NationStates Jolt Archive

Please post particular favourites here, and, please, obscure poets please....

All the days without the sun,
All the days without the moon,
that life could not be compared to how i'd feel
if i couldn't spend everyday with you

hehe I just made that up!

All the days without the sun,
All the days without the moon,
that life could not be compared to how i'd feel
if i couldn't spend everyday with you

hehe I just made that up!
I knew you loved me!

I knew you loved me!


But of course my dear ruffy.

But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?
It is the East, and Ruffy is the sun!
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon
Who is already sick and pale with grief

the raven by edger allen poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

horizontal space
vertical space

the raven by edger allen poe

-snip-


ruffy will love this one :p

Nation states general
argue over small silly things
up all night

:rolleyes:
HAIKU!

Liasia']Nation states general
argue over small silly things
up all night

:rolleyes:
HAIKU!

get out of my thread please.....;)

Haiku confuses me.

But of course my dear ruffy.
I love you more!

*tries to think of something romantic*

Your love is like a fart that glides through my sinuses.
You're always in my head, thoughts like scents.
You are the wind beneth my wings.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Did I ever tell you that you arrre?
Do you know that you make me orgasm-

You are my final piece of the puzzle, babe.

:fluffle:

ruffy will love this one :p
:gundge: :mp5: :sniper: :headbang: :mad:

*kills poe*



DIE DIE DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!1

I love you more!

*tries to think of something romantic*

Your love is like a fart that glides through my sinuses.
You're always in my head, thoughts like scents.
You are the wind beneth my wings.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Did I ever tell you that you arrre?
Do you know that you make me orgasm-

You are my final piece of the puzzle, babe.

:fluffle:


Oh my. That was so romantic, I think I creamed myself. Please excuse while I wipe my eyes, and change my pants.

get out of my thread please.....;)

Haiku confuses me.
No thank you
I like to write stuff
making sense

Oh my. That was so romantic, I think I creamed myself. Please excuse while I wipe my eyes, and change my pants.
:fluffle: :cool:

Liasia']No thank you
I like to write stuff
making sense

Oh jesus
Haiku makes me sick
-barfs a lot-

:gundge: :mp5: :sniper: :headbang: :mad:

*kills poe*



DIE DIE DIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!1
why dont you like poe:confused: :(

Fire great and burning bright.
Screams piercing through the night.
Not a person saw the dawn.
Charred bodies lay on the lawn.

I'm such an optimist. ;)

why dont you like poe:confused: :(


Poe touched him in the Uh-Oh spot.

why dont you like poe:confused: :(
Poe is.. grrr.

Thou shall not mention Poe!

Oh jesus
Haiku makes me sick
-barfs a lot-
Very clever
talk in haiku is
the best thing

Poe is.. grrr.

Thou shall not mention Poe!

Poe?

Poe is.. grrr.

Thou shall not mention Poe!

How 'bout "Nevermore?"

I still maintain Jethro Tull are the best poets for a long time. Chew on that, Duffy!

Liasia']Very clever
talk in haiku is
the best thing

I try to
be clever in words
but I fail.

I try to
be clever in words
but I fail.
Never mind zilam
have a fluffle now
on the house
:fluffle:

Liasia']Never mind zilam
have a fluffle now
on the house
:fluffle:

Thanks Liasia
a fluffle is great
among men.


ermmm i lose!

Thanks Liasia
a fluffle is great
among men.


ermmm i lose!
i am comfortable
with my sexuality
so fluffle is good now

do you?

How about a limerick...here's one I made up after Christmas.
If you shoot a fruitcake to the sun,
your life will soon be done.
It will fall on your head
and then you'll be dead,
but at least that's the last one.

The meter's off but it has a special place in my heart.

Liasia']i am comfortable
with my sexuality
so fluffle is good now

do you?


Oh my.. I forgot all the different rhyming patterns and such. I haven't had an english class since last year!

How 'bout "Nevermore?"
404, but nothing more.

Oh my.. I forgot all the different rhyming patterns and such. I haven't had an english class since last year!
hehe

five seven five end
three five three is another
all of them boring

404, but nothing more.


heheh

404, but nothing more.
I see, rhyming are we?

I see, rhyming are we?
Meh, just 'cause..

I see, rhyming are we?
Rhyming is for losers
It makes time in here
Fit only for boozers
and a lot less clear.

Liasia']hehe

five seven five end
three five three is another
all of them boring


six seven five you did once
Is that correct or not, sir?
That question I ask

If we are rhyming, might we make an NS rap?

Julie was a schoolgirl.
Fredrick; he was not.
The day he went in the girl's loos,
Was the day that he forgot!

The girls, they did not like it,
They began to scream and shout.
Fredrick saw where he'd gone wrong,
And wanted to get out.

In haste he zipped his trousers,
And ran toward the door,
Headlong into Head Mistress Potts,
Before bouncing to the floor.

"Your parents shall be called in,"
"We'll hang posters in the halls!"
"The girls must know this peril;"
There's a pervert in the school!"

Fred's father was unhappy.
"You've bought shame on our good name!"
His mother interjected:
"What will the Vicar say?"

The next day in Assembly,
He was called up by the Head,
To give sincere apologies.
And this is what Fred said:

"Yes! I was in the girl's loos,"
"But I'm not the one to blame."
"I was born much too late,"
"To have besmirched my family name."

"I have an explanation,"
"So, your insults, please don't hurl."
"I'm Fred-er-ick the Schoolboy,"
"In a school that's all for girls!!"

Verse one
Bling Bling bitches,
got my guns a blazing :mp5: :gundge: :sniper:
got my hoes a shaking
do me wrong, and the Mods ya'll be thanking
for deating me, and IP Ban
for what?
A little flame, shit my dawg, ain't nutting man...

Chorus
Bam, its NS general
better eat yo cereal
Bam, don't mess with me punk
or ill bust out a CAPS LOCK
uh uh uh

Verse 2
Arguin for the left,
arguin for the right,
bitches betta shut up,
cuz they pussy be tight(oh naw)
Don't mess with me,
or my crew, man,
you f*ck around, and yo thread will be dead.

Shit,

Chorus
Bam, its NS general
better eat yo cereal
Bam, don't mess with me punk
or ill bust out a CAPS LOCK
uh uh uh


Little John- What? YEAAAHHHHH Getting Crunk ON NS GENERAL
Okay!!!!!! Now bend over and touch your toes, YEAH!!!

Repeat CHORUS

I am the Not-A-Clock.
I do not pass the time.
I do not live by increments,
Nor mark them with a chime.

I have no hands with which to point,
No face to read my thoughts.
I offer no more service,
Than my existence, to-wit my cause.

May I sit upon your mantle?
I ask nothing more than this.
To gather dust, so peacefully,
No appointment will I miss.

I am not to be relied on,
For, of time's chatter, I know not.
Your days and years can pass me by,
Will I care? Not a jot!

Time's hiss, and spit, and whir of cogs,
Shall forever pass me by.
I shall not, cannot, will not note,
The way in which time flies.

A stitch in time may save nine,
A watched pot may never boil.
But I'll sit here, silent, happy that,
I know not of this toil.

A life of ease is all I know,
And your ways I'll not mock.
Mine is but a simple life,
For I, the Not-A-Clock.

Leave the house
I must, for fresh air
Crazy me.

Verse one
Bling Bling bitches,
got my guns a blazing :mp5: :gundge: :sniper:
got my hoes a shaking
do me wrong, and the Mods ya'll be thanking
for deating me, and IP Ban
for what?
A little flame, shit my dawg, ain't nutting man...

Chorus
Bam, its NS general
better eat yo cereal
Bam, don't mess with me punk
or ill bust out a CAPS LOCK
uh uh uh

Verse 2
Arguin for the left,
arguin for the right,
bitches betta shut up,
cuz they pussy be tight(oh naw)
Don't mess with me,
or my crew, man,
you f*ck around, and yo thread will be dead.

Shit,

Chorus
Bam, its NS general
better eat yo cereal
Bam, don't mess with me punk
or ill bust out a CAPS LOCK
uh uh uh


Little John- What? YEAAAHHHHH Getting Crunk ON NS GENERAL
Okay!!!!!! Now bend over and touch your toes, YEAH!!!

Repeat CHORUS
Did I tell you I love you?

When all you see is crumbling,
Yet the walls are strong and high.
When all is lost; you're stumbling,
To the floor where you shall cry.

It matters not. Now be standing.
For around, below and above;
all that I can, to you I'm handing.
I'll surround you in my Love.

The times when I'm not welcome,
Or the boundaries, that I can't pass;
I'll stand firm for the time that comes,
When love's power shall surpass.

Defences set for self protection,
Keep out the risks of pain.
Defences do not know selection,
And so keep good out, just the same.

I'll launch attacks on battlements!
I'll knock them to the ground!
Until the builders realise,
The foundations are unsound.

And if those walls still reappear,
And I see no way through,
I shall forever persevere,
To get my Love to You!

I shall forever persevere,
To get my Love to You!

Did I tell you I love you?


I love to hear it, so say it again!

six seven five you did once
Is that correct or not, sir?
That question I ask
No no no
you are wrong because
i am great

I love to hear it, so say it again!
Secsee bitch
Seksay bitch
I love thee
Sexiey bitch
Seksie bitch
Fuck me

[/dirty]

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky they blast
Through the universe the engines whine
Could it be the end of man and time
Back on earth the flame of life burns low
Everywhere is misery and woe
Pollution kills the air, the land and sea
Man prepares to meet his destiny

Rocket engines burning fuel so fast
Up into the night sky so vast
Burning metal through the atmosphere
Earth remains in worry, hate and fear
With the hateful battles raging on
rockets flying to the glowing sun
Through the empires of eternal void
Freedom from the final suicide

Freedom fighters sent out to the sun
escape from brainwashed minds and pollution.
Leave the earth to all its sin and hate
find another world where freedom waits.
Past the stars in fields of ancient void
Through the shields of darkness where they find
Love upon a land a world unknown
where the sons of freedom make their home

Leave the earth to Satan and his slaves
leave them to their future in the grave
Make a home where love is there to stay

Secsee bitch
Seksay bitch
I love thee
Sexiey bitch
Seksie bitch
Fuck me

[/dirty]


Damn....Man...Ill be back from the bathroom in like 25 seconds or something.

Damn....Man...Ill be back from the bathroom in like 25 seconds or something.
:eek: ;)

:eek: ;)


With a boner, to the restroom i run
so that way i can jerk, and have tissue for cum...



ewww....

With a boner, to the restroom i run
so that way i can jerk, and have tissue for cum...



ewww....
Oh my god.

I just laughed.

And.. ow. I taste blood.


You're.. ebil.. and on a roll!

Oh my god.

I just laughed.

And.. ow. I taste blood.


You're.. ebil.. and on a roll!


-eats the roll- Woohoo!

-eats the roll- Woohoo!
:eek: :( :rolleyes: :confused:

:eek: :( :rolleyes: :confused:


Sorry, i ran out of material. my mom introduced alcohol to the enviroment, and it made my head go wild. I have to drink some, and wait for the balance to reoccur!

Sorry, i ran out of material. my mom introduced alcohol to the enviroment, and it made my head go wild. I have to drink some, and wait for the balance to reoccur!
yay alcohol!

yay alcohol!


Oh yuck never mind. Its not even anything good. Just MGD....Id rather eat shit.

La Belle Dame Sans Merci
John Keats

O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms!
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d
On the cold hill’s side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!”

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh yuck never mind. Its not even anything good. Just MGD....Id rather eat shit.
alcohol is alcohol, gimme.

alcohol is alcohol, gimme.


Id rather much more have some smirnoff or hell even some bacardi right now :)

Id rather much more have some smirnoff or hell even some bacardi right now :)
:fluffle:

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

--Emily Dickenson

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

--Emily Dickenson


-cough-emo-cough-

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

--Emily Dickenson
*kills self*

*kills self*


-gives mouth to mouth- Breath Ruffy!!! BREATH DAMMIT!!!

-cough-emo-cough-
It's only because you feel depressed after reading that poem, like
*kills self*

Dickenson has the effect on you, and that's what makes her poems so special. She is a master of words, and like most poets, completely off the rockers insane. But her insanity is turned into beautiful art, not mass murder/rap/etc.

It's only because you feel depressed after reading that poem, like


Dickenson has the effect on you, and that's what makes her poems so special. She is a master of words, and like most poets, completely off the rockers insane. But her insanity is turned into beautiful art, not mass murder/rap/etc.


-cough-emo/hippy-cough-

-gives mouth to mouth- Breath Ruffy!!! BREATH DAMMIT!!!
Heart stops beating
Pulse slows quickly

Mother--
-- is a mother; no more.

Damn.. :(

Heart stops beating
Pulse slows quickly

Mother--
-- is a mother; no more.

Damn.. :(


Well, if you are dead, I hope you don't mind me reciting some Poe at your funeral. ;)

-cough-emo/hippy-cough-
:p

The Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.

Well, if you are dead, I hope you don't mind me reciting some Poe at your funeral. ;)
Poe speaks nothing
He makes no sense

His self is like my breathe
- Nevermore..





Blahahahaha!!!

My favorite poem:

Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.
The Game Cock clipp'd and arm'd for fight
Does the Rising Sun affright.
Every Wolf's & Lion's howl
Raises from Hell a Human Soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here & there,
Keeps the Human Soul from Care.
The Lamb misus'd breeds public strife
And yet forgives the Butcher's Knife.
The Bat that flits at close of Eve
Has left the Brain that won't believe.
The Owl that calls upon the Night
Speaks the Unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little Wren
Shall never be belov'd by Men.
He who the Ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by Woman lov'd.
The wanton Boy that kills the Fly
Shall feel the Spider's enmity.
He who torments the Chafer's sprite
Weaves a Bower in endless Night.
The Caterpillar on the Leaf
Repeats to thee thy Mother's grief.
Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly,
For the Last Judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the Horse to War
Shall never pass the Polar Bar.
The Beggar's Dog & Widow's Cat,
Feed them & thou wilt grow fat.
The Gnat that sings his Summer's song
Poison gets from Slander's tongue.
The poison of the Snake & Newt
Is the sweat of Envy's Foot.
The poison of the Honey Bee
Is the Artist's Jealousy.
The Prince's Robes & Beggars' Rags
Are Toadstools on the Miser's Bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the Lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for Joy & Woe;
And when this we rightly know
Thro' the World we safely go.
Joy & Woe are woven fine,
A Clothing for the Soul divine;
Under every grief & pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The Babe is more than swaddling Bands;
Throughout all these Human Lands
Tools were made, & born were hands,
Every Farmer Understands.
Every Tear from Every Eye
Becomes a Babe in Eternity.
This is caught by Females bright
And return'd to its own delight.
The Bleat, the Bark, Bellow & Roar
Are Waves that Beat on Heaven's Shore.
The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath
Writes Revenge in realms of death.
The Beggar's Rags, fluttering in Air,
Does to Rags the Heavens tear.
The Soldier arm'd with Sword & Gun,
Palsied strikes the Summer's Sun.
The poor Man's Farthing is worth more
Than all the Gold on Afric's Shore.
One Mite wrung from the Labrer's hands
Shall buy & sell the Miser's lands:
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole Nation sell & buy.
He who mocks the Infant's Faith
Shall be mock'd in Age & Death.
He who shall teach the Child to Doubt
The rotting Grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the Infant's faith
Triumph's over Hell & Death.
The Child's Toys & the Old Man's Reasons
Are the Fruits of the Two seasons.
The Questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to Reply.
He who replies to words of Doubt
Doth put the Light of Knowledge out.
The Strongest Poison ever known
Came from Caesar's Laurel Crown.
Nought can deform the Human Race
Like the Armour's iron brace.
When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow
To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow.
A Riddle or the Cricket's Cry
Is to Doubt a fit Reply.
The Emmet's Inch & Eagle's Mile
Make Lame Philosophy to smile.
He who Doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you Please.
If the Sun & Moon should doubt
They'd immediately Go out.
To be in a Passion you Good may do,
But no Good if a Passion is in you.
The Whore & Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night & every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn & every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some are Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye
Which was Born in a Night to Perish in a Night
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears & God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in the Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of day.

-- William Blake

:p

The Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dare
Disturb the sound of silence.

"Fools" said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, "The words of the prophets
are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls."
And whisper'd in the sounds of silence.
That was... *claps*

That was... *claps*
:rolleyes:

And the only poem he likes is a Simon and Garfunkle song...

I love you more!

*tries to think of something romantic*

Your love is like a fart that glides through my sinuses.
You're always in my head, thoughts like scents.
You are the wind beneth my wings.

Did you ever know that you're my hero?
Did I ever tell you that you arrre?
Do you know that you make me orgasm-

You are my final piece of the puzzle, babe.

:fluffle:
That was the single most best poem ever in history.



*Gives IL Ruffino a big giant chocolate cake*



Sorry I could'nt give you the cookies-Zilam has them.

wow...i like the people that aren't being gayly serious about this, serious poetry=*emo emo cut cut* .

wow...i like the people that aren't being gayly serious about this, serious poetry=*emo emo cut cut* .
HEY! There is no art without angst. *nods sagely* :p

:rolleyes:

And the only poem he likes is a Simon and Garfunkle song...
Ahaha.. ahahahaha... AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA!!!1


You're evil.

That was the single most best poem ever in history.



*Gives IL Ruffino a big giant chocolate cake*



Sorry I could'nt give you the cookies-Zilam has them.
:cool:

:cool:
:fluffle: :cool: :fluffle:

I am the Not-A-Clock.
I do not pass the time.
I do not live by increments,
Nor mark them with a chime.

I have no hands with which to point,
No face to read my thoughts.
I offer no more service,
Than my existence, to-wit my cause.

May I sit upon your mantle?
I ask nothing more than this.
To gather dust, so peacefully,
No appointment will I miss.

I am not to be relied on,
For, of time's chatter, I know not.
Your days and years can pass me by,
Will I care? Not a jot!

Time's hiss, and spit, and whir of cogs,
Shall forever pass me by.
I shall not, cannot, will not note,
The way in which time flies.

A stitch in time may save nine,
A watched pot may never boil.
But I'll sit here, silent, happy that,
I know not of this toil.

A life of ease is all I know,
And your ways I'll not mock.
Mine is but a simple life,
For I, the Not-A-Clock.

Where did you come across this little gem? Is it your own work?

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.

--Emily Dickenson

Yay! Thanks to Ladamesansmerci, for some Dickinson!


Hope

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.

--Emily Dickinson

Okay, I dont really fancy myself a poet, but I do write lyrics, wich can be called poetry set to music, so...

This is an unfinished poem, or something I wrote a few weeks ago.

Theres something about it I like, even if its not very good.



She lies on the filthy, stained matress in a heap of her own misery, an armful of needles, and a soul full of regret.
A small breeze gently lifts the gauzy curtain, bringing a puff of fresh air into the room smelling of cheap cigarettes,
and cheaper sex.

Outside the distant wail of a lonely siren fades into the steamy city, that like her, used to be so much better.
Thats right, she was beautiful once.
She had everything she could ever want.
Power, money, fame, the adoration of the world, it was all there.

"Where did it all go", she thinks to herself. What happened to her youth and innocence? When did she fall from grace
only to land in the gutter, sick on the inside, and hurting, hurting so bad..

She was a mother once. a mother to so many, and now, the serpents tooth was sharp indeed, wasnt it?
Her children never talked to her, nor she to them. or they to themselves, really, and if they did it was only to scream
and hate, and banter like fools anyway.

She pours herself a drink from a bottle of unknown swill, it doesnt matter, she cant read it anyway.
She wasnt always a whore.
She had a million jobs, once.
She made things, bought things, sold things. to everyone, everywhere, and everyone wanted what she had for them.
Now, she only sells herself.
But thats ok, really...thats all she ever really had anyway.

"Consume", she says, "thats what I'll do." No drink, or drug or vice can ever fill her vacant eyes that havent seen the truth in years.
The truth doesnt pay the rent, but like a bad idea, it never goes away.
She knows all about consequences.
Shes seen mistakes pile up for decades, gnawing at her heart, refusing to go away, drug out into the street for all to see, all of them, gazing at
her impure soul, laid completely bare.....

....

Low rumbling of thunder in the distance makes its presence known above the din of the city and the honking of traffic.
Its the music of her nights, and has been for years.
Low and sweet, yet, shrill and piercing, a cocophony of noises, seemingly random, yet with a steady rythmn,
pulsing steadily, sometimes erratically, and sometimes not at all.
Its my hearbeat, she says to herself, knowing it to be true, yet unsure of why she said it outloud.
Who was she trying to convince?

She talked to everyone, all alone, they didnt listen anymore.
She wondered if they ever did.
She knew what was right, and would die before anyone told her any different. Once upon a time, the world trembled when she showed her power.
and she had it...true power.
The sort of power that money alone can never buy. The kind of power to bend the souls and the minds of a nation to her will.
She was a goddess, as kind and benevolent to her worshippers and sycophants, yet twisted and cruel and merciless as the most
black-souled demon to her those who would not yeild...

But power, they say, corrupts.
and turns to poison, that slowly, so slowly weakened her, made her tired, and unable to maintain her holy visage of light and serenity.
So, like all angels, she fell, into madness.
Into hell.
and like all hells, always one of our creation, for no other being can torture us so sadistically as our own minds, no demon or devil could ever inflict
the kind of pain and suffering as what she was so afraid to admit to being guilty of.

But she is sorry.
So much remorse for all she has done to herself, and everyone.
It eats her alive, and adds to her pain, gnawing and twisting, becuase she had meant so well...really she did..
She wanted to help everyone, you, me, them, and well herself, too...thats only fair, isnt it?
Of course it is...theres nothing wrong with making a little on the si...

Ow..it hurts again.

She lays back and rests her head on the dirty pillow, that smells faintly of stale sweat, and closes her eyes.
Tomorrow will be better, she thinks.
Tomorrow is always better, she says it to anyone that will listen.
She'll probably say it forever.


Meh..

Lepanto
By G. K. Chesterton

White founts falling in the Courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard;
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips;
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.
The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;
The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;
From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,
And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.

Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,
Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,
The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,
The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,
That once went singing southward when all the world was young.
In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,
Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.
Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,
Don John of Austria is going to the war,
Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold
In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,
Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,
Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.
Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,
Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world,
Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.
Love-light of Spain--hurrah!
Death-light of Africa!
Don John of Austria
Is riding to the sea.

Mahound is in his paradise above the evening star,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
He moves a mighty turban on the timeless houri's knees,
His turban that is woven of the sunsets and the seas.
He shakes the peacock gardens as he rises from his ease,
And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees;
And his voice through all the garden is a thunder sent to bring
Black Azrael and Ariel and Ammon on the wing.
Giants and the Genii,
Multiplex of wing and eye,
Whose strong obedience broke the sky
When Solomon was king.

They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,
From the temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;
They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the sea
Where fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be,
On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,
Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;
They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground,--
They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.
And he saith, "Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk can hide,
And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,
And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,
For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.
We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,
Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done.
But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I know
The voice that shook our palaces--four hundred years ago:
It is he that saith not 'Kismet'; it is he that knows not Fate;
It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey at the gate!
It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,
Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth."
For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,
Don John of Austria is going to the war.
Sudden and still--hurrah!
Bolt from Iberia!
Don John of Austria
Is gone by Alcalar.

St. Michaels on his Mountain in the sea-roads of the north
(Don John of Austria is girt and going forth)
Where the grey seas glitter and the sharp tides shift
And the sea-folk labour and the red sails lift.
He shakes his lance of iron and he claps his wings of stone;
The noise is gone through Normandy; the noise is gone alone;
The North is full of tangled things and texts and aching eyes,
And dead is all the innocence of anger and surprise,
And Christian killeth Christian in a narrow dusty room,
And Christian dreadeth Christ that hath a newer face of doom,
And Christian hateth Mary that God kissed in Galilee,--
But Don John of Austria is riding to the sea.
Don John calling through the blast and the eclipse
Crying with the trumpet, with the trumpet of his lips,
Trumpet that sayeth ha!
Domino gloria!
Don John of Austria
Is shouting to the ships.

King Philip's in his closet with the Fleece about his neck
(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck.)
The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,
And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.
He holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,
He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,
And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and grey
Like plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,
And death is in the phial and the end of noble work,
But Don John of Austria has fired upon the Turk.
Don John's hunting, and his hounds have bayed--
Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raid.
Gun upon gun, ha! ha!
Gun upon gun, hurrah!
Don John of Austria
Has loosed the cannonade.

The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,
(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)
The hidden room in man's house where God sits all the year,
The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.
He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight sea
The crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;
They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,
They veil the plume graved lions on the galleys of St. Mark;
And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,
And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,
Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines
Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.
They are lost like slaves that sweat, and in the skies of morning hung
The stair-ways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.
They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing on
Before the high Kings' horses in the granite of Babylon.
And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hell
Where a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,
And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign--
(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)
Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,
Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate's sloop,
Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,
Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,
Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea
White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.
Vivat Hispania!
Domino Gloria!
Don John of Austria
Has set his people free!

Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight for ever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade....
But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade

Where did you come across this little gem? Is it your own work?

Little Gem? Gosh! Indeed, I must admit it's my own. I've not written in ages, so I thought I'd raid my archives.

Unless you were being sarcastic....cheers for the compliment!! (The person I had written it for didn't understand it. Ho Hum)


Kin Wicked
Leader of Wikaedia

My favourite is The Wasteland, by TS Eliot (too long to post here...). I also write my own, but it's really weird and experimental.

A Brief History of Gravity
by Bruce Elliot

It filled Gallileo with mirth
To watch his two rocks fall to Earth.
He gladly proclaimed,
"Their rates are the same,
And quite independent of girth!"

Then Newton announced in due course
His own law of gravity's force:
"It goes, I declare,
As the inverted square
Of the distance from object to source."

But remarkably, Einstein's equation
Succeeds to describe gravitation
As spacetime that's curved,
And it's this that will serve
As the planets' unique motivation.

Yet the end of the story's not written;
By a new way of thinking we're smitten.
We twist and we turn,
Attempting to learn
The Superstring Theory of Witten!

Little Gem? Gosh! Indeed, I must admit it's my own. I've not written in ages, so I thought I'd raid my archives.

Unless you were being sarcastic....cheers for the compliment!! (The person I had written it for didn't understand it. Ho Hum)


Kin Wicked
Leader of Wikaedia

No, no sarcasm. I very much liked it, actually.

When you get published, put me down for a signed copy. :)

You want obscure? I've got obscure for you.


You will know my soul by the faces I wear, and my trials from the scars which line them.
You will know my heart by the tears which are there, and my dreams from the masks which hide them.


I use that as a sig on another board. I wrote it, myself.

Well...here is something that I wrote up last night when I was listening to Het Land Van (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qp7_RWPPjXE&search=het%20land%20van). I basically created a version of this song about America...its past, present and problems. I made it last night and I sorta like it....dont take it too seriously. Here it is.

This is the country of;

This is the country of the eagle…. the stripes and stars.
The land which gave us oil shortages for real …..and gas guzzlin cars.

The country which is more… than what we appear
The country that makes the earth our whore…. Because of utter awe and fear.


I’m from the land of the red…the white and blue.
The country which may occasionally lose its head….. but always stay true.


We invaded Iraq with our military….and we are having problems.
But we influenced the rest of the world, behind their backs… some say we robbed them.


This is the country of the fat… the lazy and the apathetic,
Yet we still succeed in ruling the world….. and only some of us regret it.


This is the country where the word segregation…… it came to birth.
We freed our blacks 150 years back as a demonstration…..but still they toil…. in the white mans earth.


This is the country of the American patriot…..who speaks one language.
And is accused by Mandarin hatred…of being brain dead.


This is the land, where people came together …..and a country was born.
But it is the very same land, with our political parties here forever…. that make our country torn.


America is the country …..where the liberators of the world… were born and raised
But it’s the country of their grandsons… that has been swirled…. beat to a daze.


Whatever happened to the foundation of our four fathers?
The country that promised to fight tyranny, injustice, kings…. and German field marshals?


We fight the worlds problems but look past our own.
We forget that the fight for liberation… starts at home.


This is the land of the people, who scream in fear of nipple,
But it’s the very same land, whose people’s screams…. in fear of violence….dont create a ripple.

We glare at Africa and the nations of it on the poverty and AIDs list,
Yet we forget to glance and glare down south at New Orleans…the Africa in our midst.

Most of us would rather see us retreat, run away from our duties,
They say the job that we’re doing isn’t worth what we are losing….a moms teenage beauty.

And even though we have our issues,
This is the country that always overcomes.
And once America pulls out of the Middle East, (we wont miss you),
We will strive to retain our position….our place as number 1.

America, though at times it may seem like your light is fading,
Stay strong, and remember, my heart and soul lie with you…. eternally illuminating.


Tell me what you think...:) Comments, suggestions, approvals..whatever.

As long as we're enjoying deliciously angsty poetry, how about a little Plath?

Lady Lazarus

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it--

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?--

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot--
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart--
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash--
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr god, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

As long as we're enjoying deliciously angsty poetry, how about a little Plath?

Lady Lazarus

*SNIP*



I;ll actually read yours and comment on itif you read mine and comment on it. :D

Time for a little poetry in Spanish.



(Libro del Buen Amor, Year 1320)

Quiero abreviarvos, señores, la mi predicación,
ca siempre me pagé de pequeño sermón
e de dueña pequeña e de breve rrasón:
ca lo poco e bien dicho finca en el coraçón.

Del que mucho fabla rríen, quien mucho rríe es loco,
tyene la dueña chica amor grand e non de poco:
dueñas dy grandes por chicas, por grandes chicas non troco;
mas las chicas por las grandes non se rrepiente del troco.

De las chicas, que bien diga, el amor me fiso rruego,
que diga de sus noblesas e quiérolas dezir luego:
direvos de dueñas chicas, que lo tenedes en juego.
Son frías como la nieve e arden más que'l fuego:

son frías de füera; en el amor ardientes,
en cama solaz, trebejo, plasenteras e rrientes.
En casa cuerdas, donosas, sosegadas, bienfasyentes;
muncho ál fallaredes, ado byen paredes mientes.

En pequeña girgonça yase grand rresplandor,
en açúcar muy poco yase mucho dulçor:
en la dueña pequeña yase muy grand amor:
pocas palabras cunple al buen entendedor.

Es pequeño el grano de la buena pimienta;
pero más que la nues conorta e más calyenta:
así dueña pequeña, sy todo amor consienta,
non ha plaser del mundo qu'en ella non se sienta.

Como en chica rrosa está mucha color,
e en oro muy poco grand preçio e grand valor,
como en poco bálsamo yase grand buen olor:
ansý en chica dueña yase muy grand amor.

Como rroby pequeño tyene muncha bondad,
color, vertud e precio, noblesa e claridad:
asý dueña pequeña tiene muncha beldad,
fermosura e donayre, amor e lealtad.

Chica es la calandria e chico el rroysyñor;
pero más dulçe canta, que otra ave mayor:
la muger, por ser chica, por eso non es pior;
con doñeo es más dulce, que açúcar nin flor.

Son aves pequeñuelas papagayo e orior;
pero cualquiera dellas es dulçe gritador,
adonada, fermosa, preçiada, cantador:
bien atal es la dueña pequeña con amor.

En la muger pequena non ha conparación:
terrenal paraýso es e consolaçión,
solás e alegría, plaser e bendiçión,
¡mijor es en la prueva qu'en la salutaçión!

Ssyempre quis' muger chica, más que grand' nin mayor:
¡non es desaguisado de grand mal ser foydor!
Del mal, tomar lo menos: díselo el sabidor:
¡ por end' de las mugeres la menor es mijor!

Time for the good stuff:
Three for the elven lords under the sky
Seven for the dwarves in their halls of stone.
Nine for the mortal men doomed to die.
One for the dark lord on his dark throne
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them.
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
In the land of Mordor where shadows lie.

If you don't now what that's from, you're hopeless.

Time for the good stuff:
Three for the elven lords under the sky
Seven for the dwarves in their halls of stone.
Nine for the mortal men doomed to die.
One for the dark lord on his dark throne
In the land of Mordor where the shadows lie.
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them.
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
In the land of Mordor where shadows lie.

If you don't now what that's from, you're hopeless.

Agreed. However, if you're going to quote Tolkien's poetry, he has much better than that...

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!

Ai! laurie lantar lassi surinen!
Yeni unotime ve ramar aldaron,
Yeni ve linte yuldar vanier
Mi oromardi lisse-miruvoreva
Andune pella Vardo tellumar
Nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
Omaryo airetari-lirinen.

:D

Limericks are absolute shit
No worse poetry can be writ
Limericks: poetry;
Puns: comedy
[/hypocrite

Agreed. However, if you're going to quote Tolkien's poetry, he has much better than that...



:D
To speak in the High Language, thou art of a superiority greater than mine own. Can you do that from memory though?

Limericks are absolute shit
No worse poetry can be writ
Limericks: poetry;
Puns: comedy
[/hypocrite
If thou art of a meager mind,
thou art in a sour bind.
This thread is for the smart.
And not smart thou indeed art.

Limericks are absolute shit
No worse poetry can be writ
Limericks: poetry;
Puns: comedy
[/hypocrite

Aw, don't diss the noble limerick. I've written quite a lot of them in my spare time for the Omnificent English Dictionary in Limerick Form (http://www.oedilf.com). They're fun! :)

To speak in the High Language, thou art of a superiority greater than mine own. Can you do that from memory though?

Heh. I'm actually a bit of a Tolkien scholar, so I probably could recite "A Elbereth Gilthoniel" and at least a good chunk of Galadriel's lament from memory, although I didn't try just now. When your geeky, "Frodo Lives!"-button-wearing mother puts a Quenya name on your birth certificate, you basically either become an amateur Tolkien scholar or feel like a complete dork for the rest of your life. I went with option A. :)

If thou art of a meager mind,
thou art in a sour bind.
This thread is for the smart.
And not smart thou indeed art.

Slings and arrows haf't been sent my way.
Doth thou hath something to say?
I bite my thumb at you, Sir!
My wrath thou hath incurred!
Shakespearean speak is teh gay.

Slings and arrows haf't been sent my way.
Doth thou hath something to say?
I bite my thumb at you, Sir!
My wrath thou hath incurred!
Shakespearean speak is teh gay.
Thou hath gone much too far
in sooth a traitor ye are
I prithee to leave
before we must grieve
thy rising toward heaven star.

Heh. I'm actually a bit of a Tolkien scholar, so I probably could recite "A Elbereth Gilthoniel" and at least a good chunk of Galadriel's lament from memory, although I didn't try just now. When your geeky, "Frodo Lives!"-button-wearing mother puts a Quenya name on your birth certificate, you basically either become an amateur Tolkien scholar or feel like a complete dork for the rest of your life. I went with option A. :)
I commend you for your dedication. I spend more time with Star Trek.

Slings and arrows haf't been sent my way.
Doth thou hath something to say?
I bite my thumb at you, Sir!
My wrath thou hath incurred!
Shakespearean speak is teh gay.

Hey, now. If you're going to insult limericks and Shakespeare both, at least get your rhyme and meter right. Only your fifth line is properly anapestic, and "sir" and "incurred" are a close-rhyme at best. Sheesh.

Try this:

Thou hast sent slings and arrows my way,
So I ask: Hast thou something to say?
I shall now bite my thumb,
For I think thou art dumb,
But not nearly as dumb as I sound when I call things I don't like "gay."

;)

Hey, now. If you're going to insult limericks and Shakespeare both, at least get your rhyme and meter right. Only your fifth line is properly anapestic, and "sir" and "incurred" are a close-rhyme at best. Sheesh.

Try this:

Thou hast sent slings and arrows my way,
So I ask: Hast thou something to say?
I shall now bite my thumb,
For I think thou art dumb,
But not nearly as dumb as I sound when I call things I don't like "gay."

;)
I love this place for all the cool people on here!!! :fluffle:

I commend you for your dedication. I spend more time with Star Trek.

I never really got into Star Trek, at least linguistically speaking. Klingon just doesn't seem terribly conducive to lyric poetry. :p

I never really got into Star Trek, at least linguistically speaking. Klingon just doesn't seem terribly conducive to lyric poetry. :p
I agree. That's why I'm learning Swahili instead. Jambo!!

You're supposed to be talking about Wordsworth and Shelley!!!!!:D

You're supposed to be talking about Wordsworth and Shelley!!!!!:D
Yuck! Shakespeare wrote sonnets and the like, he counts.

Yuck! Shakespeare wrote sonnets and the like, he counts.

So do my beloved Romantics.:cool:

So do my beloved Romantics.:cool:
FLippin' hippies...
Poe and the other emos are better.

FLippin' hippies...
Poe and the other emos are better.

Meh. It might just be the precursor emo thing that attracts me..... or the quality of prosody.

-snip-

My intent was not to flame
Both limericks and olde English the same
Mixing olde and 1337
Seemed quite an ironic feat
Otherwise "gay" as an insult is lame


[freeverse]
Yes, I'm aware that I'm no poet.
I was not trying to start a Shakespearean verse battle.
I merely tried to post a lighthearted limerick,
but apparently it was misinterpretted.
And with that, I bid you good day. [/freeverse (ie. inability to rhyme)]

My intent was not to flame
Both limericks and olde English the same
Mixing olde and 1337
Seemed quite an ironic feat
Otherwise "gay" as an insult is lame


[freeverse]
Yes, I'm aware that I'm no poet.
I was not trying to start a Shakespearean verse battle.
I merely tried to post a lighthearted limerick,
but apparently it was misinterpretted.
And with that, I bid you good day. [/freeverse (ie. inability to rhyme)]
Freeverse is lacking in rhyme but it does have meter, loser.

You're supposed to be talking about Wordsworth and Shelley!!!!!:D

Well, okay, if you insist. :)

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee-
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.


Ozymandias

I met a traveller 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 despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

My intent was not to flame
Both limericks and olde English the same
Mixing olde and 1337
Seemed quite an ironic feat
Otherwise "gay" as an insult is lame


[freeverse]
Yes, I'm aware that I'm no poet.
I was not trying to start a Shakespearean verse battle.
I merely tried to post a lighthearted limerick,
but apparently it was misinterpretted.
And with that, I bid you good day. [/freeverse (ie. inability to rhyme)]

If I hadn't interpreted your limericks as lighthearted, I assure you I would have ignored you rather than offering my oh-so-terribly-helpful editorial skills. My apologies if my blue-pencilling came off as anything other than silly. :)

Freeverse is lacking in rhyme but it does have meter, loser.

Actually, meterless free verse is perfectly valid. Blank verse is rhymeless iambic pentameter, and is probably what you're thinking of.

[/nerd]

THE COLDEST WINTER
WILL TURN TO THOUGHTS OF SPRING YET
MY HAIKU SUCKS