Poetry in Motion

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

  1. bored One Sexy Lemur

    Sep 18, 2003
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    145Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood,
    146 Next a marsh, it would seem, and now mere earth
    147 Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth,
    148Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood
    149Changes and off he goes!) within a rood--
    150 Bog, clay and rubble, sand and stark black dearth.

    151Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim,
    152 Now patches where some leanness of the soil's
    153 Broke into moss or substances like boils;
    154Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him
    155Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim
    156 Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils.

    157And just as far as ever from the end!
    158 Nought in the distance but the evening, nought
    159 To point my footstep further! At the thought,
    160A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom-friend,
    161Sailed past, nor beat his wide wing dragon-penned
    162 That brushed my cap--perchance the guide I sought.

    163For, looking up, aware I somehow grew,
    164 'Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place
    165 All round to mountains--with such name to grace
    166Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view.
    167How thus they had surprised me,--solve it, you!
    168 How to get from them was no clearer case.

    169Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick
    170 Of mischief happened to me, God knows when--
    171 In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then,
    172Progress this way. When, in the very nick
    173Of giving up, one time more, came a click
    174 As when a trap shuts--you're inside the den!

    175Burningly it came on me all at once,
    176 This was the place! those two hills on the right,
    177 Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight;
    178While to the left, a tall scalped mountain . . . Dunce,
    179Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce,
    180 After a life spent training for the sight!

    181What in the midst lay but the Tower itself?
    182 The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart
    183 Built of brown stone, without a counterpart
    184In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf
    185Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf
    186 He strikes on, only when the timbers start.

    187Not see? because of night perhaps?--why, day
    188 Came back again for that! before it left,
    189 The dying sunset kindled through a cleft:
    190The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay
    191Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay,--
    192 "Now stab and end the creature--to the heft!"

    193Not hear? when noise was everywhere! it tolled
    194 Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears
    195 Of all the lost adventurers my peers,--
    196How such a one was strong, and such was bold,
    197And such was fortunate, yet each of old
    198 Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years.

    199There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met
    200 To view the last of me, a living frame
    201 For one more picture! in a sheet of flame
    202I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
    203Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
    204 And blew. "Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came."
  2. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    Long poem,eh?Well take this:mad::
    Auguries of Innocence - William Blake

    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.
    A robin redbreast in a cage
    Puts all heaven in a rage.
    A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons
    Shudders hell through all its regions.
    A dog starved at his master's gate
    Predicts the ruin of the state.
    A horse misused upon the road
    Calls to heaven for human blood.
    Each outcry of the hunted hare
    A fibre from the brain does tear.
    A skylark wounded in the wing,
    A cherubim does cease to sing.
    The game-cock clipped and armed for fight
    Does the rising sun affright.
    Every wolf's and lion's howl
    Raises from hell a human soul.
    The wild deer wandering here and there
    Keeps the human soul from care.
    The lamb misused breeds public strife,
    And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
    The bat that flits at close of eve
    Has left the brain that won't believe.
    The owl that calls upon the night
    Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
    He who shall hurt the little wren
    Shall never be beloved by men.
    He who the ox to wrath has moved
    Shall never be by woman loved.
    The wanton boy that kills the fly
    Shall feel the spider's enmity.
    He who torments the chafer's sprite
    Weaves a bower in endless night.
    The caterpillar on the leaf
    Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
    Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
    For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.
    He who shall train the horse to war
    Shall never pass the polar bar.
    The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
    Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.
    The gnat that sings his summer's song
    Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
    The poison of the snake and newt
    Is the sweat of Envy's foot.
    The poison of the honey-bee
    Is the artist's jealousy.
    The prince's robes and beggar's rags
    Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
    A truth that's told with bad intent
    Beats all the lies you can invent.
    It is right it should be so:
    Man was made for joy and woe;
    And when this we rightly know
    Through the world we safely go.
    Joy and woe are woven fine,
    A clothing for the soul divine.
    Under every grief and pine
    Runs a joy with silken twine.
    The babe is more than swaddling bands,
    Throughout all these human lands;
    Tools were made and born were hands,
    Every farmer understands.
    Every tear from every eye
    Becomes a babe in eternity;
    This is caught by females bright
    And returned to its own delight.
    The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
    Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
    The babe that weeps the rod beneath
    Writes Revenge! in realms of death.
    The beggar's rags fluttering in air
    Does to rags the heavens tear.
    The soldier armed with sword and gun
    Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
    The poor man's farthing is worth more
    Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
    One mite wrung from the labourer's hands
    Shall buy and sell the miser's lands,
    Or if protected from on high
    Does that whole nation sell and buy.
    He who mocks the infant's faith
    Shall be mocked in age and death.
    He who shall teach the child to doubt
    The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
    He who respects the infant's faith
    Triumphs over hell and death.
    The child's toys and the old man's reasons
    Are the fruits of the two seasons.
    The questioner who sits so sly
    Shall never know how to reply.
    He who replies to words of doubt
    Doth put the light of knowledge out.
    The strongest poison ever known
    Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
    Nought can deform the human race
    Like to the armour's iron brace.
    When gold and gems adorn the plough
    To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.
    A riddle or the cricket's cry
    Is to doubt a fit reply.
    The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
    Make lame philosophy to smile.
    He who doubts from what he sees
    Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
    If the sun and moon should doubt,
    They'd immediately go out.
    To be in a passion you good may do,
    But no good if a passion is in you.
    The ****e and gambler, by the state
    Licensed, build that nation's fate.
    The harlot's cry from street to street
    Shall weave old England's winding sheet.
    The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
    Dance before dead England's hearse.
    Every night and every morn
    Some to misery are born.
    Every morn and every night
    Some are born to sweet delight.
    Some are born to sweet delight,
    Some are born to endless night.
    We are led to believe a lie
    When we see not through the eye
    Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
    When the soul slept in beams of light.
    God appears, and God is light
    To those poor souls who dwell in night,
    But does a human form display
    To those who dwell in realms of day.

    Another favorite of mine.Gotta love Blake.:up:
  3. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    Miscellaneous Feelings in the Sui Garden by YUan Mie

    Joy and anger are not caused by outside things:
    they simply happen to arise in the heart.
    Rising and falling are not matters of fate:
    one simply happens to encounter them.
    Reading a book and finding nothing there,
    I drop the volume, get up, and take a walk.
    I think I'll go to the bamboo grove
    where I can listen to the springtime water flow.

    Let them knock at the bramble gate—
    the host is in a dream!
    Startled awake, I search for my socks;
    I must have lost them east of the thatched hut.
    At night, with nothing on my mind,
    in dream I watched the bamboo growing tall.
    Should guests arrive now at my garden,
    barefoot I will see them off.

    Classics, Histories, Philosophers, Belles-Lettres:
    these the four branches of literature.
    Pavilions I have built, libraries—
    one for each kind in four different spots.
    In each one I have placed an inkstone
    as well as several brushes to write.
    Mornings I rise, wash my face,
    then let my feet lead me where they will.
    Circulating among all four,
    happily I pass the day's twelve hours.

    When they hear me stop reading out loud,
    the farmers come from all around.
    The healthy ones shoulder hoe and plow,
    the fragile ones wear their hempen shoes.
    The happy ones bring piles of bamboo mats,
    the tired ones have bundled firewood.
    They invite me to sit with them under the trees:
    we all open our hearts to each other!
    “This year we've suffered from wind and rain,
    and still can't plant good sprouts.
    We hear you chanting out loud from books:
    could it be you prepare for exams?”
    I love these people, their true, sincere nature,
    and the way they speak, like little children!
    Each one drinks a cup of wine
    and we lie in a heap on the moss.

    Do not mock me for building this tower tall:
    of course a tower should be tall!
    If you approach from three miles away,
    already I'll see you from here.
    When you visit, come not in a carriage:
    the carriage's racket will terrify my birds.
    And when you visit, don't come on a horse:
    the horse's teeth will decimate my grass.
    Also, when you visit, please, don't come at dawn:
    we mountain folk hate to rise too early.
    And when you visit, don't wait until dusk:
    by then the flowers will all have withered away.

    The Master of Sui Garden in the past
    first built buildings here beside these hills.
    Terraces, pavilions summoned clouds and mist;
    wine cups glittered in the candlelight.
    The old men here all say to me
    that this Master was no vulgar man.
    He took this garden and passed it on—to whom?
    How could he know it would be me!
    Long, long the thirty years;
    and now I come, to help the flowers and bamboo.
    “Follow Garden”: the meaning timely now;
    no need to change the garden's name at all.
    Consider my present-day happiness
    continuation of the Master's joy.
    Does it really just all “pass away”?
    Past and present, still the same chess game!
    And who will follow after I have left?
    I ask the mountain, but it does not say.
  4. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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  5. unknownuser nuʞuoʍunsǝɹ

    Jun 14, 2004
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    These are by a good friend of mine:

    Getting up
    Morning Blues
    Rest of the day
    We have for muse
    Defense mechanisms
    Used to survive
    The sunlight as we strive
    All this for vain
    For naught
    To get back and sleep
    In the night.

    Growing up
    Benignly choose
    To forget realism.
    High ideals
    Big ambitions
    Tall aspirations

    Who am I?
    What am I?
    Am I the I of today?
    Am I the I of yesterday?
    What will I be tomorrow?
    Will anyone know who I am?
    This would mean I face them naked!
    Do I know who I am?
    This means I standing in front of a mirror?
    I am.
    And I know that.
    Yet I don’t know
    Who, I am.
  6. Armand Z Trip Recalcitrant

    Apr 14, 2005
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    She being Brand E.E. Cummings

    -new;and youknow consequently alittle stiff i wascareful of her and(havingthoroughly oiled the universaljoint tested my gas felt ofher radiator made sure her springs were O.K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked herup,slipped theclutch(and then somehow got into reverse shekicked whatthe hell)nextminute i was back in neutral tried andagain slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(mylev-er Right-oh and her gears being inA 1 shape passedfrom low throughsecond-in-to-high likegreasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinityavenue i touched the accelerator and giveher the juice,good (itwas the first ride and believe i we washappy to see how nice she acted right up tothe last minute coming back down by the PublicGardens i slammed ontheinternalexpanding&externalcontractingbrakes Bothatonce andbrought allofher tremB-lingto a:dead.stand-;Still)
  7. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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  8. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    Love this one:


    By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

    It little profits that an idle king,
    By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
    Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
    Unequal laws unto a savage race,
    That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
    I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
    Life to the lees. All times I have enjoy'd
    Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
    That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
    Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
    Vext the dim sea. I am become a name;
    For always roaming with a hungry heart
    Much have I seen and known,—cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments,
    Myself not least, but honor'd of them all,—
    And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
    Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
    I am a part of all that I have met;
    Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
    Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
    For ever and for ever when I move.
    How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
    To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
    As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
    Were all too little, and of one to me
    Little remains; but every hour is saved
    From that eternal silence, something more,
    A bringer of new things; and vile it were
    For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
    And this gray spirit yearning in desire
    To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
    Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
    This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
    To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
    Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
    This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
    A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
    Subdue them to the useful and the good.
    Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
    Of common duties, decent not to fail
    In offices of tenderness, and pay
    Meet adoration to my household gods,
    When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
    There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
    There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
    Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,—
    That ever with a frolic welcome took
    The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
    Free hearts, free foreheads,—you and I are old;
    Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
    Death closes all; but something ere the end,
    Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
    Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
    The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
    The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
    Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
    'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
    It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,—
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
  9. JLBats The boney king of nowhere

    Dec 7, 2004
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    A Day in the Life
    By Lennon/McCartney

    I read the news today,
    Oh boy,
    About a lucky man who made the grade,
    And though the news was rather sad,
    Well, I just had to laugh,
    I saw the photograph,
    He blew his mind out in a car,
    He didn't notice that the lights had changed,
    A crowd of people stood and stared,
    They'd seen his face before,
    Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of Lords,

    I saw a film today,
    Oh boy,
    The English army had just won the war,
    A crowd of people turned away,
    But I just had to look,
    Having read the book,
    I'd love to turn you on,

    Woke up,
    Fell out of bed,
    Dragged a comb across my head,
    Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
    And looking up,
    I noticed I was late,
    Found my coat,
    And grabbed my hat,
    Made the bus in seconds flat,
    Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
    And somebody spoke and I went into a dream,

    I read the news today,
    Oh boy,
    Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire,
    And though the holes were rather small,
    They had to count them all,
    Now they know how many holes it takes the Albert Hall,
    I'd love to turn you on
  10. maxwell's demon Registered

    May 17, 2002
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    abaddon- did you get the idea for the thread after riding the subway one day?
  11. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    No,but I couldnt think of a better title at the time.:o
  12. Alexia Dark Warrior Princess

    Sep 24, 2004
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    That's the beginning poem of my favorite book. Nice :up: :).

    Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

    From childhood's hour I have not been

    As other's were; I have not seen

    As other 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 lov'd, I lov'd alone.

    Then, in my childhood,in the dawn

    Of a most stormy life- was drawn

    From ev'ry 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 it 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.

    That poem begins the second book, and is my favorite out of them all because it reminds me of myself.

    From the author of my favorite books (let's just call it 'Mortal Goddess):

    Cold as winter, strong as stone;
    She faced the darkness all alone.
    A silver goddess; a reflection.
    A mirage; a recollection.
    No return; no turning back.
    The past is gone, the future, black.

    Serpents gather in their nest,
    And she stands above the rest.
    Shadows hunt; she hunts the shadow.
    The moon is risen; she stands below.
    She views her world through the eyes of others.
    Black and white; there are no colors,
    As she looks down upon a shattered youth.
    A shattered mirror shows a shattered truth

    A single tear drop; when did it fall?
    Could this Goddess be mortal, after all?
  13. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    William Blake is great.:up:
    I was planning on posting that poem at some point,but I"ve been too lazy to look for it.Good stuff.:up:

  14. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot

    S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
    A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
    Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
    Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
    Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
    Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

    LET us go then, you and I,
    When the evening is spread out against the sky
    Like a patient etherised upon a table;
    Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
    The muttering retreats 5
    Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
    And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
    Streets that follow like a tedious argument
    Of insidious intent
    To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10
    Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
    Let us go and make our visit.

    In the room the women come and go
    Talking of Michelangelo.

    The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15
    The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
    Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
    Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
    Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
    Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20
    And seeing that it was a soft October night,
    Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

    And indeed there will be time
    For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
    Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25
    There will be time, there will be time
    To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
    There will be time to murder and create,
    And time for all the works and days of hands
    That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
    Time for you and time for me,
    And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
    And for a hundred visions and revisions,
    Before the taking of a toast and tea.

    In the room the women come and go 35
    Talking of Michelangelo.

    And indeed there will be time
    To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
    Time to turn back and descend the stair,
    With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40
    [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
    My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
    My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
    [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
    Do I dare 45
    Disturb the universe?
    In a minute there is time
    For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

    For I have known them all already, known them all:—
    Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50
    I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
    I know the voices dying with a dying fall
    Beneath the music from a farther room.
    So how should I presume?

    And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55
    The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
    And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
    When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
    Then how should I begin
    To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60
    And how should I presume?

    And I have known the arms already, known them all—
    Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
    [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
    It is perfume from a dress 65
    That makes me so digress?
    Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
    And should I then presume?
    And how should I begin?
    . . . . .
    Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70
    And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
    Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

    I should have been a pair of ragged claws
    Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
    . . . . .
    And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75
    Smoothed by long fingers,
    Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
    Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
    Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
    Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80
    But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
    Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
    I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
    I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
    And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85
    And in short, I was afraid.

    And would it have been worth it, after all,
    After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
    Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
    Would it have been worth while, 90
    To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
    To have squeezed the universe into a ball
    To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
    To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
    Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95
    If one, settling a pillow by her head,
    Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
    That is not it, at all.”

    And would it have been worth it, after all,
    Would it have been worth while, 100
    After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
    After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
    And this, and so much more?—
    It is impossible to say just what I mean!
    But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105
    Would it have been worth while
    If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
    And turning toward the window, should say:
    “That is not it at all,
    That is not what I meant, at all.”
    . . . . . 110
    No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
    Am an attendant lord, one that will do
    To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
    Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
    Deferential, glad to be of use, 115
    Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
    Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
    At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
    Almost, at times, the Fool.

    I grow old … I grow old … 120
    I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

    Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
    I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
    I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

    I do not think that they will sing to me. 125

    I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
    Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
    When the wind blows the water white and black.

    We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
    By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130
    Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
  15. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    On Fame- John Keats
    How fevered is the man who cannot look
    Upon his mortal days with temperate blood,
    Who vexes all the leaves of his life's book,
    And robs his fair name of its maidenhood;
    It is as if the rose should pluck herself,
    Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom,
    As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf,
    Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom;
    But the rose leaves herself upon the briar,
    For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed,
    And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire;
    The undisturbed lake has crystal space;
    Why then should man, teasing the world for grace,
    Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed?
  16. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    The Grave of Shelley- Oscar Wilde

    LIKE burnt-out torches by a sick man's bed
    Gaunt cypress-trees stand round the sun-bleached stone;
    Here doth the little night-owl make her throne,
    And the slight lizard show his jewelled head.
    And, where the chaliced poppies flame to red,
    In the still chamber of yon pyramid
    Surely some Old-World Sphinx lurks darkly hid,
    Grim warder of this pleasaunce of the dead.

    Ah! sweet indeed to rest within the womb
    Of Earth, great mother of eternal sleep,
    But sweeter far for thee a restless tomb
    In the blue cavern of an echoing deep,
    Or where the tall ships founder in the gloom
    Against the rocks of some wave-shattered steep.
  17. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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    The Day of Doom - Michael Wigglesworth(tee-hee:D)

    Still was the night, serene and bright,
    when all men sleeping lay;
    Calm was the season, and carnal reason
    thought so 'twould last for ay.
    Soul, take thine ease, let sorrow cease,
    much good thou hast in store:
    This was their song, their cups among,
    the evening before.

    Wallowing in all kind of sin,
    vile wretches lay secure:
    The best of men had scarcely then
    their lamps kept in good ure.
    Virgins unwise, who through disguise
    amongst the best were number'd,
    Had clos'd their eyes; yea, and the wise
    through sloth and frailty slumber'd.

    Like as of old, when men grow bold
    God's threat'nings to contemn,
    Who stopt their ear, and would not hear,
    when mercy warned them:
    But took their course, without remorse,
    till God began to power
    Destruction the world upon
    in a tempestuous shower.

    They put away the evil day,
    And drown'd their care and fears,
    Till drown'd were they, and swept away
    by vengeance unawares:
    So at the last, whilst men sleep fast
    in their security,
    Supris'd they are in such a snare
    as cometh suddenly.

    For at midnight broke forth a light,
    which turn'd the night to day,
    And speedily an hideous cry
    did all the world dismay.
    Sinners awake, their hearts do ache,
    trembling their loins surpriseth;
    Amaz'd with fear, by what they hear,
    each one of them ariseth.

    They rush from beds with giddy heads,
    and to their windows run,
    Viewing this light, which shines more bright
    then doth the noon-day Sun.
    Straightway appears (they see't with tears)
    the Son of God most dread;
    Who with his train comes on amain
    To judge both quick and dead.

    Before his face the heavn's gave place,
    and skies are rent asunder,
    With mighty voice, and hideous noise,
    more terrible than thunder.
    His brightness damps Heav'n's glorious lamps
    and makes them hide their heads,
    As if afraid and quite dismay'd,
    they quit their wonted steads.

    Ye sons of men that durst contemn
    the threat'nings of God's word,
    How cheer you now? your hearts, I trow,
    are thrill'd as with a sword.
    Now atheist blind, whose brutish mind
    a God could never see,
    Dost thou perceive, dost now believe,
    that Christ thy Judge shall be?

    Stout courages, (whose hardiness
    could death and Hell out-face)
    Are you as bold now you behold
    your Judge draw near apace?
    They cry, no, no: Alas! and woe!
    our courage all is gone:
    Our hardiness (fool hardiness)
    hath us undone, undone.

    No heart so bold, but now grows cold
    and almost dead with fear:
    No eye so dry, but now can cry,
    and pour out many a tear.
    Earth's potentates and pow'rful states,
    Captains and men of might
    Are quite abasht, their courage dasht
    at this most dreadful sight.

    Mean men lament, great men do rent
    their robes, and tear their hair:
    They do not spare their flesh to tear
    through horrible despair.
    All kindreds wail: all hearts do fail:
    horror the world doth fill
    With weeping eyes, and loud out-cries,
    yet knows not how to kill.

    Some hide themselves in caves and delves,
    in places under ground:
    Some rashly leap into the deep,
    to scape by being drown'd:
    Some to the rocks (O senseless blocks!)
    and woody mountains run,
    That there they might this fearful sight,
    and dreaded presence shun.

    In vain do they to mountains say,
    "Fall on us, and us hide
    From Judge's ire, more hot than fire,
    for who may it abide?"
    No hiding place can from his face,
    sinners at all conceal,
    Whose flaming eyes hid things doth 'spy,
    and darkest things reveal.

    The Judge draws nigh, exalted high
    upon a lofty throne,
    Amidst the throng of angels strong,
    lo, Israel's Holy One!
    The excellence of whose presence
    and awful majesty,
    Amazeth Nature, and every creature,
    doth more than terrify.

    The mountains smoke, the hills are shook,
    the earth is rent and torn,
    As if she should be clean dissolv'd
    or from the center born.
    The sea doth roar, forsakes the shore,
    and shrinks away for fear;
    The wild beasts flee into the sea,
    so soon as he draws near.

    Whose glory bright, whose wondrous might,
    whose power imperial,
    So far surpass whatever was
    in realms terrestrial;
    That tongues of men (nor angel's pen)
    cannot the same express,
    And therefore I must pass it by,
    lest speaking should transgress.

    Before his throne a trump is blown,
    Proclaiming th' Day of Doom:
    Forthwith he cries, "Ye Dead arise,
    and unto Judgment come."
    No sooner said, but 'tis obey'd;
    Sepulchers open'd are:
    Dead bodies all rise at his call,
    and's mighty power declare.

    Both sea and land, at his command,
    their dead at once surrender:
    The fire and air constrained are
    also their dead to tender.
    The mighty word of this great Lord
    links body and soul together
    Both of the just, and the unjust,
    to part no more for ever.

    The same translates, from Mortal states
    to immortality,
    All that survive, and be alive,
    i' th' twinkling of an eye:
    That so they may abide for ay
    to endless weal or woe;
    Both the renate and reprobate
    are made to dy no more.

    His winged hosts flie through all coasts,
    together gathering
    Both good and bad, both quick and dead,
    and all to Judgment bring.
    Out of their holes those creeping moles,
    that hid themselves for fear,
    By force they take, and quickly make
    before the Judge appear.

    Thus every one before the throne
    of Christ the Judge is brought,
    Both righteous and impious
    that good or ill had wrought.
    A separation, and diff'ring station
    by Christ appointed is
    (To sinners sad) 'twixt good and bad,
    'twixt heirs of woe and bliss.

    At Christ's right hand the sheep do stand,
    his holy martyrs, who
    For his dear name suffering shame,
    calamity and woe,
    Like champions stood, and with their blood
    their testimony sealed;
    Whose innocence without offense,
    to Christ their Judge appealed.

    Next unto whom there find a room
    all Christ's afflicted ones,
    Who being chastised, neither despised
    nor sank amidst their groans:
    Who by the rod were turn'd to God,
    and loved him the more,
    Not murmuring nor quarrelling
    when they were chast'ned sore.

    Moreover, such as loved much,
    that had not such a trial,
    As might constrain to so great pain,
    and such deep self-denial:
    Yet ready were the cross to bear,
    when Christ them call'd thereto,
    And did rejoice to hear his voice,
    they're counted sheep also.

    Christ's flock of lambs there also stands,
    whose faith was weak, yet true;
    All sound believers (Gospel receivers)
    whose grace was small, but grew:
    And them among an infant throng
    of babes, for whom Christ dy'd;
    Whom for his own, by ways unknown
    to men, he sanctify'd.

    All stand before their Saviour
    in long white robes yclad,
    Their countenance full of pleasance,
    appearing wondrous glad.
    O glorious sight! Behold how bright
    dust heaps are made to shine,
    Conformed so their Lord unto,
    whose glory is divine.

    At Christ's left hand the goats do stand,
    all whining hypocrites,
    Who for self-ends did seem Christ's friends,
    but foster'd guileful sprites;
    Who sheep resembled, but they dissembled
    (their hearts were not sincere);
    Who once did throng Christ's lambs among,
    but now must not come near.

    Apostates and run-aways,
    such as have Christ forsaken,
    Of whom the Devil, with seven more evil,
    hath fresh possession taken:
    Sinners in grain reserv'd to pain
    and torments most severe:
    Because 'gainst light they sinn'd with spite,
    are also placed there.

    There also stand a num'rous band,
    that no profession made
    Of godliness, nor to redress
    their ways at all essay'd:
    Who better knew, but (sinful crew)
    Gospel and law despised;
    Who all Christ's knocks withstood like blocks
    and would not be advised.

    Moreover, there with them appear
    a number, numberless
    Of great and small, vile wretches all,
    that did God's law transgress:
    Idolators, false worshippers,
    Prophaners of God's name,
    Who not at all thereon did call,
    or took in vain the same.

    Blasphemers lewd, and swearers shrewd,
    Scoffers at purity,
    They hated God, contemn'd his rod,
    and lov'd security;
    Sabbath-polluters, saints persecuters,
    Presumptuous men and proud,
    Who never lov'd those that reprov'd;
    all stand amongst this crowd.

    Adulterers and ****emongers
    were there, with all unchaste:
    There covetous, and ravenous,
    that riches got too fast:
    Who us'd vile ways themselves to raise
    t'estates and worldly wealth,
    Oppression by, or knavery,
    by force, or fraud, or stealth.

    Moreover, there together were
    Children flagitious,
    And parents who did them undo
    by nurture vicious.
    False-witness-bearers, and self-forswearers,
    Murd'rers, and men of blood,
    Witches, inchanters, and ale-house-haunters,
    beyond account there stood.…

    The saints behold with courage bold,
    and thankful wonderment,
    To see all those that were their foes
    thus sent to punishment:
    Then do they sing unto their King
    a song of endless praise:
    They praise his name, and do proclaim
    that just are all his ways.

    Thus with great joy and melody
    to Heav'n they all ascend,
    Him there to praise with sweetest lays,
    and hymns that never end,
    Where with long rest they shall be blest,
    and nought shall them annoy:
    Where they shall see as seen they be,
    and whom they love enjoy.

    O glorious place! where face to face
    Jehovah may be seen,
    By such as were sinners whilere
    and no dark veil between.
    Where the sun shine, and light divine,
    of God's bright countenance,
    Doth rest upon them every one,
    with sweetest influence.

    O blessed state of the renate!
    O wondrous happiness,
    To which they're brought, beyond what thought
    can reach, or words express!
    Griefs water-course, and sorrows source,
    are turn'd to joyful streams.
    Their old distress and heaviness
    are vanished like dreams.

    For God above in arms of love
    doth dearly them embrace.
    And fills their sprites with such delights;
    and pleasures in his grace;
    As shall not fail, nor yet grow stale
    through frequency of use:
    Nor do they fear God's favor there,
    to forfeit by abuse.

    For there the saints are perfect saints,
    and holy ones indeed,
    From all the sin that dwelt within
    their mortal bodies freed:
    Made kings and priests to God through Christ's
    dear loves transcendency,
    There to remain, and there to reign
    with him eternally.

  18. Phantasm Registered

    Apr 3, 2004
    Likes Received:
    Love After Love

    The time will come
    when, with elation,
    you will greet yourself arriving
    at your own door, in your own mirror,
    and each will smile at the other's welcome,

    And say, sit here. Eat.
    You will love again the stranger who was yourself.
    Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
    to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

    all your life, whom you ignored
    for another, who knows you by heart.
    Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

    the photographs, the desperate notes,
    peel your own image from the mirror.
    Sit. Feast on your life.

    -Derek Walcott ​

    One of my fav. poems.
  19. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
    Likes Received:
    The CHarge of the Light Brigade-Alfred Tennyson

    Half a league, half a league,
    Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    "Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!" he said:
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
    Was there a man dismayed?
    Not though the soldier knew
    Some one had blundered:
    Their's not to make reply,
    Their's not to reason why,
    Their's but to do and die:
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of Hell
    Rode the six hundred.

    Flashed all their sabres bare,
    Flashed as they turned in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
    All the world wondered:
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right through the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Reeled from the sabre-stroke
    Shattered and sundered.
    Then they rode back, but not,
    Not the six hundred.

    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell,
    They that had fought so well
    Came through the jaws of Death
    Back from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.

    When can their glory fade?
    O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wondered.
    Honour the charge they made!
    Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred!
  20. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
    Likes Received:
  21. Twitch Outlaw

    Jul 7, 2003
    Likes Received:
    The Vampire Within You

    by Amanda Ferguson

    I want you to suffer from this plague of me.
    I want you to taste death and believe,
    Anything can happen.
    But only this and to you, I wish.
    I will no longer imagine.
    How could you be retained?
    Craving blood and lust,
    would the vampire within you stay contained?
    Apart from your dreams, you're Dominant and connived.
    You're far from timid. In fact, you're deliberately arrogant.
    This, to me, is no longer relevant and your truth has become out of reach.
    So save it for the preceding speech.
    Deviant, yet inspiring, a vivid imagination is compelling.
    You're pointless, impulsive, and you deserve all of this.
    I mean everything when I say
    "I hate the vampire within you."
  22. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
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  23. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
    Likes Received:
    "The Human Abstract"

    William Blake

    Pity would be no more,
    If we did not make somebody Poor:
    And Mercy no more could be,
    If all were as happy as we;

    And mutual fear brings peace;
    Till the selfish loves increase.
    Then Cruelty knits a snare,
    And spreads his baits with care.

    He sits down with holy fears,
    And waters the ground with tears:
    Then Humility takes its root
    Underneath his foot.

    Soon spreads the dismal shade
    Of Mystery over his head;
    And the Catterpiller and Fly,
    Feed on the Mystery.

    And it bears the fruit of Deceit,
    Ruddy and sweet to eat;
    And the Raven his nest has made
    In its thickest shade.

    The Gods of the earth and sea,
    Sought thro' Nature to find this Tree
    But their search was all in vain:
    There grows one in the Human Brain
  24. Darkdd Elle!

    Dec 5, 2005
    Likes Received:
    Can I get some insight into this poem?It came in my exams and no one can agree on what it means.Lights Out by Edward Thomas.

    Lights Out

    I have come to the borders of sleep,
    The unfathomable deep
    Forest where all must lose
    Their way, however straight,
    Or winding, soon or late;
    They cannot choose.

    Many a road and track
    That, since the dawn's first ,
    Up to the forest brink,
    Deceived the travellers,
    Suddenly now blurs,
    And in they sink.

    Here love ends,
    Despair, ambition ends,
    All pleasure and all trouble,
    Although most sweet or bitter,
    Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
    Than tasks most noble.

    There is not any book
    Or face of dearest look
    That I would not turn from now
    To go into the unknown
    I must enter and leave alone
    I know not how.

    The tall forest towers;
    Its cloudy foliage lowers
    Ahead, shelf above shelf;
    Its silence I hear and obey
    That I may lose my way
    And myself.

    Edward Thomas
  25. Abaddon Watching

    Jan 10, 2004
    Likes Received:
    I think the author's making some strong allusions to "Stopping By Woods ON a Snowy Evening" and The Inferno.

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