Poets Corner: Time for something OTHER than Doom !

Will throw in one of my own, before we end up on page two, lol.

Standing By

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

That beats transfixed, the endless day,
Vibrating Love, it can't convey;
Yet would intone, till hills resound',
At last, at LAST, 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

Not to forget the fair sex, a poem by Charlotte Bronte ...

Life, believe, is not a dream
So dark as sages say;
Oft a little morning rain
Foretells a pleasant day.
Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,
But these are transient all;
If the shower will make the roses bloom,
O why lament it's fall ?

Eagle

I like this one by Moore ....

When Love is kind,
Cheerful and free,
Love's sure to find
Welcome from me;
But when Love brings
Heartache and pang,
Tears and such things,
Love can go hang !

Eagle

Day in day out we pump it out,
the toxic loads of doom.
We see a tree and chop it down,
we have to make more room.

With numbered days in endless ways,
we study and refine.
New and ever better ways,
to speed forth our demise.

Since caveman one clubbed caveman two
and thought "What a good idea".
We've been making room for doom,
and more ways to spread fear.


And now our days, they slip away,
we fight, kill and abuse.
We cant get on and so we bomb,
those with different views.

So we fight wars, break natures laws,
and leave love far behind.
We wonder why the planets dying,
you beginning to see why?

We just dont care either here or there,
one way or the other.
As long as beer is in the fridge,
our bellies lined with blubber.

We see THE DOOM there on the news
and think "gee..thats so so sad"
..but pass the chips and the spicy dip...
and change the channel dad!

Most all of my poetry was written to someone, about our relationship and often had a double meaning/hidden message. The following was at the end of a relationship, where I was 'used' to get Roger to propose. The theme is the sun ....

Sunsets

Sunsets are a time for two,
The Masters work to share;
With pinks and blues, and purple hues,
His love he does declare.

Alas, that I but mortal be,
Love flows like blood devoid of clot;
Adrift in time, my only crime,
In love with one who one, who loves me NOT !

Now shadows lengthen in my heart,
As your sunshine fades away;
Deprived of light, from blue eyes bright,
Warm were your kisses, yesterday !

As Earth from sun will turn away,
Yet golden beams flood each new day;
So waits my love, like His above,
My heart is true, my feet are clay !

Eagle

Thanks, Aussie !

Was beginning to feel like a comedian on stage, telling jokes and NO ONE is laughing.

Eagle

sally is a dialectic [irish] form of salix, or willow

down by the sally garden
- William Butler Yeats-

down by the sally garden,
my love and i did meet.

she walked to the sally garden on tiny, snow white feet.

she bid me ,
take life easy,
as the leaves grow on the tree

but i was young and foolish,
and with her did not agree.

out in the field, down by the river,
my love and i did stand.

upon my leaning shoulder,
she placed her snow white hand.

she bid me,
take love easy
as the grass grows on the weirs.

but i wqas young and foolish,



and now am full of tears.

Written to Susan Istzwan, the ONLY woman I really loved ... and LOST ! Timing was all wrong, and fate interceded with crippling success in 1974, after 6 months of bliss.

The sound of your voice,
The touch of your hand;
The simplest of joys,
Yet I understand....

How He must have known,
That life's not complete;
Till there's someone to share,
Life's joys and defeat .

So the rib was removed,
To make Adam a mate;
But they sinned in the Garden,
And were left to their fate.

Still lovers continue,
To search for a way;
Not even a rose,
Is made in a day.

And the best of decisions,
Still involve simple trust;
I'll love you sweet Susan,
Till we both are but dust !

Eagle

Thanks, david ( My son's name too ) . I assume your own ?

Eagle

Sorry ! Getting tired and didn't read by Yeats, lol !

Eagle

Another short one by Moore, if I may ....

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheek unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which Time will but make thee more dear.

Eagle

Did you know Charles Dickens wrote poetry ? Here is one ....

Call back the dew
That on the rose at morn was lying;
When the day is dying,
Bid the sunbeam stay;
Call back the wave
E'en while the ebbing tide's receding;
Oh! all unheeding, of thy voice are they !
As vain the call distraction makes on love departed;
When the broken hearted, bitter tears let fall.
Dew and sunshine, wave and flower,
Renewed, return at destined hour;
But never yet was known the power,
Could vanquish'd love recall .

Eagle

Must be the wrong day for this thread, OR, people are busy shopping and wrapping presents.

Eagle

I wanna contribute
but i don't know how
all i can say is
op is a cow
eating everything in site
that is pretty fucking sick
poor little op
has a small fucking ____

THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES
-by Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying of the sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Oh BOO HOO....You are lucky, actually. The first six months are the best times when you first fall in love, when the hormones are raging and when you think it will all last forever. Believe me, it doesn't. You are living in a fantasy world. The Susan you love doesn't even exist.

If you would have told me you married Susan, she gained 50 pounds, your daughter was pregnant at 15, you had to take a second mortgate out on your house because you needed to replace your sewer lines....THEN if you said, "OH Susan, I gaze into your lovely blue tinted eyes, I will think of you night and day until I die, blah, blah, blah" THEN...Okay you love the bitch. But I don't buy your flowery crapola. That is not love, it is fantasizing.

AC 2065174 .... NO; your wrong ! A series of unavoidable circumstances came between us, including a simple phone call she made to reserve a room for an event at our church, when she got the minister, NOT the secretary, and spilled the beans about who the man was that came to church with her and her children, AND, that we were living together. When she told me we were going to see the minister on Saturday, I was thrilled. BUT, it was only to be torn apart by him, a young jerk that had no idea what he was talking about. She was in the fetal position; NOT a peep.

Second, a woman I never knew of from the singles world, where I knew thousands of people, came to her house one Sunday, and down the hallway from the living room I heard .... " The next son of a bitch I marry is never going to know what hit him. After the honey moon I'll sue him for divorce, and HE will PAY for what my ex did to me." Meeting the QE2 that spring from England, there she was all smiles, with the 'turkey' in TOW.

Susan married old money from Greenwich, CT .... Real estate business, yacht and all that goes with it. Can't blame her; lasted 6-7 years.

You must have been 'burned', at least it sounds that way. Sorry for you.

Eagle

Got no more room for doom,
Keeps ya writhing in gloom,
Say goodbye and farewell,
For only time will tell,
If we'll ever break the spell.

Something on the 'lighter side .... ToGail '75 ....

Who ?
Who's the girl, with short blond tresses ?
Who receives all my caresses ?
Who's the girl with JUST two dresses ?
My Gail

Who's the girl that drinks my brandy ?
Who has chills, when I'm NOT handy?
Who tells me later ( Isn't that dandy ?)
My Gail

Who's the girl who had me to dinner ?
Who's the one who's getting thinner ?
Who's the one who burned her 'finner' ?
MY Gail

Who's the girl with the sweet hello ?
Who warms up from 10 below ?
Who's the one who NEVER says NO ?
Me

Eagle

don't be dismayed by some of the callous replies,op

good to see a thread devoted to poetry.

the following from an intro to an old moody blues album.


when the white eagle of the north is flying overhead.

and the browns ,reds, and golds of autumn, lie in the gutter.

dead.

remember then, the warm summer winds,
come to witness spring's new hope....

born of leaves decayed.

as new life will rise from death, love will rise anew.

love of life,
love of living,
and giving,
without measure,

gives in return the wondrous yearning for truth once seen.

live hand in hand,
and forever we'll stand,

on the threshold-

of a dream.

O.K. ! AC 30717274 !

Writing anything that rhymes is fun, INHO !

If it has a message, even BETTER !

Eagle

Great, david ! There are a lot of poems I have never heard/seen and that is one of them ! Liked it !

Got this driving home one night; pulled over to write it down ...Used it later.

Regrets are born of unwed dreams,
Oft conceived in romantic schemes;
But those who sow not dreams in time,
Will find loves withered, on the vine.

Eagle

THE WINNER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Will close with a poem I wrote to a girl I only knew for a few hours; and we shared a car with a couple of others a short way. Her name was Dawn and she had red hair; love at first sight ,as my first love was red headed too ( Mother )....

Lo ! The red that tops yon crown,
While radiant beams fall softly down;
O'er blue orbs bright, the bubbling sprite,
The sky her vail, the Earth her gown.

Softly does her wonderos light,
Destroy the shadows of the night;
And casting out, both fear and doubt,
I am reborn, within her sight.

Dawn, Dawn ! Oh, wonderos Dawn,
Would that I were not a pawn;
But had the right, to be your knight,
My sword would be forever drawn !

To defend those rays, this happiness,
The light you bring to all you bless;
Like an eagle soars, to distant shores,
To awake each morn, to your caress.

Eagle

Final bump for the West Coast and Aussieland !

To all who added to the poems. Bed time !

The Tale of Kieu, by Nguyen Du

(Just the first part, you have to buy it to get the rest)

I've heard there are better translations than this, but I don't speak Vietnamese so how should I know what to get? And I don't write poems, but this one is a favorite of mine.


The Tale of Kieu. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1983.



A hundred years­­­—in this life span on earth

talent and destiny are apt to feud.

You must go through a play of ebb and flow

and watch such things as make you sick at heart.

Is it so strange that losses balance gains?

Blue Heaven's wont to strike arose from spite.



By lamplight turn these scented leaves and read

a tale of love recorded in old books.

Under the Chia-ching reign when Ming held sway,

all lived at peace—both capitals stood strong.

There was a burgher in the clan of Vuong,

a man of modest wealth and middle rank.

He had a last‑born son, Vuong Quan—his hope

to carry on a line of learned folk.

Two daughters, beauties both, had come before:

Thuy Kieu was oldest, younger was Thuy Van.

Bodies like slim plum branches, snow‑pure souls:

each her own self, each perfect in her way.

In quiet grace Van was beyond compare:

her face a moon, her eyebrows two full curves;

her smile a flower, her voice the song of jade;

her hair the sheen of clouds, her skin white snow.

Yet Kieu possessed a keener, deeper charm,

surpassing Van in talents and in looks.

Her eyes were autumn streams, her brows spring hills.

Flowers grudged her glamour, willows her fresh hue.

A glance or two from her, and kingdoms rocked!

Supreme in looks, she had few peers in gifts.

By Heaven blessed with wit, she knew all skills:

she could write verse and paint, could sing and chant.

Of music she had mastered all five tones

and played the lute far better than Ai Chang.

She had composed a song called Cruel Fate

to mourn all women in soul-rending strains.

A paragon of grace for womanhood,

she neared that time when maidens pinned their hair.

She calmly lived behind drawn shades and drapes,

as wooers swarmed, unheeded, by the wall.



Swift swallows and spring days were shuttling by—

of ninety radiant ones three score had fled.

Young grass spread all its green to heaven's rim;

some blossoms marked pear branches with white dots.

Now came the Feast of Light in the third month

with graveyard rites and junkets on the green.

As merry pilgrims flocked from near and far,

the sisters and their brother went for a stroll.

Fine men and beauteous women on parade:

a crush of clothes, a rush of wheels and steeds.

Folks clambered burial knolls to strew and burn

sham gold or paper coins, and ashes swirled.

Now, as the sun was dipping toward the west,

the youngsters started homeward, hand in hand.

With leisured steps they walked along a brook,

admiring here and there a pretty view.

The rivulet, babbling, curled and wound its course

under a bridge that spanned it farther down.

Beside the road a mound of earth loomed up

where withered weeds, half yellow and half green.

Kieu asked: "Now that the Feast of Light is on,

why is no incense burning for this grave?"

Vuong Quan told her this tale from first to last:

"She was a famous singer once, Dam Tien.

Renowned for looks and talents in her day,

she lacked not lovers jostling at her door.

But fate makes roses fragile—in mid‑spring

off broke the flower that breathed forth heaven's scents.

From overseas a stranger came to woo

and win a girl whose name spread far and wide.

But when the lover's boat sailed into port,

he found the pin had snapped, the vase had crashed.

A death‑still silence filled the void, her room;

all tracks of horse or wheels had blurred to moss.

He wept, full of a grief no words could tell:

`Harsh is the fate that has kept us apart!

Since in this life we are not meant to meet,

let me pledge you my troth for our next life.’

He purchased both a coffin and a hearse

and rested her in dust beneath this mound,

among the grass and flowers. For many moons,

who's come to tend a grave that no one claims?"

A well of pity lay within Kieu's heart:

as soon as she had heard her tears burst forth.

"How sorrowful is women's lot!" she cried.

"We all partake of woe, our common fate.

Creator, why are you so mean and cruel,

blighting green days and fading rose-fresh cheeks?

Alive, she played the wife to all the world,

alas, to end down there without a man!

Where are they now who shared in her embrace?

Where are they now who lusted for her charms?

Since no one else gives her a glance, a thought,

I'll light some incense candles while I'm here.

I'll mark our chance encounter on the road—

perhaps, down by the Yellow Springs, she'll know."

She prayed in mumbled tones, then she knelt down

to make a few low bows before the tomb.

Dusk gathered on a patch of wilted weeds—

reed tassels swayed as gently blew the breeze.

She pulled a pin out of her hair and graved

four lines of stop‑short verse on a tree's bark.

Deeper and deeper sank her soul in trance—

all hushed, she tarried there and would not leave.

The cloud on her fair face grew darker yet:

as sorrow ebbed or flowed, tears dropped or streamed.

Van said: "My sister, you should be laughed at,

lavishing tears on one long dead and gone!"

"Since ages out of mind," retorted Kieu,

"harsh fate has cursed all women, sparing none.

As I see her lie there, it hurts to think

what will become of me in later days."

"A fine speech you just made!" protested Quan.

"It jars the ears to hear you speak of her

and mean yourself. Dank air hangs heavy here—

day's failing, and there's still a long way home."

Kieu said: "When one who shines in talent dies,

the body passes on, the soul remains.

In her, perhaps, I've found a kindred heart:

let's wait and soon enough she may appear."

Before they could respond to what Kieu said,

a whirlwind rose from nowhere, raged and raved.

It blustered, strewing buds and shaking trees

and scattering whiffs of perfume in the air.

They strode along the path the whirlwind took

and plainly saw fresh footprints on the moss.

They stared at one another, terror-struck.

"You've heard the prayer of my pure faith!" Kieu cried.

"As kindred hearts, we've joined each other here—

transcending life and death, soul sisters meet."

Dam Tien had cared to manifest herself:

to what she'd written Kieu now added thanks.

A poet's feelings, rife with anguish, flowed:

she carved an old-style poem on the tree.

AC 29956779 ..... LONG verse, but full of insight. Thanks for sharing !

Anyone else ?

Bump for all the OTHER budding/accomplished poets out there. Please stop and share your favorites !

Eagle