Poetry in Motion

Discussion in 'SHH Community Forum' started by Abaddon, Oct 4, 2005.

  1. unknownuser nuʞuoʍunsǝɹ

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    I AM RESTLESS

    by: Rabindranath Tagore

    I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
    My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
    O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
    I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

    I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
    Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
    Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
    O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
    I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

    I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
    In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
    O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
    I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!
    -------------------------------


    DESIRE

    by: Sumon Chatterji

    In the depths of my darkness - I want you
    At the passing of night - I want you
    In the innocence of dawn - I want you
    In the languour of evening - I want you.

    In the thundering monsoon-storm - I want you
    In the dark clouds of July - I want you
    In this respiteless rain - I want you
    Amid these festival drums - I want you.

    In the ancient streets of this ancient city
    Amid faces old and new, windows dark and gritty
    In the tired footsteps of countless processions
    A glimpse of unexpected leisure - I want you.

    In the daily grind of city life - I want you
    At every passing peaceful moment - I want you
    In the weariness of a long walk - I want you
    In what was left unsaid - I want you

    In the fierce determination of my birthright
    In the rebel colours of my painting all night
    In the svelte poetry of rhyme and language
    In the stark prose of reason, hopes of a new age
    In the everlasting dream of classless society
    In my hunger for change, more spontaneity
    In the dreams - that these days of doubt will pass
    In sleep and in awakening - in the calls to end class!

    Amid unrest and revolution - I want you
    Amid impossible tumult - I want you
    Amid war, amid peace - I want you
    Amid my rudderless confusion - I want you.

    First of all, I want you.
    Second of all, I want you.
    Third of all, I want you.
    And last of all, I want you.
     
  2. JLBats The boney king of nowhere

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    Cranberry Sauce,
    In a box by the window,
    Touch,
    Jiggle,
    The woman wants me,
    She doesn't even scream as I remove her violin,
    And play it,
    The orchestra comes in on the 53rd note,
    I kill the maestro,
    He's so useless,
    And what's with toast and ketchup?
    You know I liked my hot dog plain
     
  3. Wilhelm-Scream Registered

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    yeah, well try google-fighting Carrot Top against the actual head of the Illuminati, the single most powerful, impossibly brilliant homo-superior that rules the entire world with invisible tendrils.
    Carrot Top will win that fight.
    It means little.
     
  4. Abaddon Watching

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    Whose the head of the Illumnati? :confused:
     
  5. Orpheus Registered

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    Night falls
    I fall
    And where were you?
    Where were you?
    Warm skin
    Wolf grin
    And where were you?

    I fell into the moon
    And it covered you in blue
    I fell into the moon
    Can I make it right?
    Can I stand the night

    High tide
    Inside
    The air is dew
    And where were you
    Wild-eyed
    I died
    And where were you?

    I crawled out of the world
    When you said I shouldn’t start
    I crawled out of the world
    Can I make it right
    Can I spend the night
    Alone
     
  6. Abaddon Watching

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    Dover Beach - Matthew Arnold

    The sea is calm tonight.
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits;—on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in.

    Sophocles long ago
    Heard it on the Aegean, and it brought
    Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
    Of human misery; we
    Find also in the sound a thought,
    Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

    The Sea of Faith
    Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
    Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
    But now I only hear
    Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
    Retreating, to the breath
    Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
    And naked shingles of the world.

    Ah, love, let us be true
    To one another! For the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain
    Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
    Where ignorant armies clash by night.
     
  7. bored One Sexy Lemur

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    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 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.

    "And Death Shall Have No Dominion". aka "Dylan Thomas makes Death his *****".
     
  8. DBella Seducente/Mortale

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    I dreamed I spoke in another's language,
    I dreamed I lived in another's skin,
    I dreamed I was my own beloved,
    I dreamed I was a tiger's kin.

    I dreamed that Eden lived inside me,
    And when I breathed a garden came,
    I dreamed I knew all of Creation,
    I dreamed I knew the Creator's name.

    I dreamed -and this dream was the finest-
    That all I dreamed was real and true,
    And we would live in joy forever,
    You in me, and me in you.

    ~Clive Barker (Abarat: Days of Magic, Nights of War)
     
  9. DBella Seducente/Mortale

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    I enjoy this very much, Abaddon. :up: Thanks for sharing. :)
     
  10. Abaddon Watching

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    Nice one bored.:up:



    You are very welcome.:)


    Since today is the anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe's death,lets honor him some:

    The Raven

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    “‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
    Only this, and nothing more."

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
    Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    “‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
    This it is, and nothing more."

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”
    Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
    ‘Tis the wind and nothing more.”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door—
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before—
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
    Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore—
    Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling my sad 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—
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
    Respite—respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!—
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
    On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
    Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!
    By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

    “Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting—”
    Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
    Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
    floor;
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted—nevermore!
     
  11. doih Registered

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    Life
    imitates nature,
    always moving, traveling continuously.
    Falling leaves placed delicately;
    foliage touching the echoing waters,
    clarity removed -
    Reflections distorted through waves rippling;
    gracefully dancing
    mirrored images

    images mirrored.
    Dancing gracefully,
    rippling waves through distorted reflections -
    removed clarity.
    Waters echoing the touching foliage;
    delicately placed leaves falling -
    continuously traveling, moving always,
    nature imitates
    life.
     
  12. bored One Sexy Lemur

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    The Valley of Unrest by EAP (or possibly Lou Reed, it seems)


    Far away far away
    Are not all lovely things far away
    As far at least lies that valley
    as the bedridden sun in the luminous east
    The paralyzed mountains, the sickly river
    Are not all things lovely far away
    Are not all things lovely far away

    It is a valley where time is not interrupted
    Where its history shall not be interpreted
    Stories of satan's dart of angel wings
    Unhappy things
    Within the valley of unrest

    The sun ray dripped all red
    The dell was silent
    All the people having gone to war
    Leaving no interrogator to mind
    the willful looting the pale past knowledge
    The sly mysterious stars
    The unguarded flowers leaning
    The tulips overhead paler
    The terror stricken sky
    Rolling like a waterfall
    over the horizon's fiery wall
    A visage full of meaning

    How the unhappy shall confess
    As Roderick watches like a human eye
    While violets and lilies wave
    Like banners in the sky
    Hovering over and above a grave
    As dew drops on the freshly planted eternal dew
    Coming down in gems
    There's no use to pretend
    Though gorgeous clouds fly
    Roderick, like the human eye has closed forever
    Far away far away

    Roderick, whatever thy image may be
    Roderick, no magic shall sever the music from thee
    Thou hast bound many eyes in a dreamy sleep
    Oh tortured day
    The strains still arrive
    I hear the bells
    I have kept my vigilance
    Rain dancing in the rhythm of a shower
    Over what guilty spirit to not hear the beating
    To not hear the beating heart
    But only tears of perfect moan
    Only tears of perfect moan
     
  13. bored One Sexy Lemur

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    actually, there seem to be two "Valley of Unrest"s, in some way or another. Here's the other one:

    Once it smiled a silent dell
    Where the people did not dwell;
    They had gone unto the wars,
    Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
    Nightly, from their azure towers,
    To keep watch above the flowers,
    In the midst of which all day
    The red sunlight lazily lay.
    Now each visitor shall confess
    The sad valley's restlessness.
    Nothing there is motionless-
    Nothing save the airs that brood
    Over the magic solitude.
    Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
    That palpitate like the chill seas
    Around the misty Hebrides!
    Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
    That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
    Uneasily, from morn till even,
    Over the violets there that lie
    In myriad types of the human eye-
    Over the lilies there that wave
    And weep above a nameless grave!
    They wave:- from out their fragrant tops
    Eternal dews come down in drops.
    They weep:- from off their delicate stems
    Perennial tears descend in gems.
     
  14. Abaddon Watching

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    Never heard that one...or two,rather.:confused:
     
  15. bored One Sexy Lemur

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    i discovered the first one on "the raven", a lou reed album from a year or two ago based entirely around the works of edgar allen poe. in between the songs, there would be an occasional recitation of a poem, and one of them was "valley of unrest" in the form i first posted. thing is, when i actually went to look it up online i got that other one. the first, from the album, doesn't really sound like something reed would write, more an actual poe work, and i don't see the point in naming it after one of his works just to be something completely different, so i don't know what the deal is, exactly.
     
  16. Abaddon Watching

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    maybe one of the poems is by a different author.
     
  17. bored One Sexy Lemur

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    i'm wondering if the one from "the raven" may have actually been written by lou reed, just as his retelling of it. while it isn't really his style, he is a talented enough writer that i suppose he could pull it off.
     
  18. Abaddon Watching

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    that seems more likely.I dont see why Poe would write two different poems and give them the same title.
     
  19. JLBats The boney king of nowhere

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    I try to hold my family together,
    But Uncle Sid's balloon pops,
    It all falls apart,
    And I eat the chunks with a grin,
    Uncle Sid doesn't particularly like me,
    I think he might be a pedophile,
    Because he likes mustard,
    A horseradish dreams are attacking me,
    I should learn how to progress the plot,
    But it might dig a hole,
    I won't know where I am anymore,
     
  20. Franklin Richards Registered

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    SONNET 130
    My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
    Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
    If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
    If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
    I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
    But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
    And in some perfumes is there more delight
    Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
    I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
    That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
    I grant I never saw a goddess go;
    My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
    And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
    As any she belied with false compare.



    :thing: :doom: :thing:
     
  21. C.F. Kane Registered

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    I should probably resond in character, so here goes:

    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.

    - Samuel Talylor Coleridge

    What the hell. I'll post my real favorite poem now:

    A long, long time ago I can still remember how that music used to make me smile and I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while but February made me shiver with every paper I delivered, bad news on the door step, I couldn't take one more step, I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride but something touched me deep inside, the day, the music, died. So...

    Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.


    Did you write the book of love and do you have faith in God above, if the bible tells you so, and do you believe in rock n' roll, can music save your mortal soul and can you teach me how to dance real slow? Well I know that you're in love with him cuz I saw you dancin in the gym you both kicked off your shoes and I dig those rhythm and blues. I was a lonely teenage bronkin buck with a pink carnation and a pick up truck but I knew I was out of luck, the day, the music, died. I started singin...

    Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.

    Now for ten years we've been on our own and moss grows fat on a rollin stone but that's not how it used to be, when the jester sang for the king and queen in a coat he borrowed from James Dean and a voice that came from you and me, oh and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown the courtroom was adjourned, no verdict was returned, and while Lenin read a book on Marx, the quartet practiced in the park and we sang dirges in the dark, the day, the music, died. We were singin...

    Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.

    Helter Skelter in a summer swelter the birds flew off with a fallout shelter, eight miles high and fallin fast, its the land that falled on the grass the players tried for a forward pass with the jester on the sidelines in a cast, now the half-time air was sweet perfume while the sergeants played a marching tune we all got up to dance oh but we never got the chance oh as the players tried to take the field the marching band refused to yield do you recall what was revealed, the day, the music, died. We started singin...

    Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.

    Oh and there we were all in one place, a generation lost in space with no time left to start again, so come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack Flash sat on a candle stick because fire is the devils only friend, oh and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clinched in fists of rage, no angel born in hell could break that satan's spell and as the planes climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial right I saw satan laughing with delight, the day, the music, died. He was singin...

    Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die, this will be the day that I die.

    I met a girl who sang the blues and I asked her for some happy news but she just smiled and turned away, I went down to the sacred store where I'd heard the music years before but the man there said the music wouldn't play and in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed but not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken and the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, they caught the last train for the coast, the day, the music, died, and they were singin... They were singin... Bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levy but the levy was dry an them good ol' boys were drinkin whiskey and rye singin this will be the day that I die.
     
  22. Abaddon Watching

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    Shakespeare's ode to the unattractive.:o:up:
     
  23. bored One Sexy Lemur

    Joined:
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    Here I sit/ Broken hearted
    Came to ****/ But only farted
     
  24. Abaddon Watching

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    She Walks in Beauty-Lord Byron

    She walks in Beauty, like the night
    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
    And all that's best of dark and bright
    Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
    Thus mellowed to that tender light
    Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

    One shade the more, one ray the less,
    Had half impaired the nameless grace
    Which waves in every raven tress,
    Or softly lightens o'er her face;
    Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

    And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
    The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
    But tell of days in goodness spent,
    A mind at peace with all below,
    A heart whose love is innocent!
     

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