View Full Version : Favourite Poems...

03-17-2003, 01:14 PM
Hey, would you like to share your favourite poems?

Here is one of mine!

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

by John Donne

03-17-2003, 05:50 PM
I'm not going to write it, but one of my favorites is

"The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe

03-17-2003, 09:01 PM
I've always loved Poe. "Annabel Lee" comes to mind.
Here is one that just seems right for all of us and our revolution.

And I came to you
for peace
And I came to you
for gold
And I came to you
for lies
And you gave me fever
& wisdom
& cries
of sorrow
& we'll be here
the next day
the next day

James Douglas Morrison

03-17-2003, 11:23 PM
Actually, I have three favorites:

1. Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening- by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

2. Nobody Knows It But Me - Patrick O'Leary

There's a place I travel when I want to roam,
and nobody knows it but me.
The roads don't go there and the signs stay home,
and nobody knows it but me.
It's far, far away and way, way afar,
it's over the moon and the sea, and wherever you're going
that's wherever you are.
And nobody knows it but me.

3. The Road Not Taken
- by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Silver Cougar
03-17-2003, 11:39 PM
Here's one that touches me

To see the world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wildflower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour
- William Blake

The first line was important to the plot of Tomb Raider (the movie that is)

And since we're on the subject of Robert Frost:

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour
Then subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay
- Robert Frost

Those are actually the only poems I know ;)

03-18-2003, 07:17 AM
i had to memoize annabel lee when i was like in the 7th grade. i liked it. i guess i really liked it cause i can remember it still. well most of it.

03-18-2003, 07:19 AM
I thought I recognized that from Tomb Raider. I love that movie!
Here's another one of my favorites from Poe:

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you know,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

That's the first part of it.

03-18-2003, 11:23 AM
another one

Walt Whitman

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the
themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

03-18-2003, 12:27 PM
Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" (http://etext.lib.virginia.edu/stc/Coleridge/poems/Kubla_Khan.html).

Emily Dickinson -- "Much Madness Is Divinest Sense" (I've loved this one since high school :) ):

Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness
`Tis the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur,—you ’re straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

T.S. Eliot -- "The Hollow Men" (http://www.cs.umbc.edu/~evans/hollow.html)

Edgar Allan Poe -- "The Bells" (http://eserver.org/books/poe/bells.html) (I love the rhythm :) ).

03-18-2003, 12:42 PM
these poems are so good, i'm adding them to my list
funny, i used to hate poetry at school, never could understand them, but now i even discuss and break 'em down on chat!

03-18-2003, 12:57 PM
"She Walks In Beauty"

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 the tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One ray the more, one shade 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.

-- Lord Byron, (George Gordon) --

Sxygrrl Huntress
03-18-2003, 12:57 PM
For those ever feeling lonely in those teen years, or at any age for that matter, always hang on to your dreams and feel good about yourself.

School Life

Standing alone in a crowded room
everyone’s happy, you’re locked in a tomb
you’re an outsider, you don’t belong
they are perfect, you are wrong

still alone, no one to care
still alone, life is unfair
they aren’t special, they’re all the same
you are different, no one they can tame

not alone in the crowded room
doors are open, no more locked in a tomb
stand out in a crowd, just be you
trust in yourself and you’ll never feel blue
they are average, boring as can be
you stand out, you’re different, you’re me

Author: Sxygrrl Huntress, aka, Angie
Fall 1988

03-18-2003, 01:03 PM
hey! have you posted that on poetry.com?

Sxygrrl Huntress
03-18-2003, 01:04 PM
Me? No. I've never posted it anywhere until today :) Don't plan to either. This was spur of the moment :)

03-18-2003, 01:07 PM
oh, cause it's really good!!!

I posted four there already

Sxygrrl Huntress
03-18-2003, 01:10 PM
Thank you :) I tried to find more but alot of them are depressing. I either have to be depressed or in love to write them!

Silver Cougar
03-18-2003, 01:18 PM
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be the blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings THe Fellowship of the Ring Ch. 10: Strider
In reference to Aragorn

P.S. SGH, your poem follows my line of thought from yesterday! Coincidence, I think not! At least, I think I think not...

Sxygrrl Huntress
03-18-2003, 01:20 PM
Your line from yesterday? :blush: Sorry, I didn't actually read this thread... I'm not sure what you meant :blush:

Silver Cougar
03-18-2003, 01:25 PM
Line of personal thought.

Maybe Mr. Smith has a point about being more choicy with words... I certantly know enough of 'em...

03-18-2003, 03:58 PM
Originally posted by MUZBNUTS
. The Road Not Taken
- by Robert Frost

Damn it, sis! That's my favorite too!
Also, this one...

Dreams by Langston Hughes
Hold Fast to Dreams
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly
Hold fast to Dreams
For when Dreams go,
Life is a barren field, frozen with snow.

It's a little short, but the message is a great one!

03-22-2003, 12:58 AM

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness–for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

03-30-2003, 01:55 PM
I see three of my favorite Robert Frost poems have already been quoted...Here's one by Emily Dickinson I've always loved:

Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

"Hope" is the thing with feathers--
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops - at all--

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard--
And sore must be the storm--
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm--

I've heard it in the chillest land--
And on the strangest Sea--
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.

04-04-2003, 11:29 PM
Evening Star
by Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold— too cold for me—
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light

04-04-2003, 11:33 PM
geez all these are damn good!

04-05-2003, 12:51 AM
Jaime Sabines:

The Lovers
The lovers say nothing.
Love is the finest of the silences,
the one that trembles most and is hardest to bear.
The lovers are looking for something.
The lovers are the ones who abandon,
the ones who change, who forget.
Their hearts tell them that they will never find.
They don't find, they're looking.
The lovers wander around like crazy people
because they're alone, alone, surrendering,
giving themselves to each moment,
crying because they don't save love.
They worry about love.
The lovers live for the day, it's the best they can do,
it's all they know. They're going away all the time,
all the time, going somewhere else. They hope,
not for anything in particular, they just hope.
They know that whatever it is they will not find it.
Love is the perpetual deferment, always the next step,
the other, the other. The lovers are the insatiable ones,
the ones who must always, fortunately, be alone.
The lovers are the serpent in the story.
They have snakes instead of arms.
The veins in their necks swell like snakes too,
suffocating them.
The lovers can't sleep because if they do the worms ear them.
They open their eyes in the dark and terror falls into them.
They find scorpions under the sheet
and their bed floats as though on a lake.
The lovers are crazy, only crazy with no God and no devil.
The lovers come out of their caves trembling,
starving, chasing phantoms.
They laugh at those who know all about it,
who love forever, truly, at those who believe
in love as an inexhaustible lamp.
The lovers play at picking up water, tattooing smoke,
at staying where they are.
They play the long sad game of love.
None of them will give up.
The lovers are ashamed to reach any agreement.
Empty, but empty from one rib to another,
death ferments them behind the eyes, and on they go,
they weep toward morning in the trains,
and the roosters wake into sorrow.
Sometimes a scent of newborn earth reaches them,
of women sleeping with a hand on their sex, contented,
of gentle streams, and kitchens.
The lovers start singing between their
lips a song that is not learned.
And they go on crying, crying for beautiful life.

04-05-2003, 01:29 AM
by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others 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 loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every 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 its 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.

04-05-2003, 10:29 AM
Quote from ShadowWalker:
"oh, cause it's really good!!!" And I second that - Really loved your (Sxygrrl Huntress/ Angie) poem do you have more? :)

http://www.birdsofpreyonline.com/forum/images/newgotham/birdarang.gifI myself love this poem from William Blake. It means a lot to me, and always will. I share it now with all of you:

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies,
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? and what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil ? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757-1827)

04-05-2003, 10:34 AM
I so love this part... "When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears..."

Man i really like this poem! Are most of his poems like this?

04-05-2003, 10:53 AM
You can find I believe, it is in the google search (not to sure but it's what we use in work) some of Blake's work but he was in his time no less than a man and now he's a genius (oh the pain of not being recognised in time.) I like some of his work and there are really good philosophic themes there.

04-05-2003, 10:58 AM
those are all really good!

04-05-2003, 12:29 PM
Having spent so much of my life in the forest, this is another one I love. I particularly like the last two lines.

By Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

04-05-2003, 12:38 PM
Here are one of mine *feels embarrased now*
It has been published but i still dont think it's that good

So many searching
So many lives lost searching
To find. . .
Why do you hide?
From who do you shelter yourself?
Is it from the bloody wars?
The hatred and separation?
Holding onto your beliefs
Onto your ancestors
And history
Holding back from the future
To keep the present
To keep that one moment
When you were happy
And everything was perfect
Before damnation to the murky depths
In which you lie

04-05-2003, 12:59 PM
william blake, robert frost, edgar allen poe, william shakespeare are my favorites... too many to write

04-05-2003, 01:27 PM
Hey, Shadow, I like that! Wish I could write poetry--I can only do prose. Wow--published! Very cool! Any more you've done?

04-05-2003, 01:31 PM
i've done 6 so far, 4 of 'em are at www.poetry.com
the other two i will post here i ya'll would like (well one of them was the song i did post in no mans land)

But i really wish i could read some more of SGH's poems!

Silver Cougar
04-05-2003, 02:44 PM
Shadowwalker- your poem rocks! I'll have to keep it in mind for english; we've FINALLY started poetry :D All the other classes have already done it, and now they're going on to the book 'The Outsiders', which we've already done.

watcher- that poem is similar to a quote at the beginning of the book I just finished this morning! It's by William Herringe- isn't that ironic ;)

Here's one that was quoted at the beginning of a chapter, same book:

A cat has nine lives
For three he plays
For three he strays
For three he stays.

04-06-2003, 10:38 AM
On an entirely different note...I've always loved this one:

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take The Garbage Out
By Shel Silverstein

Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout
Would not take the garbage out!
She'd scour the pots and scrape the pans,
Candy the yams and spice the hams,
And though her daddy would scream and shout,
She simply would not take the garbage out.
And so it piled up to the ceilings:
Coffee grounds, potato peelings,
Brown Bananas, rotten peas,
Chunks of sour cottage cheese.
It filled the can, it covered the floor,
It cracked the window and blocked the door
With bacon rinds and chicken bones,
Drippy ends of ice cream cones,
Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel,
Gloppy glumps of cold oatmeal,
Pizza crusts and withered greens,
Soggy beans and tangerines,
Crusts of black burned buttered toast,
Grisly bits of beefy roasts...
The garbage rolled down the hall,
It raised the roof, it broke the wall...
Greasy napkins, cookie crumbs,
Globs of gooey bubble gum,
Cellophane from green baloney,
Rubbery blubbery macaroni,
Peanut butter, caked and dry,
Curdled milk and crusts of pie,
Moldy melons, dried-up mustard,
Eggshells mixed with lemon custard,
Cold french fries and rancid meat,
Yellow lumps of Cream of Wheat.
At last the garbage reached so high
That finally it touched the sky.
And all the neighbors moved away,
And none of her friends would come to play.
And finally Sarah Cynthia Slylvia Stout said,
"Ok, I'll take the garbage out!"
But then, of course, it was too late...
The garbage reached across the state,
From New York to the Golden Gate.
And there, in the garbage she did hate,
Poor Sarah met an awful fate,
That I cannot right now relate
Because the hour is much too late.
But children, remember Sarah Stout
And always take the garbage out!

Silver Cougar
04-06-2003, 01:08 PM
My english teacher gave me this one ;) -

The Lesson
A poem that raises the question: Should there be capital punishment in schools?

Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the hooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din

"The theme for today is violence
and homework shall be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one you'll never forget"

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garroted the girl behind him
(the one with the grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows
"First come, first served" he declaired
"fingers, feet, or toes"

He threw the sword at a latecomer
it struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal inquired
"Of course you may" said the teacher
put the gun to his head and fired

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
silence shuffled forward
with it's hands up in the air

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
he wagged a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said

It isn't my favourite (I'm afraid it'll give Mr. Smith ideas) but it raises some interesting points

04-06-2003, 01:10 PM
when my granfather died, this poem was written on the program and i just thought i would share it with ya'll:

god's garden

god looked around his garden
and he found an empty place.
he then looked down upon this earth,
and saw your tired face.
he put his arms around you,
and lifted you to rest.
god's garden must be beautiful,
he always takes the best.
he knew that you were suffering,
he knew you were in pain.
he knew that you would never
get well on earth again.
he saw that the road was getting rough
and the hills are hard to climb.
so he closed your weary eyelids
and whispered, "please be thine."
it broke our hearts to lose you,
but you didn't go alone.
for part of us went with you
the day god called you home.

04-06-2003, 01:26 PM
okay, i haven't shared any of mine, so i guess i should...

i will win - shannon mc

put to the test
i try my hardest
pushing harder, wanting more
i fight until i can't anymore
nothing will hold me down
i keep a smile and not a frown
victory is oh so sweet
i see it as i fall to my feet
tried my best
i have nothing left
this can never be taken from me
i have won, i am free

04-11-2003, 10:38 PM
The Valley of Unrest
by Edgar Allan Poe

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.

04-11-2003, 11:50 PM
Okay dark convinced me to post another one of mine, so here it is...

A World About To Dawn
All things lost will one day be found.
All things forgotten will one day be remembered.
One day the deaf will hear,
The blind will see and
The lame will walk.
It is a new world about to dawn
Will you take my hand?

04-12-2003, 12:01 AM
Though I am a huge Poe fan, this one is a fave of mine. I like the rythem. Plus it has kind of a cool meaning.

Drop a Pebble in the Water
by: James W. Foley

Drop a pebble in the water; just a splash and it is gone;
But there's half a hundred ripples circling on and on and on,
Spreading, spreading from the center, flowing on out to the sea.
And there is no way of telling where the end is going to be.

Drop a pebble in the water; in a minute you forget;
But there's little waves a-flwoing, and there's ripples circling yet,
And those little waves a-flwoing to a great big wave have grown;
You've disturbed a mighty river just by dropping in a stone.

Drop an unkind word, or careless, in a minute it is gone;
But there's half a hundred ripples circling on and on and on
They keep spreading, spreading, spreading from the center as they go,
And thre is no way to stop them, once you've started them to flow.

Drop an unkind word, or careless; in a m nute you forget;
But there's little waves a flowiong, and there's ripples circling yet,
And perhaps in some sad heart a mighty wave of tears you've stirred,
And disturbed a life was happy ere you dropped that unkind word.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: just a flash and it is gone;
But there's half a hundred ripples circling on and on and on,
Bearing hope and joy and comfor on each splashing, dashing wave
Till you wouldn't believe the volume of the one kind word you gave.

Drop a word of cheer and kindness: in a minute you forget;
But there's gladness still a-swelling, and there's joy a-circling yet,
And you've rolled a wave of comfort whose sweet music can be heard
Over miles and miles of water just by dropping one kind word.

04-12-2003, 09:34 PM
Shadow, SGH, and Trog..er...Shananigan! I like those poems! It takes some real guts to post original work. Wow--I wish I could write poetry. I'm impressed. I attempted one, once, when I was really, really homesick and dealing with culture shock while I was living in Belgium, but I haven't the guts to post it. Me, I'll stick to prose. I really enjoyed reading yours, though.

Silver Cougar
04-12-2003, 11:08 PM
Ditto, totally ditto!

04-13-2003, 12:12 AM
by Edgar Allan Poe

Kind solace in a dying hour!
Such, father, is not (now) my theme-
I will not madly deem that power
Of Earth may shrive me of the sin
Unearthly pride hath revell'd in-
I have no time to dote or dream:
You call it hope- that fire of fire!
It is but agony of desire:
If I can hope- Oh God! I can-
Its fount is holier- more divine-
I would not call thee fool, old man,
But such is not a gift of thine.

Know thou the secret of a spirit
Bow'd from its wild pride into shame.
O yearning heart! I did inherit
Thy withering portion with the fame,
The searing glory which hath shone
Amid the jewels of my throne,
Halo of Hell! and with a pain
Not Hell shall make me fear again-
O craving heart, for the lost flowers
And sunshine of my summer hours!
The undying voice of that dead time,
With its interminable chime,
Rings, in the spirit of a spell,
Upon thy emptiness- a knell.

I have not always been as now:
The fever'd diadem on my brow
I claim'd and won usurpingly-
Hath not the same fierce heirdom given
Rome to the Caesar- this to me?
The heritage of a kingly mind,
And a proud spirit which hath striven
Triumphantly with human kind.

On mountain soil I first drew life:
The mists of the Taglay have shed
Nightly their dews upon my head,
And, I believe, the winged strife
And tumult of the headlong air
Have nestled in my very hair.

So late from Heaven- that dew- it fell
(Mid dreams of an unholy night)
Upon me with the touch of Hell,
While the red flashing of the light
From clouds that hung, like banners, o'er,
Appeared to my half-closing eye
The pageantry of monarchy,
And the deep trumpet-thunder's roar
Came hurriedly upon me, telling
Of human battle, where my voice,
My own voice, silly child!- was swelling
(O! how my spirit would rejoice,
And leap within me at the cry)
The battle-cry of Victory!

The rain came down upon my head
Unshelter'd- and the heavy wind
Rendered me mad and deaf and blind.
It was but man, I thought, who shed
Laurels upon me: and the rush-
The torrent of the chilly air
Gurgled within my ear the crush
Of empires- with the captive's prayer-
The hum of suitors- and the tone
Of flattery 'round a sovereign's throne.

My passions, from that hapless hour,
Usurp'd a tyranny which men
Have deem'd, since I have reach'd to power,
My innate nature- be it so:
But father, there liv'd one who, then,
Then- in my boyhood- when their fire
Burn'd with a still intenser glow,
(For passion must, with youth, expire)
E'en then who knew this iron heart
In woman's weakness had a part.

I have no words- alas!- to tell
The loveliness of loving well!
Nor would I now attempt to trace
The more than beauty of a face
Whose lineaments, upon my mind,
Are- shadows on th' unstable wind:
Thus I remember having dwelt
Some page of early lore upon,
With loitering eye, till I have felt
The letters- with their meaning- melt
To fantasies- with none.

O, she was worthy of all love!
Love- as in infancy was mine-
'Twas such as angel minds above
Might envy; her young heart the shrine
On which my every hope and thought
Were incense- then a goodly gift,
For they were childish and upright-
Pure- as her young example taught:
Why did I leave it, and, adrift,
Trust to the fire within, for light?

We grew in age- and love- together,
Roaming the forest, and the wild;
My breast her shield in wintry weather-
And when the friendly sunshine smil'd,
And she would mark the opening skies,
I saw no Heaven- but in her eyes.

Young Love's first lesson is- the heart:
For 'mid that sunshine, and those smiles,
When, from our little cares apart,
And laughing at her girlish wiles,
I'd throw me on her throbbing breast,
And pour my spirit out in tears-
There was no need to speak the rest-
No need to quiet any fears
Of her- who ask'd no reason why,
But turn'd on me her quiet eye!

Yet more than worthy of the love
My spirit struggled with, and strove,
When, on the mountain peak, alone,
Ambition lent it a new tone-
I had no being- but in thee:
The world, and all it did contain
In the earth- the air- the sea-
Its joy- its little lot of pain
That was new pleasure- the ideal,
Dim vanities of dreams by night-

And dimmer nothings which were real-
(Shadows- and a more shadowy light!)
Parted upon their misty wings,
And, so, confusedly, became
Thine image, and- a name- a name!
Two separate- yet most intimate things.

I was ambitious- have you known
The passion, father? You have not:
A cottager, I mark'd a throne
Of half the world as all my own,
And murmur'd at such lowly lot-
But, just like any other dream,
Upon the vapour of the dew
My own had past, did not the beam
Of beauty which did while it thro'
The minute- the hour- the day- oppress
My mind with double loveliness.

We walk'd together on the crown
Of a high mountain which look'd down
Afar from its proud natural towers
Of rock and forest, on the hills-
The dwindled hills! begirt with bowers,
And shouting with a thousand rills.

I spoke to her of power and pride,
But mystically- in such guise
That she might deem it nought beside
The moment's converse; in her eyes
I read, perhaps too carelessly-
A mingled feeling with my own-
The flush on her bright cheek, to me
Seem'd to become a queenly throne
Too well that I should let it be
Light in the wilderness alone.

I wrapp'd myself in grandeur then,
And donn'd a visionary crown-
Yet it was not that Fantasy
Had thrown her mantle over me-
But that, among the rabble- men,
Lion ambition is chained down-
And crouches to a keeper's hand-
Not so in deserts where the grand-
The wild- the terrible conspire
With their own breath to fan his fire.

Look 'round thee now on Samarcand!
Is not she queen of Earth? her pride
Above all cities? in her hand
Their destinies? in all beside
Of glory which the world hath known
Stands she not nobly and alone?
Falling- her veriest stepping-stone
Shall form the pedestal of a throne-
And who her sovereign? Timour- he
Whom the astonished people saw
Striding o'er empires haughtily
A diadem'd outlaw!

O, human love! thou spirit given
On Earth, of all we hope in Heaven!
Which fall'st into the soul like rain
Upon the Siroc-wither'd plain,
And, failing in thy power to bless,
But leav'st the heart a wilderness!
Idea! which bindest life around
With music of so strange a sound,
And beauty of so wild a birth-
Farewell! for I have won the Earth.

When Hope, the eagle that tower'd, could see
No cliff beyond him in the sky,
His pinions were bent droopingly-
And homeward turn'd his soften'd eye.
'Twas sunset: when the sun will part
There comes a sullenness of heart
To him who still would look upon
The glory of the summer sun.
That soul will hate the ev'ning mist,
So often lovely, and will list
To the sound of the coming darkness (known
To those whose spirits hearken) as one
Who, in a dream of night, would fly
But cannot from a danger nigh.

What tho' the moon- the white moon
Shed all the splendour of her noon,
Her smile is chilly, and her beam,
In that time of dreariness, will seem
(So like you gather in your breath)
A portrait taken after death.
And boyhood is a summer sun
Whose waning is the dreariest one-
For all we live to know is known,
And all we seek to keep hath flown-
Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall
With the noon-day beauty- which is all.

I reach'd my home- my home no more
For all had flown who made it so.
I pass'd from out its mossy door,
And, tho' my tread was soft and low,
A voice came from the threshold stone
Of one whom I had earlier known-
O, I defy thee, Hell, to show
On beds of fire that burn below,
A humbler heart- a deeper woe.

Father, I firmly do believe-
I know- for Death, who comes for me
From regions of the blest afar,
Where there is nothing to deceive,
Hath left his iron gate ajar,
And rays of truth you cannot see
Are flashing thro' Eternity-
I do believe that Eblis hath
A snare in every human path-
Else how, when in the holy grove
I wandered of the idol, Love,
Who daily scents his snowy wings
With incense of burnt offerings
From the most unpolluted things,
Whose pleasant bowers are yet so riven
Above with trellis'd rays from Heaven,
No mote may shun- no tiniest fly-
The lightning of his eagle eye-
How was it that Ambition crept,
Unseen, amid the revels there,
Till growing bold, he laughed and leapt
In the tangles of Love's very hair?

04-13-2003, 08:07 PM
Thanks SamIAm and Silver Cougar... Ditto to SGH & Shadow... awesome... Here's another one of mine, it's not like real deep or anything. I wrote it for a sports publication during the Atlanta Olympics.


you are the greatest and the best
you can withstand any unkind test
it may be a bombing or an injury
but, the image and spirit do not get blurry
your sport takes a lot of effort and hard work
but, the memories of it all will always lurk
just because you don't always win tons
you will always have your gold, silver, and bronze
so, when you are retired and it's all over and done
you will be able to look back and say that you had so much fun

Silver Cougar
04-14-2003, 08:44 PM
Shan... I like that!

"you will always have your gold, silver, and bronze"

Or your yellow, high yellow, orange, high orange, red, high red, ect... belt! (I just got back from martial arts :D )

04-14-2003, 08:47 PM
The Raven .. by Edgar Allen Poe

As a kid in 5th grade, I memorized it VERBATIM to recite as a class project .. still remember it completely to this day 32 years later.

04-23-2003, 12:12 AM
Pied Beauty

Glory be to God for dappled things

For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;

For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

Landscapes plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;

Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise Him.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Silver Cougar
04-23-2003, 12:24 AM
THE CANUCKS WON!!!!!!! (Game 7 of the playoffs, that is)

So I'm in a good mood... I think I'll post the poem I had to do in english lately ;) Don't laugh while you're eating pumpkin seeds, I warn you :D

It follows a certain rhyme scheme from a poem in our textbooks, Riches by Harold M. Telemaque

These are my gold;
Only the valley mist
Stained yellow by the rising sun
Replaced later by green grass.
Only the dying trees
Carpeting the ground with brownish needles
As winter approaches.

These are my silver;
Only the mountain peaks
Topped with glittering snow
The pride of the North.
Only the fine raindrops
A curtain of water
To bring life to those below.

These are my diamonds;
Only the crests of ocean waves
Veiling tiny silver fish
From the bright sunlight.
Only the distant stars
Their value unmeasurable
Though only to the heart.

Well, there it is. Watch the pumpkin seeds!

04-23-2003, 12:37 AM
did you say that was yours cougar? 'cause it's really good :)

04-25-2003, 12:48 AM
The Haunted Palace

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace —
Snow-white palace — reared its head.
In the monarch thought's dominion —
It stood there!
Never Seraph spread his pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow —
This — all this — was in the olden
Time long ago —
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the rampart plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.

All wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well tuned law,
Round about a throne where sitting
In state his glory well befitting,
The sovereign of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door ;
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate!
Ah, let us mourn — for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!
And round about his home the glory,
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door;
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh — but smile no more.

04-28-2003, 09:37 PM
Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
By Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

04-29-2003, 03:15 PM
So loved that sam, made me suddenly think back to my grandma whom i hadn't thought of in ages!

04-29-2003, 10:25 PM
Yeah, the first time I saw that, I laughed myself sick. My grandma was a real character, too.

05-08-2003, 12:34 PM
Ghosts in the Streets
by Michael J. Rouche, Jr

Ghosts move in these streets
Ireland is full of them
A man the image of my dad passed me this day
And my father over twenty years dead
At every turn they appear
Dear dead uncles and aunts
Friends of many years as well
Their children and thier children's children
The living I know, the dead i knew, those yet to be
They move about in oter roles
On this distant, diffrent stage
Not quite who they are or were
Given over to another script
Perhaps they did not leave ay all
Perhaps I am the specter
He who might have been
They may see me as such
If they see me at all
If i stop the man who is the image of my father
Will he be offended
Will he change before me
Will he disappear
Will I disappear
I will watch him pass, noting the semblance
Ghosts move in these streets
Ireland is full of them

(NOTE: One i read today and i immediately fell in love with it, i got pleanty more from where this one came, will post another later)

05-08-2003, 03:09 PM
Prayer of a False God
Author Unknown

All are doomed to burn
Love feeds the flames
Days of endless pains
And the smoke takes each in turn

All are doomed to rust
Time destroys our lives
Nights cut like knives
And the wind carries away the dust

All are doomed to love
All are doomed to die
Tonight in the black tomb
For even the most high
Even those in this room
Cannot pretend to fly
And I know
Even you
Even I
Must die

05-08-2003, 11:40 PM
Tintern Abbey, Wales
by Mary E. Hamilton

Alone was I amid the ancient abbey walls.
Ghostly beezes chilled me to the bone,
A thousand monks seemed all around,
yet all were buried under stone.

I sacred silence I listened
Gregorian Chant echoed through broken walls.
Chapel bells announced morning prayer
and muffled footsteps proceeded through cloister halls.

The roof is gone;
birds fly in and out or make their nests.
Broken arches swell heavenward as arms in prayer
in memory of Cistercian monks at their best.

05-09-2003, 10:18 PM
Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
~ Dylan Thomas ~

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

05-12-2003, 09:16 PM
i love that poem sam!

here's an excerpt from what i consider poetry sometimes...

He replied, "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."
--Luke 10:18-20

05-13-2003, 02:51 AM
Isn't It Amazing

When you feel you're lost
And so out of control
When the burdens of life
Are weighing heavy on your soul

When you think that you're alone
No one could ever know
The pain in your heart
The suffering...the sorrow

When you think you've had enough
When it all has become too much
When you've built up a wall around you
So you're heart no one can touch

There comes along a someone
Who brings along a light
Who sticks by you through your darkest hours
Who stands beside you in your fight

And suddenly as if
Like a moth to flame you find
There are others standing by you
Helping give you peace of mind

And all at once you're smiling
The burdens of life made light
The clouds that surrounded you are gone
All that was once wrong now made right

A simple word can cheer you
Make life much easier to live
Knowing there are people beside you
Who have much of themselves to give

Your heart is suddenly lighter
The wall you built torn down
Your eyes begin to twinkle
There's no more reason to frown

Friends can make the difference
Can help you find your way
Can make you laugh, can make you care
Make you want to see a new day

Never doubt the amazing things
These mere mortals can achieve
Never doubt it - I've witnessed it myself
No greater gift could I ever receive.

- MUZBNUTS aka Melissa
May 13, 2003

05-13-2003, 04:45 AM
My favorite poems are rather long, so I'll link to them.

America (http://www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/4129/america.htm), by Allen Ginsburg.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock (http://www.bartleby.com/198/1.html), by T.S. Eliot.

As my 12th grade English teacher would say, they're both rather "chewy". Guess I'm just a complex gal.

05-13-2003, 12:37 PM
Pantoum to the Poet
by Marcena Walker

The written word, a poet's game-
he weaves his tale of woe;
a comfort to the mind. Hands,
building the stately rime,

he weaves his tale of woe,
the reader to construe.
Building the stately rime,
his intent often a mystery.

The reader to construe
the written word; a poet's game.
His intent often a mystery,
hands a comfort to the mind.

05-13-2003, 02:25 PM
MBN!!! That poem was amazing...just one to add to my Collected works of Muzbnuts book that I'm compiling....

05-13-2003, 03:56 PM
Cold as Winter by Amelia Atwater Rhodes

Cold as Winter; Strong as stone,
she faced the darkness all alone.

A goddess; a reflection,
A mirage; a recollection.

No turning around; no turning back,
the past is gone; The future black.

Serpents gather in their nest;
She stands alone; above the rest.

As a shattered mirror shows a shattered truth;
A shattered being in a shattered youth.

05-14-2003, 09:10 PM
MBN, I like that poem! Very nice!

I'm always so impressed with people who can write poetry!

05-14-2003, 10:17 PM
Success is Counted Sweetest

by Emily Dickinson

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated--dying--
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

Muted Faith
05-15-2003, 09:06 PM
I Wish

I wish to feel the joy again
of running down the street,
I wish to feel the air again
tickling the bottems of my feet.
I wish to celebrate once again
Life instead of death,
I wish to be free again
Even if it takes my last breath.

05-22-2003, 08:04 PM
This was one of my very favorite poems when I was little. I only knew the first two stanzas, but when I was about four, I had them memorized and insisted on reciting them whenever I ate animal crackers.

Animal Crackers
Christopher Morley

Animal crackers and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers, I think;
When I'm grown up and can have what I please,
I think I shall always insist upon these.

What do you choose when you're offered a treat?
When Mother says, "What would you like best to eat?"
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It's cocoa and animals that I love the most!

The kitchen's the cosiest place that I know;
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.

Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don't have nearly as much fun as I,
Who eats in the kitchen with Nurse standing by,
And Daddy once said he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!

05-22-2003, 08:53 PM
Here's one of my favorites.


I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and dispair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Muted Faith
05-23-2003, 06:35 AM
The poem I sent in was my own, we had to make a scrapbook based on a character from Anne Frank. One of the items was a poem, I don't think it's that good.....

05-23-2003, 12:32 PM
WOW MBN and Muted Faith, those poems were awesome!!!

05-23-2003, 05:56 PM
Muted Faith--that was yours? Wow! VERY cool! Why don't you think it's good? I liked it.

05-23-2003, 06:10 PM
by kryptonite785 (Me!)

Like a key to a door
Your mind to my heart
I cleared the floor
You didn't do your part

I've waited six long months
To see you cry
What I didn't know
Is how you said goodbye

You wrote me a letter
With flowers inside
I didn't read it
I was your marionette bride

You told me you loved me
I didn't believe
You gave me your heart
I knew it couldn't be

You lifted me up
On a porcelain pedestal base
I stepped down
From your lie covered in lace

What I didn't know
Was how you said goodbye
You wrote me a letter
With betrayal inside.

05-24-2003, 03:54 PM
There will be storms, child
There will be storms
And with each tempest
You will seem to stand alone
Against cruel winds

But with time, the rage and fury
Shall subside
And when the sky clears
You will find yourself
Clinging to someone
You would have never known
But for storms.

by Margie DeMerell

05-24-2003, 04:04 PM
Don't Bring Camels in the Classroom
by Kenn Nesbitt

Don't bring camels in the classroom.
Don't bring scorpions to school.
Don't bring rhinos, rats, or reindeer.
Don't bring mice or moose or mule.

Pull your penguin off the playground.
Put your python in a tree.
Place your platypus wherever
you think platypi should be.

Lose your leopard and your lemur.
Leave your llama and your leech.
Take your tiger, toad, and toucan
anywhere but where they teach.

Send your wombat and your weasel
with your wasp and wolverine.
Hide your hedgehog and hyena
where you're sure they won't be seen.

Please get rid of your gorilla.
Please kick out your kangaroo.
No, the teacher didn't mean it
when she called the class a "zoo."

05-25-2003, 11:29 AM
Originally posted by kryptonite785
by kryptonite785 (Me!)

Like a key to a door
Your mind to my heart
I cleared the floor
You didn't do your part

I've waited six long months
To see you cry
What I didn't know
Is how you said goodbye

You wrote me a letter
With flowers inside
I didn't read it
I was your marionette bride

You told me you loved me
I didn't believe
You gave me your heart
I knew it couldn't be

You lifted me up
On a porcelain pedestal base
I stepped down
From your lie covered in lace

What I didn't know
Was how you said goodbye
You wrote me a letter
With betrayal inside. That's a good one.

05-25-2003, 01:26 PM
heaven's very special child
A meeting was held quite far
from earth
"It's time again for another birth",
said the angels to the lord above.
"This special child will need
much love,
His progress may seem very slow
accomplishments he may not show
And he'll require extra care
From the folks he meets way
down there.
He may not run or laugh or play
His thoughts may seem quite
far away
In many ways he won't adapt
And he'll be known as handicapped.
So let's be careful where he's sent
We want his life to be content.
please, lord, find the parents who
will do a special job for you.
They will not realize right away
The leading role they're asked
to play
But with this child sent from above
Comes stronger faith and richer love
And soon they'll know the privilege
In caring for this gift from heaven.
Their precious charge,
so meek and mild
Is heaven's very special child".

05-25-2003, 01:38 PM
Oh wow! that's beautiful brandie!!!

Birthday Advice
by Bruce Lansky

Today on your birthday
I think you should know--
you're getting too old now
to suck on your toe.

And when you get hungry
I hope you won't spread
the jam that you find
'tween your toes on your bread.

Do not shine your shoes
with the wax from your ear.
Don't shampoo your hair
with your dad's favorite beer.

Do not chase your nose
when it's running--that's dumb.
When you go to church,
do not dress like a bum.

It's time you grew up
and stopped acting so bad.
It's time that you stopped
acting just like your dad.

05-31-2003, 10:41 PM
by Emily Jane Brontë

There should be no despair for you
While nightly stars are burning,
While evening pours its silent dew
And sunshine gilds the morning.
There should be no despair - though tears
May flow down like a river:
Are not the best beloved of years
Around your heart forever?

They weep - you weep - it must be so;
Winds sigh as you are sighing,
And Winter sheds his grief in snow
Where Autumn's leaves are lying:
Yet these revive, and from their fate
Your fate cannot be parted,
Then journey on, if not elate,
Still, never broken-hearted!

06-01-2003, 01:48 AM
Darkness Lies

written by harleyfan

Darkness crept inside while I looked away.

There was only silence as my soul was eaten away.

No one saved me. No one tried.

I lay there and watched as my body died.

Laughed as the pain faded away.

Cried as I realized what had been taken away.

The darkness laughed at my tears.

As it whispered in my ear.

Words that made my blood run cold.

Your blame I told you so.

~be evil~

06-01-2003, 01:53 AM
"Be evil"... You are incorregible.

06-01-2003, 02:01 AM
Harley!!! that was very VERY good!!! Flowing with meaning and very deep.

I love your format too!!!

06-01-2003, 01:03 PM
Consolation, The
by Anne Brontë

Though bleak these woods and damp the ground
With fallen leaves so thickly strewn,
And cold the wind that wanders round
With wild and melancholy moan,
There is a friendly roof I know
Might shield me from the wintry blast;
There is a fire whose ruddy glow
Will cheer me for my wanderings past.

And so, though still where'er I roam
Cold stranger glances meet my eye,
Though when my spirit sinks in woe
Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh,

Though solitude endured too long
Bids youthful joys too soon decay,
Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue
And overclouds my noon of day,

When kindly thoughts that would have way
Flow back discouraged to my breast
I know there is, though far away
A home where heart and soul may rest.

Warm hands are there that clasped in mine
The warmer heart will not belie,
While mirth and truth and friendship shine
In smiling lip and earnest eye.

The ice that gathers round my heart
May there be thawed; and sweetly then
The joys of youth that now depart
Will come to cheer my soul again.

Though far I roam, this thought shall be
My hope, my comfort everywhere;
While such a home remains to me
My heart shall never know despair.

06-11-2003, 12:15 AM
The Conqueror Worm
by Edgar Allan Poe

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly --
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!

That motley drama! --oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! --it writhes! --with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out --out are the lights --out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm. ~be evil~

06-14-2003, 04:14 PM
R.I.P Friend

Funny how much value a second holds
Between life and death
When you were there and now your gone

You were a life saver
A corner stone
An unsurpased energy

The smile before the laugter
The light before the sunrise
The stars before Venus

But, in a second, it was taken away
Ripped away

But i know, you're still there
In the piece of paper i hold in my hands
In the song you taught me

I'll see you in the rising and setting of the sun
In the smiles before the laughter
In the stars at night

R.I.P my friend.

by Me

Dedicated to a friend who died 2 years ago in a car accident, and i only found out now. Not good when your listening to "The Last of the Mohicans"

06-14-2003, 06:44 PM
That was beautiful, Shadow.

06-14-2003, 09:16 PM
I learned some poems in school last year, but I can't remember the authors: "Ozymandias" and this one(don't know the title or author, but I liked it:
Our fathers fought for liberty
they struggled long and well
history of their deeds can tell, but did they leave us free?

are we free to speak our thought
to be happy and be poor
free to enter heavens door
to live and labor as we ought?

are we then made free at last
from the fear of what men say
free to reverance today
free from the slavery of the past?

our fathers fought for liberty
they struggled long and well
history of their dees can tell
but ourselves must set us free.

I also like "oh my luv's like a red red rose" by I think Robert Burns. It reminds me of the song on the movie fly away home...

06-14-2003, 09:19 PM
"oh my luv's like a red red rose":
oh, my luv's like a red red rose
that's newly sprung in june
oh, my luv's like the melody
that's sweetly sung in tune
as fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
so deep in love am I
and I will love thee still my dear
till all the seas gang dry
till all the seas gang dry, my dear,
and the rocks melt with the sun,
and I will love thee still my dear,
while the sands of life shall run
and fare thee well, my bonnie lass,
and fare thee well awhile,
for I shall come again, my love,
though it were ten thousand mile

Dritz Darkstorm
06-14-2003, 11:15 PM
I'd have 2 say any thing Edgar Allen Poe is good

06-25-2003, 10:31 AM
The Day is Done
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

06-25-2003, 07:43 PM
I think there hasn't been soul in the place that posted anything like this so...

In the beginning was the Word, and
the Word was With God, and the Word was God.
The same was in the beginning with God.

And having stated thus, I cannot forget that the truest definition of poetry is poetry herself, which remains the ungraspable phantom of life-- the White Whale itself, immortal, immutable, and superior to both the artist and critic, ultimately inaccessible, even to those who created it:

I believe it's a good incentive to keep writting poetry but not just that, to keep doing it whenever you want and whatever comes to your mind, be free and be true to yourself

07-12-2003, 09:19 AM
The Stolen Child
by William Butler Yeats

WHERE dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water-rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berries

And of reddest stolen cherries.

- {Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you

can understand.}

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim grey sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances,

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles

And is anxious in its sleep.

- {Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you

can understand.}

Where the wandering water gushes

From the hills above Glen-Car,

In pools among the rushes

That scarce could bathe a star,

We seek for slumbering trout

And whispering in their ears

Give them unquiet dreams;

Leaning softly out

From ferns that drop their tears

Over the young streams.

- {Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you

can understand.}

Away with us he's going,

The solemn-eyed:

He'll hear no more the lowing

Of the calves on the warm hillside

Or the kettle on the hob

Sing peace into his breast,

Or see the brown mice bob

Round and round the oatmeal-chest.

- {For he comes, the human child,

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

from a world more full of weeping than he

can understand.}

09-19-2003, 02:18 AM
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

09-19-2003, 02:20 AM
Phenomenal Woman
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

09-19-2003, 02:21 AM
Touched By An Angel
by Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

Mor Cartel
09-19-2003, 09:07 AM
Watcher- That is such an awesome concept!
I love all your poems, and while I can't think of any at the moment, I'll still enjoy reading all of yours! Keep going!

09-19-2003, 11:53 PM

by Sylvia Plath

From the Comic Operatic Fantasy The Seafarer

It beguiles --
This little Odyssey
In pink and lavender
Over a surface of gently -
Graded turquoise tiles
That represent a sea
With chequered waves and gaily
Bear up the seafarer,
Gaily, gaily,
In his pink plume and armor.

A lantern-frail
Gondola of paper
Ferries the fishpond Sindbad
Who poises his pastel spear
Toward three pinky-purple
Monsters which uprear
Off the ocean-floor
With fanged and dreadful head.
Beware, beware
The whale, the shark, the squid.

But fins and scales
Of each scrolled sea-beast
Troll no slime, no weed.
They are polished for the joust,
They gleam like easter eggshells,
Rose and amethyst.
Ahab, fulfill your boast:
Bring home each storied head.
One thrust, one thrust,
One thrust: and they are sped.

So fables go.
And so all children sing
Their bathtub battles deep,
Hazardous and long,
But oh, sage grownups know
Sea-dragon for sofa, fang
For pasteboard, and siren-song
For fever in a sleep.
Laughing, laughing
Of graybeards wakes us up.

09-20-2003, 01:08 AM
hey SGH i also like the road not taken by Robert Frost....
here are the peoms that i like they are 2

Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others 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 loved 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 roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd 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.


by Edgar Allan Poe

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?

-- THE END --

09-20-2003, 01:19 AM
by Bcool aka Ben(me)
July 30 2003

I don't understand it,
Sometimes I hate every bit,
Every time it's the same,
Different names for the same old game,
Always on the outside,
What I really need is a guide,
Someone who will care,
Someone who can take all the hate I bear,
I need a way out,
I need to know there's absolutely no doubt,
Somday I'll be on the inside,
That I can get rid of this pride,
I don't want to live this way,
I don't care what they say,
I know the end of this story,
I know there's no reason to worry,
I know who's by my side,
I know this One that's my guide.

11-02-2003, 02:43 AM
If I Could Catch a Rainbow
by Sandra Lewis Pringle

If I could catch a rainbow, I would do it, just for you,
And, share with you, its beauty, on the days you're feeling blue.

If I could, I would build a mountain, you could call your very own.
A place to find serenity, a place just to be alone.

If I could, I would take your troubles, and toss them into the sea.
But, all these things, I'm finding, are impossible for me.

I cannot build a mountain, or catch a rainbow fair;
but, let me be, what I know best,
A Friend, who's always there.

I promise to defend you, should the occasion ever rise,
And, I promise to wipe away the tears,
which might stream from your weeping eyes.

Let me be the trusted Friend, the one that you know best.
I will never leave you, on that, you can surely rest.

11-02-2003, 02:48 AM
by Suzin Polish Schwartz or LaurieAnn Kelly (unclear who was original author)

Sometimes in life,
you find a special friend;
Someone who changes your life
just by being part of it.
Someone who makes you laugh
until you can't stop;
Someone who makes you believe
that there really is good in the world.
Someone who convinces you
that there really is an unlocked door
just waiting for you to open it.
This is Forever Friendship.
When you're down,
and the world seems dark and empty,
Your forever friend lifts you up in spirit
and makes that dark and empty world
suddenly seem bright and full.
Your forever friend gets you through
the hard times, the sad times,
and the confused times.
If you turn and walk away,
your forever friend follows.
If you lose your way,
your forever friend guides you
and cheers you on.
Your forever friend holds your hand
and tells you that
everything is going to be okay.
And if you find such a friend,
you feel happy and complete,
because you need not worry.
You have a forever friend for life,
and forever has no end.

11-02-2003, 02:03 PM

Y’all have really good picks for poems, and Annabel Lee is my Fave poem of all time, by Edgar Allen Poe, but I can’t find my copy of it right now. Instead I’ll have to submit my favorite part of a poem I read in a Faith/Buffy FanFiction I must have read two years ago. (I don’t know the author… sorry to who ever you are! I’m a HUGE FAN!)

“Painfully light in your touch,
Like a brush of darkened wind,
I could never know too much,
There is shame in sin”

‘A Sinful Carnal Perfume’

“I’ve never been one for the timber . . .” ~Tara MaClay

11-04-2003, 02:03 PM

Oh ageless Mystic, where
might you be?
Am I of you, or you
of me?
Are you my soul, or I
your heart?
Oh ageless Mystic, from
these ears never part.



Upon a tranquil mountain, high above
the formless confusion of the hamlets below,
lived the ageless Mystic.
He was the Life that Death never sought,
a Spirit renewed with the dawning of each new
A self untouched by the passing ages, for
his soul was bathed in the Oneness of all things
held sacred.
He was the one who spoke the language of
the animals and the stars, the trees and the
A wanderer, forever walking upon the twin
paths of Yesterday and Tomorrow, with the silent
knowledge of all things.
He was the Mystic.
And because he saw the things hidden unto
the world of men, and listened for the music no other
ears could hear;
It was his fate to be shunned by all the earth.
He was feared for his power and hated for the
madness of his wisdom;
And so for countless centuries did he live
alone with his sorrow, never knowing the sweetness
of another's voice.
But upon a day of the early spring, while
the Mystic sang unto the emptiness of his soul,
The silence of his solitude was shattered
by the voice of a child.
"Greetings beloved Master. I heard the
beauty of your song, from the valleys below, and
wished to see from whence it sprang."
And the Mystic answered:

I have sung this song since the beginning
of time, out unto the ether did it flow;
Born of my deepest desire to share the
fruits of this, thy aching soul.
Wherefore art thou not afraid?
Who art thou, that blesses the Mystic's

And the child answered with an innocence
most pure:

"I would be merely a child not yet understanding
the fears of mortal men."
And the Mystic smiled with silent approval,
and there was the fragrance of flowers upon his
spoken words:

Few are the days that you have spent upon the
desolate shores of this darkened world, still
remembering of your homeland distant.
The voice of Truth has not yet faded from
the ears of your youth, and the visions of Doubt
have yet to descend upon the dream of your trusting eyes.
You are truly the child of God, and what fear
shall possess you, that your Father's touch may not
Clothed within the years of youth, have you
come unto me: the disciple for which I have so long
awaited, the teacher unto which all men shall one
day seek the lessons of Truth.
Blessed be this youth, for he has delivered
me from my sorrow.
Blessed be this day, for it is the birth of every
man's joy.

Daniel J. Miller

11-05-2003, 11:10 AM
A Vision upon the Fairy Queen
Sir Walter Raleigh (ca. 1552–1618)

Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn; and, passing by that way,
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair Love, and fairer Virtue kept:
All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen;
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,
And, from thenceforth, those Graces were not seen:
For they this queen attended; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse:
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce:
Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And cursed the access of that celestial thief!

11-06-2003, 03:26 AM
By Edgar Allen Poe ...


I am too lazy to write the whole thing. You should know by the following line though ...


11-06-2003, 11:32 AM
Hey, here is something i wrote up on the spur of the moment night before last. Hope you like it.

In The Ageless Forest

Down the narrow path,
Past the field of lilies,
Into the forest,
Through the towering trees

On the wooden bridge,
Over the crystal spring,
Near the old cabin,
Under the old oak tree,

Sat an old man,
His hands rough with age
His eyes a shine with life,
His face shaped with years

The pipe in his mouth
Smoking cheerily
The fiddle in his hands
Playing a catching tune

To the dancing fairies
And the jovial dwarfs
A joyous party
In the ageless forest

© Rowena ****, 2003

11-25-2003, 02:56 PM
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

12-11-2003, 02:55 PM
"The Autumn Wind"

The Autumn wind is a pirate
Blustering in from sea
With a rollicking song he sweeps along
Swaggering voicelessly
His face is weather beaten
He wears a hooded sash
With a silver hat about his head
And a bristling black mustache
He growls as he storms the country
A villain big and bold
And the trees all shake and quiver and quake
As he robs them of their gold
The Autumn Wind is a Raider
Pillaging just for fun
He'll knock you round and up side down and laugh when he's conquered and won

12-14-2003, 03:54 PM
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in Vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.

~ Emily Dickinson

12-20-2003, 01:45 PM
My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose
Robert Burns

O, my love is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
My love is like a melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

So fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
While the sands of life shall run.

And fare the well, my only love,
And fare the well awhile!
And I will come again, my love.
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Girl of justice
12-20-2003, 02:25 PM
I don`t really read poems. But here`s one I found in this forum, that is just lovely:

A Very Special Someone

To be with you and to see you gives me wings. You give me strength you give me peace. You make it easy to breath. When life brings me down but for who you are and what you do makes life worth living for me and you.

By DarkSaint606

05-29-2004, 01:58 AM
This was written by a girl I just met.


I have wishes .. they are like dice. They roll around and take my life. All the things that I wanted to be are now comming back to hypnotize me. I have dreams , they float away, they make my heart want to stay. Of all the things I'd rather be ... I think that my wishes are haunting me.

Aslin Kesadin

05-29-2004, 11:19 AM
Been awhile since I've seen this thread. Heh. Still...I thought I'd post. *coughs nervously* I wrote this one awhile back...

Misery Hates Company

Drowing in my solitude
I look from the inside out
They hate me for my loner attitude
But that's what misery is all about
Basking in the madness
it's all a game to me
Surrounded by pain and sadness
I'm anything but free
None of them understand
They call it teenage angst
They can't see past their ingorance
Lost in their fantasy land
Not everyone is like them
normalcy is way overrated
Some are tortured forever
Existing only to be hated
They label what is different
Forgetting the pain and strife
So call it what you will
I'll just call it life.

By: Me (aka Darkphoenix) :devil:

05-29-2004, 04:11 PM
Very expressive and thought-provoking, Dark. Nice work. Thanks for bumping up this thread, too--it's one of my favorites.

05-29-2004, 09:38 PM
I'm glad to see that this thread existed cos' i happen to have a poem to share...

Journey - Tom Coyne

Have you walked the lonely miles, on the road that's called pain
Until you reached the saddest point, where you questioned if you're sane
Have you felt the ice steel grip of fear, squeezing your heart so tight
That all your days were dark, as a moonless night
Have you lacked the inner strength or will to make it through the day
And all thoughts of tomorrow, were nothing but dismay
Have you gone late into the night, silently praying for sleep
Drowning in the sorrow, amid the tears that you weep
Have you screamed loudly at your God, for being so unfair
And felt bitterness towards the world, because it didn't seem to care

Well that was yesterday, and your healing starts this day
For us to grow, sometimes pain is the only way
Pain is the elixir, that makes us look deep inside
To face our dreaded demons, for within, there is no place to hide
But your demons are but shadows, that fade in the light
When you accept the power of your source, and all of his might
It may not be easy, your struggle may be hard and long
But have faith in yourself, regardless, your path is not wrong
All roads have their landmarks, and on life's journey pain is just one sign
Remember, happiness is life's destination, don't ever resign.

05-29-2004, 10:43 PM
Originally posted by SamIAm
Very expressive and thought-provoking, Dark. Nice work. Thanks for bumping up this thread, too--it's one of my favorites.
Just for the record, I'm the one who dug this thread out from where it was hiding.
Anyway, I just read this one written by a friend of mine. The guys name is Miles, but I don't know his last name.

"False hopes bring silent scars."

Translucent dreams of false hope,
Portraying you as a saint in my eyes,
Lies, sinking deeper into my numbed veins,
Bathing in this radiating sea of magenta,
Binding me in a twisting vine of ambivalence,
Iridescent orbs of failure fall from your deceitful eyes as I inhale your venomous tears,
Diabolical thoughts, entwining endlessly in the hollows of my perplexed mind,
Casting charcoal shadows once more,
Failing myself, I cease to exist.

05-29-2004, 10:49 PM
^ I really like that one. :cool:

06-06-2004, 01:41 AM
-Don't Quit-

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
when the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
when the funds are low and the debts are high,
and you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
when care is pressing you down a bit
rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
as everyone of us sometimes learns,
and many a failure turns about
when they might have won, had they stuck it out.
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
you may succeed with another blow.

Often the stuggler has given up
when he might have captured the victor's cup;
and he learnt too late when the night came down,
how close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out,
the silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
And you never can tell how close you are,
it may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
it's when things seem worst that you mustn't quit.


07-06-2004, 02:05 PM
Part Five: The Single Hound


TO be alive is power,
Existence in itself,
Without a further function,
Omnipotence enough.

To be alive and Will
’T is able as a God!
The Further of ourselves be what
Such being Finitude?

Emily Dickinson

07-10-2004, 10:24 AM
my favorite writers are edgar allan poe, robert frost, etc... but as of now... my favorite is how much i love thee by elizabeth barrett-browning

07-16-2004, 06:27 PM
fave poem tough one but one of mine is

Dance there upon the shore
What need have you to care
for wind or waters roar
and tumble out your hair
that the salt drops have wet;
being young you have not known
the fools triumph, nor yet
love lost as soon as won,
nor the best labourer dead
and all the sheaves to bind
what need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?

By W.B. Yeats

the panther
07-24-2004, 07:26 PM
The Ballad Of Tam Lin
Celtic Mythical Ballad; Author Unknown

O I forbid you, maidens a’,
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tam Lin is there.

There’s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she’s awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But awa was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till upon then started young Tam Lin,
Says, “Lady, thou’s pu nae mae.

“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
And why breaks thou the wand?
Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
Withoutten my command?”

“Carterhaugh, it is my own,
My daddy gave it me,
I’ll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave at thee.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she is to her father’s ha,
As fast as she can hie.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba,
And out then came the fair Janet,
The flower among them a’.

Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess,
And out then came the fair Janet,
As green as onie glass.

Out then spak an auld grey knight,
Lay oer the castle wa,
And says, “Alas, fair Janet, for thee,
But we’ll be blamed a’.”

“Haud your tongue, ye auld fac’d knight,
Some ill death may ye die!
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I’ll father none on thee.”

Out then spak her father dear,
And he spak meek and mild,
“And ever alas, sweet Janet,” he says,
“I think thou gaest wi child.”

“If that I gae wi child, Father,
Mysel maun bear the blame,
There’s neer a laird about your ha,
Shall get the bairn’s name.

“If my love were an earthly knight,
As he’s an elfin grey,
I wad na gie my ain true-love
For nae lord that ye hae.

“The steed that my true love rides on
Is lighter than the wind,
Wi siller he is shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.”

Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has broded her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree,
And she's awa to Carterhaugh
As fast as she can hie.

When she came to Carterhaugh,
Tam Lin was at the well,
And there she fand his steed standing,
But awa was himsel.

She had na pu’d a double rose,
A rose but only twa,
Till up then started young Tam Lin,
Says, “Lady, thou pu’s nae mae.

“Why pu’s thou the rose, Janet,
Amang the groves sae green,
And a’ to kill the bonny babe
That we gat us between?”

“O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,” she says,
“For’s sake that died on tree,
If eer ye was in holy chapel,
Or Christendom die see?”

“Roxbrugh, he was my grandfather,
Took me with him to bide
And ance it fell upon a day
That wae did me betide.

“And ance it fell upon a day
A cauld day and a snell,
When we were frae the hunting come,
That frae my horse I fell,
The Queen o’ Fairies she caught me,
In yon green hill do dwell.

“And pleasant is the fairy land,
But, an eerie tale to tell,
Ay at the end of seven years,
We pay a tiend to hell,
I am sae fair and fu o flesh,
I’m feard it be mysel.

“But the night is Halloween, lady,
The morn is Hallowday,
Then win me, win me, an ye will,
For weel I wat ye may.

“Just at the mirk and midnight hour
The fairy folk will ride,
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bride.”

“But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
Or how my true-love know,
Amang sa mony unco knights,
The like I never saw?”

“O first let pass the black, lady,
And syne let pass the brown,
But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
Pu ye his rider down.

“For I’ll ride on the milk-white steed,
And ay nearest the town,
Because I was an earthly knight
They gie me that renown.

“My right hand will be gloved, lady,
My left hand will be bare,
Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
And kaimed down shall my hair,
And thae’s the takens I gie thee,
Nae doubt I will be there.

“They’ll turn me in your arms, lady,
Into an esk and adder,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I am your bairn’s father.

“They’ll turn me to a bear sae grim,
And then a lion bold,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
And ye shall love your child.

“Again they’ll turn me in your arms
To a red het gand of airn,
But hold me fast, and fear me not,
I’ll do you nae harm.

“And last they’ll turn me in your arms
Into the burning gleed,
Then throw me into well water,
O throw me in with speed.

“And then I’ll be your ain true-love,
I’ll turn a naked knight,
Then cover me wi your green mantle,
And hide me out o’ sight.”

Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
And eerie was the way,
As fair Jenny in her green mantle
To Miles Cross she did gae.

At the mirk and midnight hour
She heard the bridles sing,
She was as glad at that
As any earthly thing.

First she let the black pass by,
And syne she let the brown,
But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.

Sae weel she minded what he did say,
And young Tam Lin did win,
Syne covered him wi her green mantle,
As blythe’s a bird in spring.

Out then spak the Queen o’ Fairies,
Out of a bush o’ broom,
“Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
Has gotten a stately-groom.”

Out then spak the Queen o’ Fairies,
And an angry woman was she,
“Shame betide her ill-far’d face,
And an ill death may she die,
For she’s taen awa the bonniest knight
In a’ my companie.

“But had I kend, Tam Lin,” said she,
“What now this night I see,
I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een,
And put in twa een o’ tree.”

09-01-2004, 08:24 PM
Heh. This is one that I wrote and didn't fit in with anything Birds so I thought I'd post it here.


There was ringing
and a stinging
and a burning in my ears
and a laughing
and a taunting
as the demon entered here
where the portrait
was hanging
of the girl
who looked like she was praying
for a hope
of restful peace
not an afterlife of fear
but the demon
it was dancing
and it's joy was very clear
as it watched the painting burning
and the colors slowly smearing
and the girl's face dissapearing
while the ashes fell like tears
The laughing it was sounding
ever louder in my ears
as I saw the demon looking
at me over here
and it came closer taunting
sort of crawling
ever nearer
as I backed away in fear
looking up I saw the portrait
that was burning
though still hanging
and I saw the face so clear
of the girl
that was praying
to my horror I was screaming
at what was now revealed
that was me in the painting
and the demon it was waiting
for the moment
that I learned
that my very soul was leaving
The demon it was howling
and almost joyfully scowling
And I suddenly was falling
to the floor
slowly dying
as the image became nothing
just a dusty blackened smearing
as the demon kept on dancing
almost prancing
on for years.

06-29-2005, 11:19 PM
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
'I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more-- that's seventeen,
And don't you think that my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--

My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wreched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my spine is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say that today is... Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

08-10-2005, 01:26 AM
Found this one fairly amusing - a woman after my own taste:

Health Food Diner
By Maya Angelou

No sprouted wheat and soya shoots
And Brussels in a cake,
Carrot straw and spinach raw,
(Today I need a steak).

Not thick brown rice and rice pilau
Or mushrooms creamed on toast,
Turnips mashed and parsnips hashed,
(I'm dreaming of a roast).

Health-food folks around the world
Are thinned by anxious zeal,
They look for help in seafood kelp
(I count on breaded veal).

No smoking signs, raw mustard greens,
Zucchini by the ton,
Uncooked kale and bodies frail
Are sure to make me run.

Loins of pork and chicken thighs
And standing rib, so prime,
Pork chops brown and fresh ground round
(I crave them all the time).

Irish stews and boiled corned beef
and hot dogs by the scores,
or any place that saves a space
For smoking carnivores.

10-07-2005, 06:07 PM
Let's Communicate
by Bruce B. Wilmer

Let's never underestimate
Our power to communicate.
If pressures lead to words unfair,
Let's talk it over, clear the air.
If dialogue can save the day,
Let's seek the words and find a way.
So silence cannot barriers build,
Let's keep our lives discussion-dilled.
So we don't burst with things unsaid,
Let's practice speaking out instead.
So we can both feel good inside,
Let's know we always can confide.
So tender thoughts don't slip the mind,
Let's always share a word that's kind.
So love is nourished day by day,
Let's speak our hearts in every way.

10-19-2005, 12:37 AM
Can I Stay Home From School Today?
Poem By Christopher Norman

"Can I stay home from school today?"
I shouted from my bed.
My mother smiled patiently
And slowly shook her head.

"But the kids are all so mean to me,
They’re terrible! They’re cruel!"
My mother said "I’m sorry dear,
You have to go to school."

"But the teachers, they all hate me!
they make my life a mess!"
My mother said "I’m sure it’s not
As bad as you suggest."

"But Mom, I swear the principal
Is out to cause me trouble!"
My mother said, "Get dressed and go
To school right on the double!"

"But Mom, why do I have to go
And be such a miserable creature?"
My mother said, "You have to go,
Because you are the teacher."

10-21-2005, 06:14 PM
To Kiss the Sky.

Often I have wondered,
what it would be like,
to soar up to the heavens,
to touch the stars at night.

To soar up towards the sky,
to feel a gentle breeze,
over snow tipped mountains,
and endless moonlit seas.

To dance inside a rain drop,
and down a rainbow slide,
to float aloft on Autumn leaves.
with you right by my side.

To glide along on winter's ice,
and on a snowflake ride,
to feel the cold upon my cheeks,
and still your at my side.

To feel the sunshine's warmth,
the wind around me play,
to walk a field of flowers,
on a lazy Spring time day.

And in the Summer sun,
as we walk along the shore,
I think about the times we've shared,
and yet, I long for more.

I reach into this dream,
and hold a tiny part,
it’s something I keep with me,
treasured in my heart.

Together we are one,
There’s nothing I can't do,
I rise to kiss the sky,
and its all because of you.

Guess who the writer is :D

10-21-2005, 06:19 PM
I wrote this one for my daughter's quince (cuban version of a sweet 16's)


I remember this little girl,
from a long long time ago.
I remember her first words,
the smile that seemed to glow.

I remember this little girl,
taking her first step.
I remember trying to give her baths,
And I would end up wet.

I remember this little girl,
sneaking in my bed.
She wanted to go to the beach,
so she’d jump right on my head.

I remember those long walks,
with her right by my side.
I remember her first bike,
and the day she took that ride.

I remember her first kite,
as the breeze swept it away.
I remember watching her grow up,
a little more each day.

I remember jokes of water blue,
a mischievous little grin.
I remember her sneaking treats,
bruises and banged up shins.

I remember her first day at school,
the work that she’d bring home.
I remember a science project,
with growing crystal stones.

I remember that afternoon,
that she lost her way.
When we thought that she was lost,
and the fear I felt that day.

I remember her in pictures,
taken through the years.
I remember all the good times,
and yes even the tears.

Now I look at her,
all grown, a beautiful young lady.
But all I’ll ever see,
my same sweet little baby.

11-13-2005, 10:52 PM
Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.

Part Four: Time and Eternity


I LIKE a look of agony,
Because I know it ’s true;
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.

The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
Impossible to feign
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung.


I've always liked that poem sense like 6th grade.

Disillusioned~ Sean Ruetten (Darkstryke) 2004

You...you tell yourself your sane, but its a lie.

A cover up, a facade.

Years of manipulation and ill treatment

They crashed upon you.

Twisted you, deformed you.

Strangeled you until those

Mixed up images were all you had left.

So you used them as foundation,

built them from the ground up.

Into what they are today:

four walls, a box.

Your idea of sanity

is clawing at these walls

at the ground.

Clawing at your arms, and

gauging out your eyes.

That is your sanity

Watching the invisable worms crawl

and you saw the non-existant people hide.

Hiding in your twisted box,

for it is all you have