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  • And probably more of her stuff.



    The Highwayman

    The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
    The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
    The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
    And the highwayman came riding--
    Riding--riding--
    The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

    ***

    ~ Alfred Noyes
    Post edited by iuventus at 2015-05-09 00:19:26
    If I were dead, could I do this?


  • In he bleak midwinter
                        
    In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
    Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
    Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
    In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

    Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
    Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
    In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
    The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

    Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
    Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
    Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
    The ox and ass and camel which adore.

    Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
    Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
    But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
    Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.

    What can I give Him, poor as I am?
    If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
    If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
    Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

    ~ Christina Rossetti
    If I were dead, could I do this?


  • At Twilight

    Hand in hand we've each walked
    In times of loneliness, in times of Joy.
    On the still highlands now
    We rest our well-traveled bones.

    Toward us the valleys reach.
    Above us, the heavens grow dim;
    Yet, two larks rise higher and higher
    Into the dream of he final glow of evening.

    Hold close; let them fly away;
    For, sleep is soon to come.
    We musn't depart unaccompanied
    Into a solitary darkness.

    The peace--so vast, so silent!
    So profound in this blood-red twilight!
    Is it that we've become weary of life,
    Or could this, in fact, be Death?

    ~ Joseph von Eichendorff
    Post edited by iuventus at 2015-05-11 00:45:52
    If I were dead, could I do this?
  • There are some beauties on here- :-bd

    The Me Bird

    I am the Pablo Bird,
    bird of a single feather,
    a flier in the clear shadow
    and obscure clarity,
    my wings are unseen,
    my ears resound
    when I walk among the trees
    or beneath the tombstones
    like an unlucky umbrella
    or a naked sword,
    stretched like a bow
    or round like a grape,
    I fly on and on not knowing,
    wounded in the dark night,
    who is waiting for me,
    who does not want my song,
    who desires my death,
    who will not know I'm arriving
    and will not come to subdue me,
    to bleed me, to twist me,
    or to kiss my clothes,
    torn by the shrieking wind.

    That's why I come and go,
    fly and don't fly but sing:
    I am the furious bird
    of the calm storm.

    -Pablo Neruda

    Some art inspired by it- http://youtu.be/tt5CL5zQTVM

    Making of it- http://youtu.be/FZ6Fyyu0CR8
    Post edited by Ponygurl at 2015-05-12 00:22:38
    U R I E L
  • "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley

    Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods may be
    For my unconquerable soul.

    In the fell clutch of circumstance
    I have not winced nor cried aloud.
    Under the bludgeonings of chance
    My head is bloody, but unbowed.

    Beyond this place of wrath and tears
    Looms but the Horror of the shade,
    And yet the menace of the years
    Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

    It matters not how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll.
    I am the master of my fate:
    I am the captain of my soul.

  • This is a lovely thread to wake up to! Nice idea Pony.
    LOVE tasted CRITICAL
  • "A grain of sand" by Robert William Service

    If starry space no limit knows
    And sun succeeds to sun,
    There is no reason to suppose
    Our earth the only one.
    'Mid countless constellations cast
    A million worlds may be,
    With each a God to bless or blast
    And steer to destiny.

    Just think! A million gods or so
    To guide each vital stream,
    With over all to boss the show
    A Deity supreme.
    Such magnitudes oppress my mind;
    From cosmic space it swings;
    So ultimately glad to find
    Relief in little things.

    For look! Within my hollow hand,
    While round the earth careens,
    I hold a single grain of sand
    And wonder what it means.
    Ah! If I had the eyes to see,
    And brain to understand,
    I think Life's mystery might be
    Solved in this grain of sand.

  • This is a poem that has meant a lot to me in recent years.

    Wild Geese

    Mary Oliver

    You do not have to be good
    You do not have to walk on your knees
    For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
    You only have to let the soft anima
    l of your body
    love what it loves.

    Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
    Meanwhile the world goes on.
    Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
    are moving across the landscapes,
    over the prairies and the deep trees,
    the mountains and the rivers.
    Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
    are heading home again.

    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
    the world offers itself to your imagination,
    calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
    over and over announcing your place
    in the family of things.
  • Interesting to see the grain of sand poem by Service, WW. I have always imagined that the Black Cherry lyric is derived from Blake's "Augeries of Innocence"

    ...To see a World in a Grain of Sand
    And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
    Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
    And Eternity in an hour...
  • Interesting that you noticed, Wi, it crossed my mind when reading it, but I really think you are right.  "Auguries of Innocence" seems much more likely to be the source.  Though I am extremely preferential of rhyming poetry, I really liked "Wild Geese".  It has a nice touch.
  • Lord Ullin's Daughter by Thomas Campbell

    A chieftain, to the Highlands bound,
    Cries, ``Boatman, do not tarry!
    And I'll give thee a silver pound
    To row us o'er the ferry!''--

    ``Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
    This dark and stormy weather?''
    ``O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
    And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.--

    ``And fast before her father's men
    Three days we've fled together,
    For should he find us in the glen,
    My blood would stain the heather.

    ``His horsemen hard behind us ride;
    Should they our steps discover,
    Then who will cheer my bonny bride
    When they have slain her lover?''--

    Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,--
    ``I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:--
    It is not for your silver bright;
    But for your winsome lady:

    ``And by my word! the bonny bird
    In danger shall not tarry;
    So, though the waves are raging white,
    I'll row you o'er the ferry.''--

    By this the storm grew loud apace,
    The water-wraith was shrieking;
    And in the scowl of heaven each face
    Grew dark as they were speaking.

    But still as wilder blew the wind,
    And as the night grew drearer,
    Adown the glen rode armèd men,
    Their trampling sounded nearer.--

    ``O haste thee, haste!'' the lady cries,
    ``Though tempests round us gather;
    I'll meet the raging of the skies,
    But not an angry father.''--

    The boat has left a stormy land,
    A stormy sea before her,--
    When, O! too strong for human hand,
    The tempest gather'd o'er her.

    And still they row'd amidst the roar
    Of waters fast prevailing:
    Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,--
    His wrath was changed to wailing.

    For, sore dismay'd through storm and shade,
    His child he did discover:--
    One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
    And one was round her lover.

    ``Come back! come back!'' he cried in grief
    ``Across this stormy water:
    And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
    My daughter!--O my daughter!''

    'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore,
    Return or aid preventing:
    The waters wild went o'er his child,
    And he was left lamenting.

  • @ 1:35 (Tweaked by D. Harry)

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore...

    Said the Raven, "Nevermore!"


    If I were dead, could I do this?
  • Not strictly poetry but the lyric of a great song with a very progressive and unusual structure. No chorus or middle 8, just what seems to be a never ending chorus. The words are inspired by the Tibetan Book of the Dead. If you want to hear what it sounds like set to music, go to the What are you listening to now thread.

    Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream
    It is not dying, it is not dying
    Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void
    It is shining, it is shining

    Yet you may see the meaning of within
    It is being, it is being
    Love is all and love is everyone
    It is knowing, it is knowing

    And ignorance and hate mourn the dead
    It is believing, it is believing
    But listen to the colour of your dreams
    It is not leaving, it is not leaving

    So play the game "Existence" to the end
    Of the beginning, of the beginning
    Of the beginning, of the beginning
    Of the beginning, of the beginning
    Of the beginning, of the beginning
    Post edited by Urban_Tribesman at 2015-05-29 20:20:20
    The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ.
    Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit.
    Shall lure it back to cancal half a line,
    Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
  • Self-limiting

    Where the limits of this place in which we spend our time
    Encumbered by the concrete and the endless paradigm
    What limits, that restraint of bonds, when chains of life unlock
    How many of the dungeons walls are fictions of the clock
    A ray is cast upon the floor from crack within the wall
    A color felt, a rhythm seen, sets free enchanting call
    Transformation, once again, removes the mortars hold
    To crumble all the shattered walls as sanities unfold
    The resolutions that we reach are tales of wit and wag
    Intuition leads to life beyond the broken crag
    Look back upon the crumbled walls, surprise at what is wrought
    A pile of dust, insights unique, and tales of lessons taught
    Post edited by Whickwithy at 2015-06-14 12:22:34
  • A bather whose clothing was strewed


    By winds that left her quite nude

    Saw a man come along

    And unless we are wrong

    You expected this line to be lewd.

    - Anonymous



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