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Satyr
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PostSubject: Poetry Sat Oct 29, 2011 10:10 am

Eliot, T.S. wrote:
I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope would be hope for the wrong thing;
wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing;
there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Nov 20, 2011 1:27 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Nov 20, 2011 5:46 pm

Nice

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Apr 14, 2012 2:31 pm

An old Buryat folk-poem.


The Nomad's Star.

The road is to man as the hearth is to woman
And so my ancient clan does not wither,
A son is born--I pray and entreat
The arrow flies, as long as man shall live
Smoke is to man, as fire is to woman.
And so my steed does not stumble in battle.
I must know that a flame warms the yurta,
Like the banner hung by my forefathers.
In the man lies the spirit, in the woman the soul.
The trembling blade of grass contains the sky.
Without a hearth, without a son, without my beloved,
I am scattered above the plain, like a solitary sandstorm.

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Apr 14, 2012 5:24 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Apr 14, 2012 6:10 pm

Nice.

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Apr 15, 2012 6:44 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Jul 22, 2012 8:08 pm

Canadian Sonnets

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"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Dec 24, 2012 6:18 pm

"He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand....
Weeping, I saw him then depart from me.
Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her ? Find nourishment in the very sight of her ? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him ?" [Hannibal's Sonnet]

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Tue Dec 25, 2012 12:49 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Tue Dec 25, 2012 9:08 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Jan 14, 2013 4:39 pm

A lament.


I thought your blood would be
red.

As mine is.

Mingled mulberry blazing warm and hazy...

of that sweet age.

I thought it would trickle,
coagulating slowly
on your broken skin...

Where was it?

I kept searching, and cutting,
I ripped with my fingers,
pulling and tearing,
but you were empty...
Where were the meaningful words?
Were you ever human?

Your solemn tunes...
left my heart wanting...

They left my heart wanting...

Where did your honesty go?
Your little games, your fake expressions,
Where did your skeleton go?
Something must have
been keeping you together;
something must have borne
the knots and the mirrors
something must have held up
those muscles you used to smile
to say the bright dawn will be coming.
Your tears swimmed gliding along the hopeful contours of
my face...

My
face.

your soft polluting tears...
It left my heart wanting...

It left my heart wanting...

There's nothing inside you now.
I tore you all way
and painted you
in all your beaming hideous grandeur.
Once, interlaces of tender dreams,
now a monolith of swaying cob-webs
convincing
I am old and abandoned.

I besmirched you with all my nausea
and tucked you into my
dark painting,
a ditch for my dessicated dreams,
And then that, too,
disintegrated
and disappeared...
It left my heart wanting...

It left my heart wanting...


Now I am a fish swimming alone,
ringing around without a care.

It shines from the waters now.

The sun.


sparkling...


I can never be the same again.


Don't come now,
like an angel,

Don't leave my heart wanting...

Don't leave my heart wanting...

--------------- x ------------------


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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Fri Jan 18, 2013 4:24 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Wed Jan 23, 2013 8:32 pm




The darling one was naked, and knowing my wish,
Had kept only the regalia of her jewelry
Whose resonant charms can lure and vanquish
Like a Moorish slave-girl’s in her moment of glory.

A world of dazzling stones and of precious metals
Flinging, in its quick rhythm, glints of mockery
Ravishes me into ecstasy, I love to madness
The mingling of sounds and lights in one intricacy.

Naked, then, she was to all of my worship,
Smiling in triumph from the heights of her couch
At my desire advancing, as gentle and deep
As the sea sending its waves to the warm beach.

Her eyes fixed as a tiger’s in the tamer’s trance,
Absent, unthinking, she varies her poses
With an audacity and wild innocence
That gave a strange pang to each metamorphosis.

Her long legs, her hips, shining smooth as oil,
Her arms and her thighs, undulant as a swan,
Lured my serene, clairvoyant gaze to travel
To her belly and breasts, the grapes of my vine.

With a charm as powerful as an evil angel
To trouble and calm where my soul had retreated,
They advanced slowly to dislodge it from its crystal
Rock, where its loneliness meditated.

With the hips of Antiope, the torso of a boy,
So deeply was the one form sprung into the other
It seemed as if desire had fashioned a new toy.
Her faded, fawn-brown skin was perfection to either !

–And the lamp having at last resigned itself to death,
There was nothing now but firelight in the room,
And every time a flame uttered a gasp for breath
It flushed her amber skin with the blood of its bloom.

Charles Baudelaire
Mercurial Me

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Feb 23, 2013 8:42 am

Η αφρώδης αναστάτωση στα μάτια σου,
το σκανδαλιαρικο κακο στο χαμογελο σου,
Η απαλη μελαγχολικη σου ομορφια,
τα μοναχικα σου ονειρα,
και τα ταπεινα σου χερια,
Δεν θα τα ξεχασω ποτε οσο ζω,
για οσο ζήσω...

Ονειρα που πραγματοποιουνται, μερικα οχι,
σε πολλους εχεις δώσει την καρδια, σε άλλους την έχεις χάσει,
αγαπωντας αυτο που δεν μπορεις να εχεις,
εχοντας αυτο που δεν μπορεις να αγαπησεις,
κανενα σημαδι ομορφια για χιλιομετρα,
η ομορφια πνιγεται παντου...
Αληθειες που σε αφηνουν πεινασμενο και πικραμενο,
ψεμματα που σε δροσιζουν,
περηφανια τοση μεγαλη που δεν μπορεις να φανταστεις,
επιθυμιες που δεν θα σε σταματησουν να σε καινε,
Περνας μεσα απο πολλες πύλες μα το σπιτι δεν δειχνει να πλησιαζει,
πληγες που δεν σταματουν να πονουν,
φιλοι που φευγουν για παντα,
Ασε τα δακρυα να κυλησουν, ασε τα να πεσουν,
γιατι μεσα απο ολα αυτα,
Η ευωδια που παραμενει,
απο την πτωση των γιασεμιων στο σκοταδι της νυχτας
κανει αυτον τον Ηλιο να εμφανιζεται....

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Feb 23, 2013 9:33 am

Nice....you wrote it yourself?

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sat Feb 23, 2013 2:05 pm

Yes.

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Tue Apr 02, 2013 3:44 pm

Quote :
The Highwayman

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

'One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.'

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.



PART TWO

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
'Now, keep good watch!' and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Alfred Noyes

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Tue Aug 20, 2013 5:03 pm

Quote :
"I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets;
My overcoat too was becoming ideal;
I travelled beneath the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal;
Oh dear me! what marvellous loves I dreamed of!

My only pair of breeches had a big whole in them.
– Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed rhymes along my way.
My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear.
– My stars in the sky rustled softly.

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides
On those pleasant September evenings while I felt drops
Of dew on my forehead like vigorous wine;

And while, rhyming among the fantastical shadows,
I plucked like the strings of a lyre the elastics
Of my tattered boots, one foot close to my heart!"
My Bohemian Life.
Rimbaud.

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*


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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Sep 01, 2013 8:51 pm

Chidiock Tichborne

Quote :
"My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain.
The day is gone and I yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green,
My youth is gone, and yet I am but young,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen,
My thread is cut, and yet it was not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death and found it in my womb,
I look't for life and saw it was a shade,
I trode the earth and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I am but made.
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done."

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Sep 16, 2013 1:04 pm

Quote :
The Gods of the Copybook Headings

"AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!"

- Rudyard Kipling

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Oct 21, 2013 4:35 pm

Yeats, W.B.



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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Oct 21, 2013 4:55 pm


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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Oct 21, 2013 5:00 pm


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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Oct 21, 2013 5:05 pm


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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Mon Oct 21, 2013 6:48 pm





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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Oct 27, 2013 2:41 pm

Quote :
The Last Flower of Autumn

I am the last flower of autumn.
I was rocked in summer’s cradle,
I was put on watch against the north wind,
red flames burst out
on my white cheek.

I am the last flower of autumn.
I am the youngest seed of the dead spring,
it is so easy to die as the last:
I have seen the lake so fairy-like and blue,
I have heard the heart of the dead summer beat,
my chalice bears no other seed than death’s.

I am the last flower of autumn.
I have seen the deep starry worlds of autumn,
I have watched the light from far-away warm hearths,
it is so easy to follow the same path,
I shall lock death’s doors.
I am the last flower of autumn.


Södergran, Edith (1892 - 1923)
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Lyssa
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Wed Nov 06, 2013 2:58 pm

Quote :
"Our quarrel by lamplight last night was sweet to me, and all those insults from your furious tongue, when frenzied with drinking you pushed the table back, and threw full glasses over me, with an angry hand. Truly bold, attack my hair, you, and mark my face with your lovely nails, threaten to scorch my eyes with a flame beneath them, rip my clothes and bare my chest!

You give me certain signs of love: no woman is in pain unless out of deep passion. That woman who hurls abuse with raving mouth, she rolls around before mighty Venus’s feet, she packs guards round her in a crowd, or follows in the middle of the road like a stricken Maenad, or demented dreams keep terrifying the frightened girl, or a girl pictured in a painting moves her to misery.

I’m a true augur of the soul’s torments: I’ve learnt these are always the signs of certain love. There is no constant faithfulness that won’t turn to quarrelling: let cold women fall to my enemies. Let my friends see the wounds in my bitten neck: let the bruises show my girl has been with me.

I want to suffer with love, or hear about suffering: I’d rather see your tears or else my own, whenever your eyebrows send me hidden messages, or you write with your fingers words that can’t be spoken. I hate those sighs that never shatter sleep: I would always wish to turn pale for an angry girl.

The passion was dearer to Paris when he could cut his way through Greek ranks to bring pleasure to his daughter of Tyndareus. While the Danaans conquered, while savage Hector held them, he fought a nobler war in Helen’s lap. I’ll always be fighting with you, or with a rival for you: you at peace will never please me."
- Propertius: The Elegies, Book III.8:1-34 His mistress’s fury.

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"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*
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Lyssa
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Sun Dec 01, 2013 6:25 pm

Song of a Goatherder.
(To my neighbor Theocritus of Syracusa.)

Here I lie, sick to my stomach —
Eaten by bugs.
And over there still light and noise:
I hear them dancing.

At this hour, she wanted
To sneak off with me:
Like a dog I wait —
But no sign comes!

She swore on the cross!
How could she lie?
Or does she run after everyone,
Just like my goats?

Where's her silken skirt?
Ah, my pride —
Does it still live as many a ram
In these woods?

How curled and poisonous love
Makes one in the waiting —
Like toadstools, in the stifling night,
Growing in the garden.

Love consumes me
Like a seventh hell —
I eat almost nothing,
Onions, farewell!

Into the sea the moon wanes,
The stars fade away,
Along comes the gray day —
I would like to die.

_________________


"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*


Last edited by Lyssa on Thu Mar 26, 2015 7:33 am; edited 1 time in total
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Thu Jan 02, 2014 12:40 am


Ghazals of Hafiz

352. Separation

May none be shattered like me by the woes of separation;
My life has passed by wasted by the throes of separation.

Exited stranger, lover, heartsick beggar, mind bewildered;
I've shouldered brunt of Fortune and blows of separation.

If ever separation should fall into my hand I will kill it;
With tears, in blood, I will pay all the dues of separation.

Where to go, what to do, who to tell my heart's state to?
Who gives justice, who pays out, for those of separation?

From the pain of separation not a moment's peace is mine;
For the sake of God, be just, give the dues of separation.

By separation from Your Presence I'll make separation sick,
Until the heart's blood flows from the eyes of separation.

From where am I and from where are separation and grief?
Seems my mother bore me for grief that grows of separation.

Therefore, at day and at night, branded by love, like Hafiz,
With nightingales of dawn, I cry songs, woes of separation.


Translator: Smith, P. Divan of Hafiz.

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Tue Jan 14, 2014 8:00 pm

A Dream Within a Dream
Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
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.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

_________________


"ἐδιζησάμην ἐμεωυτόν." [Heraclitus]

"All that exists is just and unjust and equally justified in both." [Aeschylus, Prometheus]

"The history of everyday is constituted by our habits. ... How have you lived today?" [N.]

*Become clean, my friends.*
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Wed Jan 29, 2014 4:43 pm

Love in this country

Love in this country
is not a matter of passion,
the high romance
that best-selling novels might be written about,
or adolescent sulks
made better with pop candy and counselling.

No, none of that.

Love in this country
is purely about survival,
and that is a matter of passion.

It is what a woman feels
seeing her man off to battle,
wanting him to win
and hoping he won't get killed doing it.

It is what a man thinks
when he crouches with his rifle
and prays that his home isn't in ruins
and his family lost or butchered.

And it is in a tin of food
a roll of bandages
a syringe of penicillin
a drink of water.

Anything.

Even in teaching that naked toddler
we found in the holocaust
how to wipe her own backside.


Colin Mackay, Cold Night Lullaby
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Wed Mar 05, 2014 11:34 pm

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PostSubject: Re: Poetry Fri Mar 07, 2014 9:41 pm

http://ia700300.us.archive.org/23/items/if_kipling_librivox/if_kipling_mac_64kb.mp3

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