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DividedQuantum
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Post a poem you like 4
#24080097 - 02/10/17 04:34 PM (7 years, 1 month ago) |
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Any poem by any poet that you enjoy, post it here. It can be a fragment or an entire work; whatever you wish. I'll start with...
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
The Hollow Men
A penny for the Old Guy
I
We are the hollow men We are the stuffed men Leaning together Headpiece filled with straw. Alas! Our dried voices, when We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour, Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom Remember us—if at all—not as lost Violent souls, but only As the hollow men The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams In death's dream kingdom These do not appear: There, the eyes are Sunlight on a broken column There, is a tree swinging And voices are In the wind's singing More distant and more solemn Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer In death's dream kingdom Let me also wear Such deliberate disguises Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves In a field Behaving as the wind behaves No nearer—
Not that final meeting In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land This is cactus land Here the stone images Are raised, here they receive The supplication of a dead man's hand Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this In death's other kingdom Waking alone At the hour when we are Trembling with tenderness Lips that would kiss Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here There are no eyes here In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless The eyes reappear As the perpetual star Multifoliate rose Of death's twilight kingdom The hope only Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear Prickly pear prickly pear Here we go round the prickly pear At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception And the creation Between the emotion And the response Falls the Shadow Life is very long
Between the desire And the spasm Between the potency And the existence Between the essence And the descent Falls the Shadow For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is Life is For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
--T.S. Eliot
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DividedQuantum
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The Builders by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky.
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DividedQuantum
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I'm Nobody! Who are you?
I'm nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell! They'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!
by Emily Dickinson
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DividedQuantum
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(from Henry V, spoken by King Henry)
by Wm. Shakespeare
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English. Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof! Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
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DividedQuantum
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The Leaden-Eyed by Vachel Lindsay
Let not young souls be smothered out before They do quaint deeds and fully flaunt their pride. It is the world's one crime its babes grow dull, Its poor are ox-like, limp and leaden-eyed. Not that they starve; but starve so dreamlessly, Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap, Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve, Not that they die, but that they die like sheep.
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DividedQuantum
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Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
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DividedQuantum
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from "When the Music's Over" by the Doors lyrics by Jim Morrison
What have they done to the earth? What have they done to our fair sister? Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn And tied her with fences and dragged her down
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DividedQuantum
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the way it is now
by Charles Bukowski
I'll tell you I've lived with some gorgeous women and I was so bewitched by those beautiful creatures that my eyebrows twitched.
but I'd rather drive to New York backwards than to live with any of them again.
the next classic stupidity will be the history of those fellows who inherit my female legacies.
in their case as in mine they will find that madness is caused by not being often enough alone.
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Camwritesgonzo
The Unflushable Stool
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Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
-------------------- "I've always maintained that reality is for those who can't face drugs."-Tom Waits "I feel the same way about disco as I feel about herpes."-Hunter S. Thompson A squid eating dough in a polyethylene bag is fast and bulbous, got me?
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DividedQuantum
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Father William
by Lewis Carroll
“YOU are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head – Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, “I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door – Pray, what is the reason of that?”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, “I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment – one shilling the box – Allow me to sell you a couple?”
“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak – Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose – What made you so awfully clever?”
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,” Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you downstairs!”
-------------------- Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici
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graceful dragon
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Fucking genius, that. Thanks for posting, (and I'll read the others, too). I'm sure I'll drop in here, from time to time..
Great thread.
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graceful dragon
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The Erlking, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Who rides so late through the wind and night? It’s a father with his child so light: He clasps the boy close in his arms, Holds him fast, and keeps him warm.
‘My son, why hide your face, all scared? – ‘Don’t you see, Father, the Erlking’s there, The Alder-King with his crown and robe?’ – ‘My son, it’s the trail of mist that flows’. –
‘Come, dear child, come along with me! The games we’ll play will be fine and lovely: There’s many a bright flower by the water, Many gold garments has my Mother.’
‘And Father, my Father, can’t you hear What the Erlking’s whispering in my ear?’ – ‘Peace, peace, my child, you’re listening To those dry leaves rustling in the wind.’-
‘Fine lad, won’t you come along with me? My lovely daughters your slaves shall be: My daughters dance every night, and they Will rock you, sing you, dance you away.’
‘And Father, my Father, can’t you see where The Erlking’s daughters stand shadowy there? – ‘My Son, my Son, I can see them plain: It’s the ancient Willow-trees shining grey.’
‘I love you, I’m charmed by your lovely form: And if you’re not willing, I’ll have to use force.’ ‘Father, my Father, he’s gripped me at last! The Erlking’s hurting me, holding me fast! –
The Father shudders, faster he rides, Holding the moaning child so tight, Reaching the house, in fear and dread: But in his arms the child lies dead.
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DividedQuantum
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Fantastic!
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graceful dragon
omni-love
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Thanks. Here's another version, I just typed this one out from a song -- Steve Gillette.
Who rides through the night so dark and wild? The father rides with his own fearful child: The boy he holds so close in his arms; He guards him safely, he keeps him warm. 'Why do you hide your face as in fear?' -- 'Father don't you see the Erlking is here? He calls to me with a crown and a shroud;' -- 'No, my son, that's nothing but a passing cloud' The Erlking beckons to the terrified boy, 'You must come with me. I'll give you jewels And wealth untold, You'll walk in robes Of bright and shining gold.' 'Father, Father, do you not hear? The Erlking whispering low in my ear?' -- 'Hush now, rest ye, it's nothing my child But the trees and the night wind playing their melody wild.' The Erlking says, 'Oh come with me, And my own fair daughters will wait on thee A heavenly vigil o'er your cradle they'll keep, Tenderly sing and rock you to sleep.' 'Father, Father, see them there: The Erlking's daughters bright shining hair,' -- 'No, my son, there are no fair maids, Nothing but the willows that wave in the glade.' Clutching the reins in his trembling hand, With pain and despair that he can't understand, Alone on the road with the stars overhead, Fearful and hopeless, the boy in his arms is dead. To the trees in the night wind he cries aloud. Seeks out the face of death in every passing cloud Down in the meadow where the boys' grave it lay Nothing but the willows that wave in the glade.
video of course is a montage, I usually like to listen it without them at least once.. idk.
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graceful dragon
omni-love
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Sonnets to Orpheus, by R. M. Rilke (tr. C.F.MacIntyre) 1. A tree arose. O pure transcendence! O Orpheus sings! O tall tree within the ear! And all was silent. Yet in that silence pulsed new genesis, new signaling, new change.
Creatures of stillness thronged out of the clear disentangled forest, from nest and lair; and it wasn't cunning, wasn't heed or fright that put such softness into their step,
but listening. Bellow, shriek and roar seemed small inside their hearts. And where once there'd scarcely been a hut to take this in,
a hidden refuge made of darkest longing with an entranceway whose branches shook,-- you built temples for them in your hearing.
2. And almost a girl it was and came forth from this glad unity of song and lyre and shone brightly through her springtime veils and made herself a bed within my ear.
And slept in me. And all things were her sleep. The trees I forever marvel at, these palpable distances, the deep-felt meadows, and an entire life's astonishments.
She slept the world. Singing god, how did you so perfect her that she never once had need to be awake? Look, she arose and slept.
Where is her death? Ah, will you introduce that theme before your song expires?-- I can feel her drifting off. . . to where? . . . a girl almost. . .
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DividedQuantum
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Beautiful.
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DividedQuantum
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Two theologues once, as they wended their way To chapel, engaged in colloquial fray -- An earnest logomachy, bitter as gall, Concerning poor Adam and what made him fall. "'Twas Predestination," cried one -- "for the Lord Decreed he should fall of his own accord." "Not so -- 'twas Free will," the other maintained, "Which led him to choose what the Lord had ordained." So fierce and so fiery grew the debate That nothing but bloodshed their dudgeon could sate; So off flew their cassocks and caps to the ground And, moved by the spirit, their hands went round. Ere either had proved his theology right By winning, or even beginning, the fight, A gray old professor of Latin came by, A staff in his hand and a scowl in his eye, And learning the cause of their quarrel (for still As they clumsily sparred they disputed with skill Of foreordinational freedom of will) Cried: "Sirrahs! this reasonless warfare compose: Atwixt ye's no difference worthy of blows. The sects ye belong to -- I'm ready to swear Ye wrongly interpret the names that they bear. You -- Infralapsarian son of a clown! -- Should only contend that Adam slipped down; While you -- you Supralapsarian pup! -- Should nothing aver but that Adam slipped up. It's all the same whether up or down You slip on a peel of banana brown. Even Adam analyzed not his blunder, But thought he had slipped on a peal of thunder!
--Ambrose Bierce, from The Devil's Dictionary
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graceful dragon
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From on the wall of my father's small town bus station:
"I cannot hope to run the train: The whistle, I can't blow. I'm not allowed to say how far The the railroad cars can go. I'm not allowed to shoot off steam Nor even clang the bell, But let the damn thing jump the track, And see who catches hell!"
Here's one I memorized as a kid: this one I plagiarized and got credit for in school..
With legs so short and far apart, A duck just doesn't have the art Of stepping out and looking smart.
But when it steps into the pond, A place of which he's very fond, And swims into the blue beyond;
With strokes so swift and far and fine, In such a straight, un-splashy line, I'd almost trade his legs for mine.
I forget the author and title (maybe, a duck?) Here's another one that I did.. Of course this one is all over the internet now....
I can see what you see not— Vision milky, then eyes rot. When you turn, they will be gone, Whispering their hidden song.
Then you see what cannot be— Shadows move where light should be. Out of darkness, out of mind, Cast down into the Halls of the Blind.
they believed me but were a little concerned. They thought i was a good poet. i chose them well... believable. was a good liar so later on i tried to not lie.. for quite a few years i was strenuous about it, in improving.. i had to.. and i think i succeeded.. it's important, as one's word - reputation - is more significant than i thought at first. but i got there for sure - anyway that one is from Diablo 1. i didn't think it was possible to plagiarize The Raven... and I wouldn't, but if i could have gotten away with it, who knows? I was a pretty amoral child, I guess.
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graceful dragon
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Song of Hiawatha
By the shore of gitche gumee By the shining big-sea-water At the doorway of the wigwam In the early summer morning
Hiawatha stood and waited All the air was full of freshness All the earth was bright and joyous And before him through the sunshine
Westward toward the neighbouring forest Passed in golden swams, the ahmo Passed the bees, the honey-makers Burning, singing in the sunshine
Bright above him shone the heavens Level spread the lake before him; From it's bosom leaped the sturgeon Sparkling, flashing in the sunshine
On it's margin the great forest Stood reflected in the water Every tree-top had it's shadow Motionless beneath the water
From the bow of hiawatha Gone was every trace of sorrow As the fog from off the water As the mist of the meadow
With a smile of joy and gladness With a look of exultation As of one who in a vision Sees what is to be, but is not
Stood and waited hiawatha Toward the sun his hands were lifted Both the palms spread out towards it And between the parted fingers
Feel the sunshine on his features Flecked with light his naked shoulders As it falls and flecks an oak-tree Through the rifted leaves and branches
O'er the water floating, flying Something in the hazy distance Something in the mist of morning Loomed and lifted from the water
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying Coming nearer, nearer, nearer Was it shingebis, the diver? Or the pelican, the shada?
Or the heron, the shuh-shuh-gah? Or the white goose, waw-be-wawa, With the water dripping, flashing From it's glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither goose or diver Neither pelican nor heron O'er the water floating, flying Through the shining mist of morning
But a birch canoe with paddles Rising, sinking in the sunshine Dripping, flashing in the sunshine And within it came a people
Can it be the sun descending O'er the level plain of water Or the red swan floatin, flying Wounded by the magic arrow
Staining all the waves with crimson With the crimson of it's lifeblood Filling all the air with splendour Filling all the air with plumage
Yes, it is the sun descending Sinking down into the water All the sky is stained with purple All the water flushed with crimson!
No, it is the red swan floating Diving down beneath the water To the sky it's wings are lifted With it's blood the waves are reddened!
Over it the star of evening Melts and trembles through the purple Hangs suspended in the twilight Walks in silence through the heavens!
(h. w. longfellow. vocals: maddy prior)
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pachoo
Witchakookoo
Registered: 09/10/10
Posts: 7,135
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I really enjoy E.H. poems...
You may not believe in magic, But don't you think it strange, The amount of matter in our universe, Has never slightly changed, That all which makes your body, Was once part of something more, And every breath you ever breathe, Has seen it all before, There are countless scores of beauty, In all the things that you despise, It could once have been a shooting star, That now makes up your thighs, And atoms of forgotten life, Who've long since ceased to roam, May now have the great honour, To call your crooked smile their home, You may not believe in magic, But I thought that you should know, The makings of your heart were born, Fourteen billion years ago, So next time you feel lonely, When this world makes you feel small, Just remember that it's part of you, And you're part of it all.
She told me that the ocean, Had been calling out her name, When the tide went out each evening, She felt like she should do the same, The waves tugged at her ankles, As they pooled around her feet, Whispering of wonders, That she still was yet to meet, But every time I asked her, If she knew the reason why, She simply said this arid world, Had turned her deep heart dry, There was just one way she knew of, To finally feel like she was free, And it was 14,000 feet, Beneath the cold and stormy sea, Then early in November, She slipped like water from our hands, Left nothing of her salty breath, Or footprints in the sand, And I hope she found the ocean, Made up for things this world had lacked, For she left a note to say goodbye, And then never came back.
They witnessed her destruction, Then were left to wonder why, She saw nothing but darkness, Though the stars shone in her eyes, But maybe they'd forgotten, When they failed to see the cracks, That a star's light shines the brightest, When it's starting to collapse.
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