Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast
Results 1 to 25 of 34
Like Tree15Likes

Thread: Poems

  1. #1
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Poems

    Post good poems here for reflection!

    All human beings are members of one frame,
    Since all, at first, from the same essence came.
    When time afflicts a limb with pain
    The other limbs at rest cannot remain.
    If thou feel not for other’s misery
    A human being is no name for thee.


    - Saadia Shirazi
    mcchicken likes this.
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  2. #2
    Executive Member Rhinoz8142's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2013
    HSC
    2014
    Uni Grad
    2018
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Sydney
    Posts
    1,353
    Rep Power
    4

    Re: Poems

    Sometimes when I'm alone
    I cry,
    Cause I am on my own.
    The tears I cry are bitter and warm.
    They flow with life but take no form
    I cry because my heart is torn.
    I find it difficult to carry on.
    If I had an ear to confiding,
    I would cry among my treasured friend,
    But who do you know that stops that long,
    To help another carry on.
    The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
    Then to stop and see what makes one cry,
    So painful and sad.
    And sometimes...
    I cry
    And no one cares about why.
    mcchicken likes this.

    Quote Originally Posted by Oer View Post
    I am grateful for Rhino's existence

  3. #3
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Re: Poems

    THE PROGRESS OF MAN

    - Rumi

    First he appeared in the realm inanimate;
    Thence came into the world of plants and lived
    The plant-life many a year, nor called to mind
    What he had been; then took the onward way
    To animal existence, and once more
    Remembers naught of what life vegetive,
    Save when he feels himself moved with desire
    Towards it in the season of sweet flowers,
    As babes that seek the breast and know not why.
    Again the wise Creator whom thou knowest
    Uplifted him from animality
    To Man's estate; and so from realm to realm
    Advancing, he became intelligent,
    Cunning and keen of wit, as he is now.
    No memory of his past abides with him,
    And from his present soul he shall be changes.
    Though he is fallen asleep, God will not leave him
    In this forgetfulness. Awakened, he
    Will laugh to think what troublous dreams he had.
    And wonder how his happy state of being
    He could forget, and not perceive that all
    Those pains and sorrows were the effect of sleep
    And guile and vain illusion. So this world
    Seems lasting, though 'tis but the sleepers' dream;
    Who, when the appointed Day shall dawn, escapes
    From dark imaginings that haunted him,
    And turns with laughter on his phantom griefs
    When he beholds his everlasting home.
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  4. #4
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Re: Poems

    THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

    - Robert Frost

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
    And sorry I could not travel both
    And be one traveler, long I stood
    And looked down one as far as I could
    To where it bent in the undergrowth;

    Then took the other, as just as fair,
    And having perhaps the better claim,
    Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
    Though as for that the passing there
    Had worn them really about the same,

    And both that morning equally lay
    In leaves no step had trodden black.
    Oh, I kept the first for another day!
    Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
    I doubted if I should ever come back.

    I shall be telling this with a sigh
    Somewhere ages and ages hence:
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.
    Smile12345 and DatAtarLyfe like this.
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  5. #5
    Dont.msg.me.about.english nerdasdasd's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2009
    HSC
    2012
    Uni Grad
    2017
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    A, A
    Posts
    5,400
    Rep Power
    9

    Re: Poems

    Loneliness
    Now it is Loneliness who comes at night
    Instead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed.
    Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread,
    I watch her softly blowing out the light.
    Motionless sitting, neither left or right
    She turns, and weary, weary droops her head.
    She, too, is old; she, too, has fought the fight.
    So, with the laurel she is garlanded.

    Through the sad dark the slowly ebbing tide
    Breaks on a barren shore, unsatisfied.
    A strange wind flows… then silence. I am fain
    To turn to Loneliness, to take her hand,
    Cling to her, waiting, till the barren land
    Fills with the dreadful monotone of rain

    Katherine Mansfield
    HSC PAPERS >>http://sdrv.ms/H3cL7l
    2013 HSC papers >> http://sdrv.ms/H3cOQk
    HSC NOTES >> http://sdrv.ms/GXNPyo
    PHYSICS MC and ANSWERS >> http://sdrv.ms/H3da9C
    PHYSICS CORE OPTIONS HARD TEST (with solutions)>> http://sdrv.ms/GXNTOQ
    Sorted HSC Q's >> https://www.mediafire.com/folder/cls...ns_%2B_options

  6. #6
    Dont.msg.me.about.english nerdasdasd's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2009
    HSC
    2012
    Uni Grad
    2017
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    A, A
    Posts
    5,400
    Rep Power
    9

    Re: Poems

    I Cry

    Sometimes when I'm alone
    I Cry,
    Cause I am on my own.
    The tears I cry are bitter and warm.
    They flow with life but take no form
    I Cry because my heart is torn.
    I find it difficult to carry on.

    If I had an ear to confiding,
    I would cry among my treasured friend,
    but who do you know that stops that long,
    to help another carry on.


    The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
    Then to stop and see what makes one cry,
    so painful and sad.
    And sometimes…
    I Cry
    and no one cares about why.

    Tupac Shakur
    HSC PAPERS >>http://sdrv.ms/H3cL7l
    2013 HSC papers >> http://sdrv.ms/H3cOQk
    HSC NOTES >> http://sdrv.ms/GXNPyo
    PHYSICS MC and ANSWERS >> http://sdrv.ms/H3da9C
    PHYSICS CORE OPTIONS HARD TEST (with solutions)>> http://sdrv.ms/GXNTOQ
    Sorted HSC Q's >> https://www.mediafire.com/folder/cls...ns_%2B_options

  7. #7
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
    HSC
    2014
    Uni Grad
    2018
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Location
    In my head
    Posts
    9,056
    Rep Power
    10

    Re: Poems

    Streemin

    Im in the bottom streme
    Which meens Im not brigth
    dont like reading
    cant hardly write

    But all these divishns
    arnt reely fair
    look at the cemtery
    No streemin there

    Roger McGough
    Sy123 likes this.
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

    Got 1-2 minutes ? Please do my survey :P https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/8ZPYZSD
    Voting starts soon don't forget to vote in the the postal plebiscite!
    + Local elections are coming!
    Check your AEC enrollment address today : http://www.aec.gov.au/enrol/
    Turning 18 before November the 7th? You are eligible to vote!

  8. #8
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Re: Poems

    And still, after all this time,
    The sun never says to the earth,
    "You owe Me."

    Look what happens with
    A love like that,
    It lights the Whole Sky.


    ― Hāfez
    futuremidwife likes this.
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  9. #9
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Re: Poems

    Quote Originally Posted by BLIT2014 View Post
    Streemin

    Im in the bottom streme
    Which meens Im not brigth
    dont like reading
    cant hardly write

    But all these divishns
    arnt reely fair
    look at the cemtery
    No streemin there

    Roger McGough
    I like this one :D
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  10. #10
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    May 2013
    HSC
    2014
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    833
    Rep Power
    4

    Re: Poems

    A graphic war poem

    DULCE ET DECORUM EST.

    Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
    Knock-kneeds, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
    Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
    And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
    Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
    But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
    Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
    Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

    Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
    Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
    But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
    And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
    Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
    As under a green sea, saw him drowning.
    In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
    He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

    If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
    Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
    And watch the white eyes writhing in this face,
    His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
    If you could hear, at every hold, the blood
    Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
    Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
    Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
    My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
    To children ardent for some desperate glory,
    The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
    Pro patria mori.

    WILFRED OWEN
    Sy123 likes this.

  11. #11
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
    HSC
    2014
    Uni Grad
    2018
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Location
    In my head
    Posts
    9,056
    Rep Power
    10

    Re: Poems

    The Charge of the Light Brigade
    BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
    I
    Half a league, half a league,
    Half a league onward,
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    “Forward, the Light Brigade!
    Charge for the guns!” he said.
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    II
    “Forward, the Light Brigade!”
    Was there a man dismayed?
    Not though the soldier knew
    Someone had blundered.
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do and die.
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.

    III
    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of hell
    Rode the six hundred.

    IV
    Flashed all their sabres bare,
    Flashed as they turned in air
    Sabring the gunners there,
    Charging an army, while
    All the world wondered.
    Plunged in the battery-smoke
    Right through the line they broke;
    Cossack and Russian
    Reeled from the sabre stroke
    Shattered and sundered.
    Then they rode back, but not
    Not the six hundred.

    V
    Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon behind them
    Volleyed and thundered;
    Stormed at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell.
    They that had fought so well
    Came through the jaws of Death,
    Back from the mouth of hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.

    VI
    When can their glory fade?
    O the wild charge they made!
    All the world wondered.
    Honour the charge they made!
    Honour the Light Brigade,
    Noble six hundred!
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

    Got 1-2 minutes ? Please do my survey :P https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/8ZPYZSD
    Voting starts soon don't forget to vote in the the postal plebiscite!
    + Local elections are coming!
    Check your AEC enrollment address today : http://www.aec.gov.au/enrol/
    Turning 18 before November the 7th? You are eligible to vote!

  12. #12
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
    HSC
    2014
    Uni Grad
    2018
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Location
    In my head
    Posts
    9,056
    Rep Power
    10

    Re: Poems

    The Listeners

    ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
    Knocking on the moonlit door;
    And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
    Of the forest’s ferny floor:
    And a bird flew up out of the turret,
    Above the Traveller’s head:
    And he smote upon the door again a second time;
    ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
    But no one descended to the Traveller;
    No head from the leaf-fringed sill
    Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
    Where he stood perplexed and still.
    But only a host of phantom listeners
    That dwelt in the lone house then
    Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
    To that voice from the world of men:
    Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
    That goes down to the empty hall,
    Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
    By the lonely Traveller’s call.
    And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
    Their stillness answering his cry,
    While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
    ’Neath the starred and leafy sky;
    For he suddenly smote on the door, even
    Louder, and lifted his head:—
    ‘Tell them I came, and no one answered,
    That I kept my word,’ he said.
    Never the least stir made the listeners,
    Though every word he spake
    Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
    From the one man left awake:
    Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
    And the sound of iron on stone,
    And how the silence surged softly backward,
    When the plunging hoofs were gone.

    BY WALTER DE LA MARE
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

    Got 1-2 minutes ? Please do my survey :P https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/8ZPYZSD
    Voting starts soon don't forget to vote in the the postal plebiscite!
    + Local elections are coming!
    Check your AEC enrollment address today : http://www.aec.gov.au/enrol/
    Turning 18 before November the 7th? You are eligible to vote!

  13. #13
    conviction buriza's Avatar
    Join Date
    Mar 2014
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Female
    Posts
    315
    Rep Power
    3

    Re: Poems

    Preludes

    III

    You tossed a blanket from the bed,
    You lay upon your back, and waited;
    You dozed, and watched the night revealing
    The thousand sordid images
    Of which your soul was constituted;
    They flickered against the ceiling.
    And when all the world came back
    And the light crept up between the shutters
    And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
    You had such a vision of the street
    As the street hardly understands;
    Sitting along the bed’s edge, where
    You curled the papers from your hair,
    Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
    In the palms of both soiled hands.

    ― T.S. Eliot

  14. #14
    This too shall pass Sy123's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2011
    HSC
    2013
    Gender
    Male
    Posts
    3,725
    Rep Power
    7

    Re: Poems

    OZYMANDIAS

    - Percy Bysshe Shelley

    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 shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
    And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
    Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mock'd 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.
    Many a man and dynasty have we seen,
    That all quickly perished and expired;
    Many a mountaintop was surmounted,
    By men, who perished, yet the mountains remain

    - Fakhr al-Din al-Razi

  15. #15
    Member
    Join Date
    Sep 2007
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    280
    Rep Power
    8

    Re: Poems

    THE SHEEP CHILD

    Farm boys wild to couple
    With anything with soft-wooded trees
    With mounds of earth mounds
    Of pine straw will keep themselves off
    Animals by legends of their own:
    In the hay-tunnel dark
    And dung of barns, they will
    Say I have heard tell

    That in a museum in Atlanta
    Way back in a corner somewhere
    There's this thing that's only half
    Sheep like a woolly baby
    Pickled in alcohol because
    Those things can't live his eyes
    Are open but you can't stand to look
    I heard from somebody who...

    But this is now almost all
    Gone. The boys have taken
    Their own true wives in the city,
    The sheep are safe in the west hill
    Pasture but we who were born there
    Still are not sure. Are we,
    Because we remember, remembered
    In the terrible dust of museums?

    Merely with his eyes, the sheep-child may
    Be saying saying

    I am here, in my father's house.
    I who am half of your world, came deeply
    To my mother in the long grass
    Of the west pasture, where she stood like moonlight
    Listening for foxes. It was something like love
    From another world that seized her
    From behind, and she gave, not Iifting her head
    Out of dew, without ever looking, her best
    Self to that great need. Turned loose, she dipped her face
    Farther into the chill of the earth, and in a sound
    Of sobbing of something stumbling
    Away, began, as she must do,
    To carry me. I woke, dying,
    In the summer sun of the hillside, with my eyes
    Far more than human. I saw for a blazing moment
    The great grassy world from both sides,
    Man and beast in the round of their need,
    And the hill wind stirred in my wool,
    My hoof and my hand clasped each other,
    I ate my one meal
    Of milk, and died
    Staring. From dark grass I came straight

    To my father's house, whose dust
    Whirls up in the halls for no reason
    When no one comes piling deep in a hellish mild
    corner,
    And, through my immortal waters,
    I meet the sun's grains eye
    To eye, and they fail at my closet of glass.
    Dead, I am most surely living
    In the minds of farm boys: I am he who drives
    Them like wolves from the hound bitch and calf
    And from the chaste ewe in the wind.
    They go into woods into bean fields they go
    Deep into their known right hands. Dreaming of me,
    They groan they wait they suffer
    Themselves, they marry, they raise their kind.

    James Dickey

  16. #16
    RISK EVERYTHING Kiraken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    1,921
    Rep Power
    5

    Re: Poems

    Quote Originally Posted by Sy123 View Post
    THE PROGRESS OF MAN

    - Rumi

    First he appeared in the realm inanimate;
    Thence came into the world of plants and lived
    The plant-life many a year, nor called to mind
    What he had been; then took the onward way
    To animal existence, and once more
    Remembers naught of what life vegetive,
    Save when he feels himself moved with desire
    Towards it in the season of sweet flowers,
    As babes that seek the breast and know not why.
    Again the wise Creator whom thou knowest
    Uplifted him from animality
    To Man's estate; and so from realm to realm
    Advancing, he became intelligent,
    Cunning and keen of wit, as he is now.
    No memory of his past abides with him,
    And from his present soul he shall be changes.
    Though he is fallen asleep, God will not leave him
    In this forgetfulness. Awakened, he
    Will laugh to think what troublous dreams he had.
    And wonder how his happy state of being
    He could forget, and not perceive that all
    Those pains and sorrows were the effect of sleep
    And guile and vain illusion. So this world
    Seems lasting, though 'tis but the sleepers' dream;
    Who, when the appointed Day shall dawn, escapes
    From dark imaginings that haunted him,
    And turns with laughter on his phantom griefs
    When he beholds his everlasting home.
    omg a rumi fan :O

  17. #17
    Junior Member
    Join Date
    May 2013
    HSC
    2015
    Gender
    Male
    Location
    Sydney
    Posts
    99
    Rep Power
    4

    Re: Poems

    Do not go gentle into that good night
    Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

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

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

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

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

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

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

  18. #18
    RISK EVERYTHING Kiraken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    1,921
    Rep Power
    5

    Re: Poems

    The Colorful Rose
    You are not troubled with solving enigmas
    O, beautiful Rose! nor do you have sublime feelings in your heart

    Though you ornament the assembly, still you flower apart
    In life's assembly I am not permitted such comforts

    In my garden I am the complete orchestra of longing
    While your life is devoid of love's passionate warmth

    To pluck you from the branch is not my custom
    I am not blinded by mere appearances

    O, colorful rose this hand is not your tormentor
    I am no callous flower picker!

    I am no intern to analyze you with scientific eyes
    Like a lover, I see you with nightingales' eyes

    Despite your innumerable tongues, you have chosen silence
    What secrets, O Rose, lie concealed in your bosom?

    Like me you're a leaf from the garden of Ñër
    Far from the garden I am, far from the garden we both are

    You are content, but I am a scattered fragrance
    Pierced by the sword of love in my quest

    This turmoil within me might be a means of fulfillment
    This torment, a source of illumination

    My frailty might be the beginning of strength
    My envy might mirror the cup of divination

    My constant vigil is a world-illuminating candle
    And teaches this steed, the human intellect, to gallop


    Allama Iqbal

  19. #19
    Member
    Join Date
    Sep 2007
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    280
    Rep Power
    8

    Re: Poems

    AS ONE LISTENS TO THE RAIN

    Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
    not attentive, not distracted,
    light footsteps, thin drizzle,
    water that is air, air that is time,
    the day is still leaving,
    the night has yet to arrive,
    figurations of mist
    at the turn of the corner,
    figurations of time
    at the bend in this pause,
    listen to me as one listens to the rain,
    without listening, hear what I say
    with eyes open inward, asleep
    with all five senses awake,
    it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,
    air and water, words with no weight:
    what we are and are,
    the days and years, this moment,
    weightless time and heavy sorrow,
    listen to me as one listens to the rain,
    wet asphalt is shining,
    steam rises and walks away,
    night unfolds and looks at me,
    you are you and your body of steam,
    you and your face of night,
    you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
    you cross the street and enter my forehead,
    footsteps of water across my eyes,
    listen to me as one listens to the rain,
    the asphalt's shining, you cross the street,
    it is the mist, wandering in the night,
    it is the night, asleep in your bed,
    it is the surge of waves in your breath,
    your fingers of water dampen my forehead,
    your fingers of flame burn my eyes,
    your fingers of air open eyelids of time,
    a spring of visions and resurrections,
    listen to me as one listens to the rain,
    the years go by, the moments return,
    do you hear the footsteps in the next room?
    not here, not there: you hear them
    in another time that is now,
    listen to the footsteps of time,
    inventor of places with no weight, nowhere,
    listen to the rain running over the terrace,
    the night is now more night in the grove,
    lightning has nestled among the leaves,
    a restless garden adrift-go in,
    your shadow covers this page.

    Octavio Paz
    nerdasdasd likes this.

  20. #20
    RISK EVERYTHING Kiraken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    1,921
    Rep Power
    5

    Re: Poems

    Ode to Broken Things

    Things get broken
    at home
    like they were pushed
    by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
    It's not my hands
    or yours
    It wasn't the girls
    with their hard fingernails
    or the motion of the planet.
    It wasn't anything or anybody
    It wasn't the wind
    It wasn't the orange-colored noontime
    Or night over the earth
    It wasn't even the nose or the elbow
    Or the hips getting bigger
    or the ankle
    or the air.
    The plate broke, the lamp fell
    All the flower pots tumbled over
    one by one. That pot
    which overflowed with scarlet
    in the middle of October,
    it got tired from all the violets
    and another empty one
    rolled round and round and round
    all through winter
    until it was only the powder
    of a flowerpot,
    a broken memory, shining dust.

    And that clock
    whose sound
    was
    the voice of our lives,
    the secret
    thread of our weeks,
    which released
    one by one, so many hours
    for honey and silence
    for so many births and jobs,
    that clock also
    fell
    and its delicate blue guts
    vibrated
    among the broken glass
    its wide heart
    unsprung.

    Life goes on grinding up
    glass, wearing out clothes
    making fragments
    breaking down
    forms
    and what lasts through time
    is like an island on a ship in the sea,
    perishable
    surrounded by dangerous fragility
    by merciless waters and threats.

    Let's put all our treasures together
    -- the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold --
    into a sack and carry them
    to the sea
    and let our possessions sink
    into one alarming breaker
    that sounds like a river.
    May whatever breaks
    be reconstructed by the sea
    with the long labor of its tides.
    So many useless things
    which nobody broke
    but which got broken anyway

    Pablo Neruda

  21. #21
    Member
    Join Date
    Sep 2007
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    280
    Rep Power
    8

    Re: Poems

    O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

    O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
    The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
    The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
    While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
    But O heart! heart! heart!
    O the bleeding drops of red,
    Where on the deck my Captain lies,
    Fallen cold and dead.

    O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
    Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
    For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
    For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
    Here Captain! dear father!
    This arm beneath your head!
    It is some dream that on the deck,
    You’ve fallen cold and dead.

    My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
    My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
    The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
    From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
    Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
    But I with mournful tread,
    Walk the deck my Captain lies,
    Fallen cold and dead.

    Walt Whitman
    strawberrye likes this.

  22. #22
    RISK EVERYTHING Kiraken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    1,921
    Rep Power
    5

    Re: Poems

    Speak, your lips are free.
    Speak, it is your own tongue.
    Speak, it is your own body.
    Speak, your life is still yours.
    See how in the blacksmith's shop
    The flame burns wild, the iron glows red;
    The locks open their jaws,
    And every chain begins to break.
    Speak, this brief hour is long enough
    Before the death of body and tongue:
    Speak, 'cause the truth is not dead yet,
    Speak, speak, whatever you must speak.

    Faiz Ahmad Faiz

  23. #23
    RISK EVERYTHING Kiraken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jun 2012
    HSC
    N/A
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Posts
    1,921
    Rep Power
    5

    Re: Poems

    The Man with the Flute

    The Flute I play has echoed
    The never-ending, ever-changing Song
    Since the beginning, and will stretch till
    The End

    One would think that the Song would change
    So much so that all the songs
    That have been, are, and will be
    Have had their chance
    But only the sad ones persist and
    They are Infinite

    The winds of my breath have given
    Life in the depths of oceans,
    The heights of mountains for
    I have seen all, but I do not
    Explore

    But as the Flute plays on
    From the winds of my soul
    I see the people come inevitably
    You will all see me play

    The Song will be different
    But the performance the same
    Then they give me their hand
    And you too one day
    And I take them away

    I do not know whether
    I come to you or you
    Come to me, but we simply
    Meet and that does not matter
    As the emptiness of lost ones
    Does not satiate my
    Eternal fate

    People try to tell me their stories of
    How it happened but they do not
    Realise that I already know
    And the Flute is more important
    As the Music is all that flows
    In the river of Life

    The Flute is all, and I talk to it
    As it projects my words in to my own ears
    But with Beauty
    Because there is no one else
    Least of all the poor that come
    To see me play and take them
    Away

    I have searched for one to play with
    Me, but my work is just for one
    So there is no other
    My Song is only heard once
    But each person will remember it as
    Their own



    For it is not my heart that
    Possesses the Music, for
    The words of the Flute live
    In the ears of those who hear
    I am but a messenger
    Who stands adrift
    Between the shores of those
    Who do not understand me

    I often hear the shadowy strains
    Of the Music of my brother
    In those I see
    He is called Life.

    Anonymous

  24. #24
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2012
    HSC
    2014
    Uni Grad
    2018
    Gender
    Undisclosed
    Location
    In my head
    Posts
    9,056
    Rep Power
    10

    Re: Poems

    The Raven
    BY EDGAR ALLAN 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 name 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 stillness 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 upon 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 farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
    On the morrow he will 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 fancy 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, ghastly, 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 hath 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 name Lenore—
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 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!
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

    Got 1-2 minutes ? Please do my survey :P https://www.surveymonkey.com/s/8ZPYZSD
    Voting starts soon don't forget to vote in the the postal plebiscite!
    + Local elections are coming!
    Check your AEC enrollment address today : http://www.aec.gov.au/enrol/
    Turning 18 before November the 7th? You are eligible to vote!

  25. #25
    madman in a box mcchicken's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2014
    HSC
    2015
    Gender
    Female
    Posts
    1,025
    Rep Power
    3

    Re: Poems

    Fire and Ice
    by Robert Frost

    Some say the world will end in fire,
    Some say ice.
    From what I've tasted of desire
    I hold with those who favor fire.
    But if it had to perish twice,
    I think I know enough of hate
    To say that for destruction ice
    Is also great
    And would suffice.

Page 1 of 2 12 LastLast

Thread Information

Users Browsing this Thread

There are currently 1 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 1 guests)

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •