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Poetry

 
daleth
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User ID: 46968
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12/05/2005 10:47 PM
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Poetry
Love poetry, though I used to hate it. Have any favs?


The Puzzled Game-Birds

They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us, -
For would they not fair terms concede us?
- If hearts can house such treachery
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young--they cannot be!

--Thomas Hardy
Anonymous Coward
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12/05/2005 10:50 PM
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Re: Poetry
Tom Hardy just found out his parents were vampires!
Velvet

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12/05/2005 10:51 PM
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Re: Poetry
Don´t know much about poetry. I do like a book called "Stray Birds" by Sir Rabindranath Tagore. I like it short and to the point.
daleth (OP)

User ID: 46968
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12/05/2005 10:54 PM
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Re: Poetry
The Genius Of The Crowd

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

--Charles Bukowski
Anonymous Coward
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12/05/2005 10:55 PM
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Re: Poetry
The Cuckoo

Cuckoos lead Bohemian lives,
They fail as husbands and as wives,
Therefore they cynically disparage
Everybody else´s marriage.

Ogden Nash
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12/05/2005 10:56 PM
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Re: Poetry
Cuckoo

The cuckoo bird
That flute of summer
Echoing over the buttercups
Like many a great artist
Better heard at a distance
Than entertained as a guest

Stewart McKenzie
JC
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12/05/2005 11:02 PM
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Re: Poetry
I can`t say I have a fav,too many good ones to choose.

Annabel Lee a poem
by Edgar Allan Poe



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

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

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

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

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
daleth (OP)

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12/05/2005 11:05 PM
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Re: Poetry
Contemplation Of The Sword

Reason will not decide at last; the sword will decide.
The sword: an obsolete instrument of bronze or steel,
formerly used to kill men, but here
In the sense of a symbol. The sword: that is: the storms
and counter-storms of general destruction; killing
of men,
Destruction of all goods and materials; massacre, more or
less intentional, of children and women;
Destruction poured down from wings, the air made accomplice,
the innocent air
Perverted into assasin and poisoner.

The sword: that is: treachery and cowardice, incredible
baseness, incredible courage, loyalties, insanities.
The sword: weeping and despair, mass-enslavement,
mass-tourture, frustration of all hopes
That starred man´s forhead. Tyranny for freedom, horror for
happiness, famine for bread, carrion for children.
Reason will not decide at last, the sword will decide.

Dear God, who are the whole splendor of things and the sacred
stars, but also the cruelty and greed, the treacheries
And vileness, insanities and filth and anguish: now that this
thing comes near us again I am finding it hard
To praise you with a whole heart.
I know what pain is, but pain can shine. I know what death is,
I have sometimes
Longed for it. But cruelty and slavery and degredation,
pestilence, filth, the pitifulness
Of men like hurt little birds and animals . . . if you were
only
Waves beating rock, the wind and the iron-cored earth,
With what a heart I could praise your beauty.
You will not repent, nor cancel life, nor free man from anguish
For many ages to come. You are the one that tortures himself to
discover himself: I am
One that watches you and discovers you, and praises you in little
parables, idyl or tragedy, beautiful
Intolerable God.
The sword: that is:
I have two sons whom I love. They are twins, they were born
in nineteen sixteen, which seemed to us a dark year
Of a great war, and they are now of the age
That war prefers. The first-born is like his mother, he is so
beautiful
That persons I hardly know have stopped me on the street to
speak of the grave beauty of the boy´s face.
The second-born has strength for his beauty; when he strips
for swimming the hero shoulders and wrestler loins
Make him seem clothed. The sword: that is: loathsome disfigurements,
blindness, mutilation, locked lips of boys
Too proud to scream.
Reason will not decide at last: the sword will decide.

--Robinson Jeffers
Anonymous Coward
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12/05/2005 11:10 PM
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Re: Poetry
Nice, hf
Anonymous Coward
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12/05/2005 11:13 PM
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Psychic

And as she touched the envelope
her facial features quickly froze.
At last she uttered ´No. No hope´,
it was a contact that arose
unmitigated certainty
that Death had visited this man.
And that his soul, at last was free.
A psychic is a ghost who can.

Herbert Nehrlich
ashesand sackcloth

User ID: 182
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12/05/2005 11:15 PM
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Re: Poetry
Deep Dish Daleth hf
Velvet

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12/05/2005 11:18 PM
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Re: Poetry
God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of His special favour.
99999

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12/05/2005 11:19 PM
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test
daleth (OP)

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12/06/2005 12:25 AM
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The League of Nations

Light on the towns and cities, and peace for evermore!
The Big Five met in the world´s light as many had met before,
And the future of man is settled and there shall be no more war.

The lamb shall lie down with the lion, and trust with treachery;
The brave man go with the coward, and the chained mind shackle the free,
And the truthful sit with the liar ever by land and sea.

And there shall be no more passion and no more love nor hate;
No more contempt for the paltry, no more respect for the great;
And the people shall breed like rabbits and mate as animals mate.

For lo! the Big Five have said it, each with a fearsome frown;
Each for his chosen country, State, and city and town;
Each for his lawn and table and the bed where he lies him down.

Cobbler and crank and chandler, magpie and ape disguised;
Each bound to his grocery corner – these are the Five we prized;
Bleating the teaching of others whom they ever despised.

But three shall meet in a cellar, companions of mildew and rats;
And three shall meet in a garret, pungent with stench of the cats,
And three in a cave in the forest where the torchlight maddens the bats –

Bats as blind as the people, streaming into the glare –
And the Nine shall turn the nations back to the plain things there;
Tracing in chalk and charcoal treaties that none can tear:

Truth that goes higher than airships and deeper than submarines,
And a message swifter than wireless – and none shall know what it means –
Till an army is rushed together and ready behind the scenes.

The Big Five sit together in the light of the World and day,
Each tied to his grocery corner though he travel the world for aye,
Each bleating the dreams of dreamers whom he has despised alway.

And intellect shall be tortured, and art destroyed for a span –
The brute shall defile the pictures as he did when the age began;
He shall hawk and spit in the palace to prove that he is a man.

Cobbler and crank and chandler, magpie and ape disguised;
Each bound to his grocery corner – these are the Five we prized;
Bleating the teaching of others whom they ever despised.

Let the nations scatter their armies and level their arsenals well,
Let them blow their airships to Heaven and sink their warships to Hell,
Let them maim the feet of the runner and silence the drum and the bell;

But shapes shall glide from the cellar who never had dared to "strike",
And shapes shall drop from the garret (ghastly and so alike)
To drag from the cave in the forest powder and cannon and pike.

As of old, we are sending a message to Garcia still –
Smoke from the peak by sunlight, beacon by night from the hill;
And the drum shall throb in the distance – the drum that never was still.

--Henry Lawson
Anonymous Coward
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12/06/2005 09:31 AM
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Re: Poetry
The Secret



Two girls discover
the secret of life
in a sudden line of
poetry.
Ê
I who don´t know the
secret wrote
the line. They
told me
Ê
(through a third person)
they had found it
but not what it was
not even
Ê
what line it was.Ê No doubt
by now, more than a week
later, they have forgotten
the secret,
Ê
the line, the name of
the poem.Ê I love them
for finding what
I can´t find,
Ê
and for loving me
for the line I wrote,
and for forgetting it
so that
Ê
a thousand times, till death
finds them, they may
discover it again, in other
lines
Ê
in other
happenings.Ê And for
wanting to know it,
for
Ê
assuming there is
such a secret, yes,
for that
most of all.







-- from Denise Levertov: Selected Poems, by Denise Levertov
Main Herr

User ID: 12
Netherlands
12/06/2005 09:33 AM

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Only Once





All which, because it was
flame and song and granted us
joy, we thought we´d do, be, revisit,
turns out to have been what it was
that once, only; every invitation
did not begin
a series, a build-up: the marvelous
did happen in our lives, our stories
are not drab with its absence: but don´t
expect to return for more. Whatever more
there will be will be
unique as those were unique. Try
to acknowledge the next
song in its bodyÊ-- halo of flames as utterly
present, as now or never.



- Denise Levertov
| No-body-knows-me |
Main Herr

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12/06/2005 10:05 AM

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Re: Poetry
flower

((smile))



smile_hear
| No-body-knows-me |
scimitar
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12/06/2005 10:21 AM
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Re: Poetry
Wedding poem I wrote many years ago.....

As this moment does pass,
My heart knows there is no greener grass.
As eternity waits ahead,
My soul cherishes the words about to be said.
With the grace of God my our lives bud and bloom,
Like all those precious flowers that chase away gloom,
But unlike those flowers that wither and die,
I pray that our love shall last forever in God´s eternal eye.


One Truth..... many realities
Unfortunately I wrote it for the wrong person
Main Herr

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12/06/2005 10:23 AM

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´wrong person´...wheres the...?
| No-body-knows-me |
Main Herr

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12/06/2005 11:13 AM

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Re: Poetry
chorusufo56chorus
.............flowerflowerflowerflowerflower.............
| No-body-knows-me |
Anonymous Coward
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12/06/2005 11:20 AM
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Re: Poetry
a voice of one crying in the wilderness
what language is that sense that licks the ear
in a salty bitter sweet touch
Freyja

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12/06/2005 11:22 AM
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scimitar that is A beautiful poem...and maybe it was not the wrong person...just a temporary experience on the road home.

applause
scimitar
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12/06/2005 12:07 PM
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Re: Poetry
Freyja,

That´s probably true. I did learn a lot from my first marriage...... which helped me on the path to a wonderful second one(15 years so far).

One Truth.... many realities
Mystic poet nli
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12/06/2005 12:26 PM
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A posting at this time of year
To wish you happiness, good cheer
Christmas pud to fill your tum
Brandy, coke and lots of rum

Food a plenty, lots to eat
Welcomed friends that you greet
Pressies, toys, received and sent
It’s not the gift … it’s the intent.

mp
Mystic Poet nli
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12/06/2005 12:27 PM
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Re: Poetry
Redemption.

As this year exits, it makes sense
Such is the tyrant´s recompense.
He who is evil can receive no good
So repent he surely should

Gaining comfort Jesus sent
To Earth, Gods only son he lent
It’s Christmas time so rejoice
Good or evil, it’s your choice

But rest assured this is true
Your sins harm only one…. That’s you.
No place to hide, no sanctuary found
High in the mountains, nor underground

For justice comes in still of night
And in a blaze of glorious light
The angels all with one accord
Will smite you with a golden sword

Atonement surely now awaits
Your fate is sealed beyond the gates
Both Heaven and Hell flung open wide
Only redemption quells tormented cries

mp
Mystic Poet nli
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12/06/2005 12:30 PM
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Re: Poetry
You can run but you can not hide

Like a grain of sand in the sole of my shoe
With each step I take, I’m reminded of you

Sometimes you lead, at others behind
Never far away, yet so hard to find

An annoyance, a distraction, causing me pain
Walking or running all is in vain

I can’t seem to empty you out of my mind
Like that grain of sand so elusive to find

Making me stumble, making me limp
Although I am moaning I’m not a wimp

I keep on marching towards my goal
Around the equator, from pole to pole

My skin is so dark black as the night
At others so pale whiter than white

At times I am yellow not out of fear
At others a red man crying a tear

I’m a universal soldier, wherever I’m sent
It’s me waging war on the poor innocent.

Dear conscious you’re with me wherever I roam
Lead me out of this darkness, help me find my way home.


mp
daleth (OP)

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12/06/2005 02:18 PM
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Re: Poetry
Web

Intricate and untraceable
weaving and interweaving,
dark strand with light:

designed, beyond
all spiderly contrivance,
to link, not to entrap:

elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined;

shaking, changing,

forever

forming,

transforming:

all praise,

all praise to the

great web.

--Denise Levertov
Main Herr

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12/06/2005 02:24 PM

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Re: Poetry
Poetry is :awhore*
| No-body-knows-me |
Porky
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12/06/2005 02:52 PM
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Here´s one i wrote about a month ago.



How free i soar the fields and sea
Of body and spirit i travel to thee

Speak to me of love untold
And make me strong with words you hold

How happy i lay on fields and air
In dreams and visons i see you there

Speak to me till your lips are bare
Your music is sweeter if i kiss you there
Main Herr

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12/06/2005 02:56 PM

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Re: Poetry
Porky and Bess: Summertime

Summertime and the livin´ is easy
Fish are jumpin´ and the cotton is fine
Oh your Daddy´s rich and your ma is good lookin´
So hush little baby, don´t you cry

One of these mornings
You´re goin´ to rise up singing
Then you´ll spread your wings
And you´ll take the sky
But till that morning
There´s a nothin´ can harm you
With daddy and mammy standin´ by
| No-body-knows-me |
Eagle # 1
User ID: 47160
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12/06/2005 04:17 PM
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Re: Poetry
A poem to Gail T.

Standing By

Like the flower, with petals spread,
For the butterfly, is plucked instead;
So ´oft we find, when we´re alone,
In the body lives a heart of stone.

That beats transfixed, the endless day,
Vibrating love, it can´t convey;
Yet would intone, till hills resound,
"Life has begun; my loves been found !

Since Adam took the second bite,
Your not alone, and in the night;
Remember He, is standing by;
And if needed, so am I !

Eagle

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