
an incredible force of magic.
Times like these
leave the very center,
that shelters the spirit,
the temple of center, the temple of energy.
on and on we travel to find the fork
in the paths that divide.
One direction and you will find fate -
having passed aside lessons richly taught.
The other road - fate will find you,
and in turn you will discover your destiny.

Your rewards will be great
and the path, your salvation.
Experience your destiny and the windows will open.
Stretch out your arms and embrace the reality
of knowing,
for the only reality is learning.
Hold it close to your heart,
and draw the energy -
to seek more.
Look upon the horizon and
recognize the promise of tomorrow.

-- Janet Thompson

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [02/30]


All life on Earth, we're told, came from a primordial sea filled with the elements that would become mobility, intelligence, tenderness, love, sorrow and song. The current theory is that the sea of potential came to life when struck by lightning. And so we became -- people -- who carve our names and loves on stone, who wake in confusion after dreams of places we have never seen -- people who remember, people who sing, make poems, dance, mourn, rejoice -- volatile as we are, we are surely a wonder!

And so this page is for all of us, dreaming or waking, abandoned in love or weary of waking -- whoever we are, however we live..

-- Damascena Korwen

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [03/30]


PETROGLYPHS

shall we converse in writing?

leaving petroglyphs
on red streaked stone to show
where I might dream to go, to invite
those who follow after, to say,
the river's running high,
to say, the moon was full and bright,
we could have roamed forever through the night,
to say, there was a thunderstorm, I hid here
for an hour, to say, the sunrise broke my heart...

to read where you are going, to know I cannot follow
the river's tracks upon your soul, to see
the shadow of the oak in full moonlight,
to read your song of thunder,
to read where you are hiding in the rain, to know
the sunrise touched your face with something bright

and someday they will see this who will not understand it,
who will say, how primitive these people were!
or oh, how could they live with so much pain!
-- not looking down to see his feet are fitted to your footprints
-- not looking up to see her face reflected in the sunlight,
not looking anywhere at all in case the sight should hurt

or another time, some mindless one will scratch
the pictures from the stone,
or the weather-gods will take them
much more slowly, just as sure

just think! time is not endless,
but rain, wind, sunrise, past and future all
will fall together in a crash of song

just think! we will be dancing there
at last.


(this one is my favorite)

[Glen]

"IF"


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


--Rudyard Kipling

And one of my own (a song, actually)

"Saving Face"


You played the clown so long that now and then the smile feels real
Now that you're down nobody's there to tell you how to feel
So if you've found the Jester's rags don't fit you quite so well
You'll know you're bound to do some time in your own private Hell

Is this the life you planned on
Or just a spot you were told on stand on?
The spotlight's gone
Can you shine on?

Hey Superman, tell me, can you hear the freedom ring?
Strike up the band and wrap yourself in patriotic glory dreams
The Master Plan, the vision that has left you all but blind
Do you think you can still find it when it's your life on the line?

It's almost time
To step out on the stage
Is your mask in place?
Guard it with your life
It's your only face

There's just one thing for certain
Now take your bow as the drop the curtain
The spotlight's gone
Can you shine on?

[JohnDalglish]

Hi,

Really liked Saving Face, thankee for posting it, Glen - excellent stuff!

And the Kipling's a classic.

Long days and pleasant nights

[Kim L.]

I think I may have posted this on the previous board, so forgive the redundancy:

Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.
Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf, frightened and yet
Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.

To the next shelter-maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile.
Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two,
Holding it over him, gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home, dry as could be,

Soon woke the Dormouse, "Good gracious me!"
"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.
And that's how umbrellas first were invented.

Author--Oliver Herford

[La Belladonna]

'The Shoelace' from Mockingbird Wish Me Luck

by Charles Bukowski

"It's not the large things that send a man to the madhouse
death he's ready for
or murder, incest, robbery,
fire, flood.
No it's the continuing series of small tragedies
that send a man to a madhouse
not the death of his love, but a shoelace that snaps
with no time left.
and with each broken shoelace
out of 100 broken shoelaces
one man, one woman, one thing
enters a madhouse
so, be careful when you bend over."

[BlackThorn]

This thread does completely own. What would the world be, without song?

Dama flood [04/30]


SOMETIMES WE MEET ALONG
STRANGE ROADS, AND SAY:

sometimes we meet along strange roads, and say:

I have eaten the food of the enemy,
I have drunk poison and lived,
I have walked through great danger
toward the light of this moment,
and I greet you as a friend.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [05/30]


THE NORTHWIND'S DAUGHTER

Time is a northern mystery,
over the blood-rich grasslands
leading her golden dogs tracklessly
passing the cottonwood next to the river,
over the farmyards, leaving no mark
where men have tunneled the earth for coal,
down by the crabapple tree, past the blackbird,
leaving no trace but the greening, the ripening,
withering, wintering, greening again
where cranes are sheltered, where geese fly singing
like hounds by night, where leaves rust and blacken and change
on the ground under snow,
hiding the oath of summer, the coneflower, chokecherry,
bullberry, willow and cattail
and turning the lake to glass in a lengthening night.

But in April, even the deer sprouts new branches to welcome
the warm river-breaker, the rattlesnake wakes,
and the bear, hungry for more than life.

From that land I came
on the northwind's wings to fledge on a distant shore
where time has another and subtler dance
and water is salty as blood.

The willow remembering winter loses her leaves
even here, summer's sun rests under the blackbird's wings,
even here, the year bends my shadow to fit the season's design.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [06/30]


NOW IT BEGINS

ah, and will there be a spring like that again?
-- skies filled with sweet joyous music,
under every tree a rhyme
awaiting any voice to sing it, a dance
awaiting any drum to sound.

the year turned wearily from light to dark and back
to light again: now spring again, less fragrant --
the high winds brought down majesty, stealing
petals from the tender stems that held them --
like the songs that fell so simply
in another spring, another time.

hands of light reach out,
the trees are waiting.

the new song, not yet born,
breaks forgotten walls of glass
into strange reflections.

the day approaches.

[Todash]

I think I may have posted this on the previous board, so forgive the redundancy:

Under a toadstool crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain to shelter himself.
Under the toadstool, sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf, frightened and yet
Fearing to fly away lest he get wet.

To the next shelter-maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile.
Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two,
Holding it over him, gaily he flew.
Soon he was safe home, dry as could be,

Soon woke the Dormouse, "Good gracious me!"
"Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented.
And that's how umbrellas first were invented.

Author--Oliver Herford

I love that one! It's in a book of children's poetry that I have had since I was a child. The book is beat up and drawn in (courtesy of my younger siblings), but it's one of my most cherished possessions. There's tons of stuff by Robert Louis Stevenson, Vachel Lindsay, and Christina Rossetti. In fact, on my whiteboard right this second is

If all the world were paper,
And all the seas were ink,
And all the trees were bread and cheese,
What would we have to drink?

[Kim L.]

Dama flood [05/30]


THE NORTHWIND'S DAUGHTER

Time is a northern mystery,
over the blood-rich grasslands
leading her golden dogs tracklessly
passing the cottonwood next to the river,
over the farmyards, leaving no mark
where men have tunneled the earth for coal,
down by the crabapple tree, past the blackbird,
leaving no trace but the greening, the ripening,
withering, wintering, greening again
where cranes are sheltered, where geese fly singing
like hounds by night, where leaves rust and blacken and change
on the ground under snow,
hiding the oath of summer, the coneflower, chokecherry,
bullberry, willow and cattail
and turning the lake to glass in a lengthening night.

But in April, even the deer sprouts new branches to welcome
the warm river-breaker, the rattlesnake wakes,
and the bear, hungry for more than life.

From that land I came
on the northwind's wings to fledge on a distant shore
where time has another and subtler dance
and water is salty as blood.

The willow remembering winter loses her leaves
even here, summer's sun rests under the blackbird's wings,
even here, the year bends my shadow to fit the season's design.

This is really a great poem. Did you write it?

[Kim L.]

I love that one! It's in a book of children's poetry that I have had since I was a child. The book is beat up and drawn in (courtesy of my younger siblings), but it's one of my most cherished possessions. There's tons of stuff by Robert Louis Stevenson, Vachel Lindsay, and Christina Rossetti. In fact, on my whiteboard right this second is

If all the world were paper,
And all the seas were ink,
And all the trees were bread and cheese,
What would we have to drink?

Todash, your book sounds very much like my book of children's poetry. My mom read to us out of it until we were old enough to read ourselves (and as the oldest, I had lots of chances to hear her read to my sibs--and then I read from it to my daughter). The book was the 1st in the Childcraft series, so we always called the "The Number One Book." One of my most cherished possessions, too, along with the Winnie-the-Pooh books.

[dragafari]

Even though I don't practice Santeria, I liked this poem about the Orishas because you can discover a little about Yuruban cosmogony. And it's also full of images about the powers of nature.

O, Eleggua, master of Iku, keeper of the gate
Let not your power be shackled to your whim
For tied to it is mother Africa's glooming fate
Would you see our shining hope turn dim?
Aware am I of Eleggua's endless presage,
Also, of the rationality with which you contend
But know, God of death, bringer of the message :
It is with affection that I speak, I mean not to offend
Let not the door to our destiny be forever closed
Nor the road to its fruitfulness forever blocked
Let not the will of the enemies be imposed
Let the door to our glorious future be unlocked!

Obatala - King of the sky and blanketing snow
Lord of man's hard bones and nimble brain
And all that exists in the world so far below
God of the white cloth, you shall forever reign
Beyond the restrictions of gender are you
Interpretive of the qualities of woman and man
Supportive of all that is righteous and true
Contributing in a way that no other God can
Lend to us your wisdom and blinding purity
Spread 'cross the lands your curing peace
Be our strength, our hope, our security
And may your favor with men never cease

'Twas with Oloddumare that our lives began
But you were Ashe, bereft of life and thought
Long before the humble beginnings of man
Within the darkness of the void you fought
The universe is by the Rainbow Serpent bound
That it may know no limit to its expanse
In all things we see your essence resound,
Filling your extensions with song and dance
The center pulsed with unrealized aspiration
Before the nocturnal moon or the piercing sun
From the void sprouted thought and creation
In the Cosmic Heavens, the realm of Ikode Orun

Great is the spirit Goddess Oshun
Whose beauty intrigues both men and Gods
With grace and love you retrieved Ogun
Saving the world in spite of the odds
Owner of the river whose curative mirth
Has preserved the people of this sphere
You convinced Oloddumare to spare the earth
That our essence might not disappear
So impressed with your honesty was he
That he saw there was still some good in men
If not for you, we would no longer be
Nor would the world turn again

Oya, Goddess of the wind and fire
A warrior both strong and fearless
Your feminine power our sisters admire
For such heroism is peerless
Inhabit our sisters as we go to war
Let your thunder and fire be theirs
Instill in them a strength like never before
To your greatness no other compares
Hurricanes embody your smiting wrath
As your rage builds tornadoes form
Engulfing all who cross your path
Or brave the bulk of your storm

Yemaya, Yemaya, of the sea
Goddess of the watchful moon
Come now, and set our spirits free
I prithee deliver us soon
The ancient wisdoms lay hidden
Beneath your rippling waves
What is this, that is to us forbidden
Down in subterranean caves?
Secret knowledge and terrible power
Locked away for a time of great need
Lend it to us in this darkening hour
And let our binded souls be freed

King Shango, swing your mighty axe
And smite each filthy foe
Lift the burdens from our backs
With each devastating blow
King of the lightning and thunder
Restore the land to which we belong
Our homes they wish to pillage and plunder
But as you fight so too shall we stay strong
Shango, whose story is somber and tragic
Protect our people at any cost
You, who harbor the secrets of magic
Restore all that we have lost

Orishas, noble and glorious
With you we shall be victorious

[Deavlynn]

My favorite is "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes. I won't post it here because it's really long, but it's easily found online. I always thought someone should write a novel based on it; it's a wonderfully tragic story.

[BlackThorn]

These were all written by a woman named Damascena Korwen. When I was quite young, maybe 18 or so years old, I was searching around for witchy spells and stuff. I found an interesting web site on the subject, and the owner of that site, stated everyone should go look at his friends site, who was an amazing woman, but who had just passed on after a bout with cancer. I wasn't interested, and kept playing on the guys site, but the way he kept insisting on his pages, that we check out this womans site, eventually got to me. It felt like he was pushing me in particular. Every time I'd go around a corner, he'd insist more. At one point, I went just so the guy would shut up in my mind about it. "There! I looked, okay???"

So I made it to her site. It was quite simple. She used a 'fractals' design program to make some pretty fractal pictures. I saved most of those too, but more or less as an after thought. What moved me the most, was how powerful her poetry page was. I fell in love in less than a heartbeat. It was her visual imagery that captured me most, and then I began to understand the stories in the poems, and good tears quickly followed. Everything in our past shapes what and who we are today, and these poems are a large part of my structure. I went back to her site maybe eight months after she had passed, and the site had expired. I was so glad I had saved a copy first though. It's quite obvious she wanted them shared.

On her first poem, or introduction to her poems, she says directly that this page is for everyone, so I know she won't mind me putting them here. I'd hate for them to be lost, so I intend on putting a few up, every day, till they're all here. Some I like more than others, but all are wonderful. They pull me right into what she wants me to feel, and what that is is wonderous. In four incomplete poem sentences, she can move my core. I used to have them printed out, and I physically carried them with me through a very troubled time in my life. She was an ancient witch in a short time body, as far as I'm concerned. I read some of them aloud once, and captured it on my computer. I feel they sound better when read aloud. But reading out loud is one of my passions anyways. Here's a few more.


Dama flood [07/30]


THE ISLE OF SONG

Land of the heart, where truth walks free
building her night fire beneath a cypress tree --
here on earth's edge,
look to that land, traveller, with me,
hear her wild voice wandering
over the careless cold sea.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [08/30]


BEAR-MOUNTAIN DREAM-VOYAGE

When you reach the gray stone shaped like a bear
your journey begins; kneel by its head, then lie
on the earth stretched out on your belly, your full length,
hear song within stone.
Then rise, take three steps singing the Mother's name,
and when you step on your forehead-mark, lie down again,
stretch out, your arms at your sides.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

Stand singing the Mother's name, take three steps,
your feet bare on earth and worn stone, lie down and measure
again and again, remember the names,
the song that holds them.
All life comes from this mountain, all life
from the womb of time under the great stone heart.
The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

Measure the ground as a snake does, walk singing
the names from your belly
through your heart to your mouth, out into the air.
Take your time -- none other's is yours --
round time's heart, and if you must sleep,
mark well where you were, leave no gap in the singing of names
nor in their hearing.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

A slow dance began round this mountain,
a few at a time; now thousands of feet
and bodies have worn this circle deep as a ring
danced into sand when the moon is near-full --
but here, stone wears away under feet and bodies,
absorbs the singing of names, gives them back to you
when you lie down.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

Five days and nights it will take, and there will be water
in basins of stone -- from your hands you must drink,
with your hands comb your hair, for no tools
may be brought to this mountain but those you were born with.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

No fire may you have, nor food of any sort;
you must break nothing that grows here.
The ground will seem warm at times, and strange smells
emerge from cracked stone, bringing ancestral dreams.
Some of the water tastes bitter; it causes no harm.
If a pilgrim appears before you, move more slowly;
this voyage is taken alone.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.


Nothing on this mountain shall harm you without Her command,
which is nothing to fear.
There will be pain in your body, your mouth will be dry;
you will not die of it.
She will change Her names from one day to the next.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

Her bones will disturb your sleep, and Her image your dreams.
On the last day you will find no shade.
Nothing blooms on that side of the mountain, no birds build
their nests there, nor yet will you see
any life but your own and the life of the stone where you lie
hearing its silence, your heartbeat, the wind, where you stand.
Take three steps singing Her new names and go on.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

Your heart will be drummer, your mouth will be singer,
your arms and legs will dance and lie down
again and again, you will rise, take three steps,
sing Her names, lie and listen, go on.

The path down the mountain's the one you came up;
the bear marks the way.

When the bear looms before you,
crawl under and through its legs.
Sister of Mountain will wash you with oil,
will paint you with crimson and offer you wine.
You may drink what she gives you,
and rest in the shelter one night
before you go back down the mountain.

The bear marks the way.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [09/30]


IN THE ARMS OF LIFE

Outside the carved and gilded temple door
the soldier, laden with orders and with armaments,
shouts, in desperate hope that none will answer:

I am here to take your treasures,
I am here to melt down your gods,
I am here at the will of the rulers --
and you must let me pass!

In the stance of one who has no sword and needs none,
the monk with shaven head, in saffron robe,
opens the door, intending none to enter:

Our treasures are beyond comprehension,
Our gods cannot be stolen,
We care not for the will of your rulers --
and I will not let you pass!

The soldier calls aloud, "Do you not realize
that I have in my hands the power to kill you?"

And the monk says, "And do you not realize
that I have the power to force you to kill me?"

And in the corner the lamp begins to smoke --
a stream of blackness billows out between
the men, and takes a form to catch them
by every part by which they might be caught,
a female form, black as the sky and starry
throughout all her dimensions, and her face
one side a crescent moon, the other nothingness,
her hair green willow, and her breasts
full night with roses opening -- her lips
like blood, like sunset, speaking:

You children, who have not yet learned my names,
who speak of killing as a test of power --

But listen! the song-finch will sing on,
every year more intricate a song,
only you may not hear him --
for your killing and your being killed
stops up your ears like clay.

But look! the night that is my body
is filled with light and warmth and space and color
only you may not see me --
for your killing and your being killed
have closed your eyes with darkness.

But breathe, taste, touch! -- for wind and wine and wonder,
all are mine and given out for all.
only you may not have them --
for your killing and your being killed
inure you to delight.

And is it not enough that life will take you
sometime when you expect a little more?
and is the best death not the one I give you --
to fall from the cliff when sunset is just ending,
to be struck by lightning, to die in the arms of life --
or in the arms of age, with tired breathing?

And is this not enough? Why would you take life?
As if the earth could tell you two apart
when your footsteps fall the same upon her skin!

And each man's body feels her as a lover
and each man's arms reach out to draw her nearer
and each man's lips are shaped to call her name
and each man's bones fall to the earth like kindling
and each man's eyes are sunken, dry and dead.

and each man's life has ended -- still she dances
and each man's life is finished -- yet she sings,
filling the air with sparks and sounds and movement,
emptying space, filling the sky again....

[Todash]

Todash, your book sounds very much like my book of children's poetry. My mom read to us out of it until we were old enough to read ourselves (and as the oldest, I had lots of chances to hear her read to my sibs--and then I read from it to my daughter). The book was the 1st in the Childcraft series, so we always called the "The Number One Book." One of my most cherished possessions, too, along with the Winnie-the-Pooh books.

That's it!!! The Childcraft series, but we only had the first book. I had a chance to pick up the whole series in a thrift store years ago and didn't, and I could kick myself. I loved the illustrations; they were terrific, oily and robust. I didn't figure out what a counterpane was until many years later, though. :D

[BlackThorn]

Oooo dragafari, that one is neat. Of course, now I have that Sublime song stuck in my head... and come to think of it, I should have a good crystal ball at this point in my life... A roomate I used to have had a crystal ball that was given to her by her grandmother, and it was really cool, although I don't believe I ever attempted scrying with it. I don't really do formal rules to religions, probably for the same reasons I never have too much fun when forced into formal functions and such. (This tie hurts my neck, and I don't want to bother with figuring out which fork goes with which food item, can we go home yet?) But that stuff does sound kinda cool... =0) [oooo, these next couple poems are really good...]

Dama flood [10/30]


ANTHEM

Visit what graves you will, right or wrong --
soldiers of terror, tombs of the oppressed,
mass-plowings-under where plagues ran loose
or monumental chambers where the powerful lie,
and you will hear the same bones beating coffin-lids,
the same skulls wailing and the same words
in an eerie Pentecost, tongues of flame
where tongues of flesh decayed.

Never to see the sun again
never to walk beside the sea
never to hold our children
never to touch the grass
never, never, never, the song of death, never --
all sing the same, once they are gone,
to tell us as we walk above their beds:
live while you can,
carpe that old diem, baby, quick before nightfall,
flesh soon decays, then nothing's left but bone
and unfulfilled desires.

Oh, the dead would willingly give up their rusting artifacts
to wade again in a river in April, to lie on the banks
chewing sourgrass and wondering at their toes.

Every forgotten warrior, every remembered king
lies there fleshless and angry, under the grass,
innocent (at last) of dialectic,
knowing only what they do not have,
and not at all worried about flags.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [11/30]


MAY EVE

The world between worlds
opens its petals
glowing with other-light,
like all the possibilities
glimpsed,
not truly seen
but for this night
real
and scented
with tomorrow.

[BlackThorn]

Dama flood [12/30]


CROW'S WING AND SILENCE

Dare dream -- some mist surrounds your wish.

Spirit leads over water.

Can you not follow?

Sails of ancestral ships tattered
while pillage dyed the earth
now at white-shadowed rest.

Look beyond ocean for silver,
for crow's wing and silence.

The stones yet remember your heart-song.

Fare well.

[BlackThorn]

My favorite is "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes...

I'm guessing this is the same story, only, a different poem? This is the only one I've heard, and it is one of my favorite Lorenna McKennett songs. Just the way she sings "moonlight" "Highwayman", and "long black hair", move me well.

The Highwayman - Lorenna McKennett

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon the cloudy seas
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding,
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark innyard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way.

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of the perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet waves in the moonlight!)
He tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come at the dawning; he did not come at noon,
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at the casement, with muskets at their side!
there was death at every window, hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement,
The road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"now keep good watch!" And they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say
"Look for me by the moonlight, watch for me by the moonlight
I'll come to thee by the moonlight, though hell shall bar the way!"

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness and the hours crawled by like years!
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

Tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horses hoofs ring clear
Tlot-tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming!
She stood up straight and still!

Tlot in the frosty silence! Tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment! She drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know she stood
bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it; his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter, the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

And back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were the spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
when they shot him down on the highway, down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

Still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon, tossed upon the cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding, riding, riding,
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door