addieadds
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Poetry.
I LOVE poetry. I like to read and write it. So I thought that this would be a good place for you to share your favorites or to post your own.
this is one of my favorites
A Dream Within a Dream
Edgar Allen 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 fo the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep-- while I weep!
Oh 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?
Last edited by addieadds, 1/5/2008, 10:43 pm
---
*~Addie~*
"Too much of a good thing is wonderful."--Mae West
"Music is the devine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart."--Pablo Caslas
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1/2/2008, 12:03 pm
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Perpetua
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Re: Poetry.
Sorry... mine is pretty long.
Ulysses
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle —
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me —
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
---
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breath were life.
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1/3/2008, 3:58 pm
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Perpetua
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Re: Poetry.
Great idea for a thread by the way!
---
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breath were life.
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1/3/2008, 3:58 pm
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addieadds
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Re: Poetry.
I think this poem is hilarious. Although she may not have intended it to be. But anyway, she's one of my favorite poets. [= ...and thanks KJ
Cut
For Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill----
My thumb instead of an onion.
the top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
D.ead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man------
The stain on your
Guaze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump------
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.
---
*~Addie~*
"Too much of a good thing is wonderful."--Mae West
"Music is the devine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart."--Pablo Caslas
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1/5/2008, 10:54 pm
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SearchingSkeptic
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Re: Poetry.
It's too long to quote in its entirety, but my favorite lines from September 1, 1939, by W.H. Auden:
There is no such thing as the state
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
---
The Boeing 707 - the pack mule of the American skies! Sheeplike passengers, too stupid to appreciate technologies inherited from long-range bombers!
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1/7/2008, 8:40 am
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addieadds
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Re: Poetry.
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allen Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love---
I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingodm by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her high-born kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me---
Yes!---that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night
Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we---
Of many far wiser than we---
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the sid
Of my darling---my darling---my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
---
*~Addie~*
"Too much of a good thing is wonderful."--Mae West
"Music is the devine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart."--Pablo Caslas
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1/9/2008, 3:44 pm
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TiredOfWaiting
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Re: Poetry.
Can someone tell me what this means?
Born of the sorrowful of heart
Mirth was a crown upon his head
Pride kept his twisted lips apart
In jest, to hide a heart that bled
---
Hiya.
...............Mel...............
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3/8/2008, 10:34 am
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addieadds
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Re: Poetry.
quote:
TiredOfWaiting wrote:
Can someone tell me what this means?
Born of the sorrowful of heart
Mirth was a crown upon his head
Pride kept his twisted lips apart
In jest, to hide a heart that bled
Born of the sorrowful of heart -- Most likely, his mother was depressed when he was born. Possibly, his father was killed sometime before he was born.
Mirth was a crown upon his head-- Mirth means gaiety or jollity. So he was most likely a happy person and everyone knows it. He doesn't try to hide his happiness
Pride kept his twisted lips apart -- He likes to talk about himself
In jest, to hide a heart that bled -- Even though he showed he was happy all the time, he was really sad. And he only showed that he was happy to hide the fact that he was sad all the time.
Don't take my word for it, 'cause I'm not entirely sure if that's correct. That's just what I got from it. [= hope that helps
---
*~Addie~*
"Too much of a good thing is wonderful."--Mae West
"Music is the devine way to tell beautiful, poetic things to the heart."--Pablo Caslas
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3/9/2008, 1:10 pm
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TiredOfWaiting
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Re: Poetry.
ok thanks!
---
Hiya.
...............Mel...............
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3/16/2008, 5:27 am
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