Poetry

[Invoker]

I was reading through the Symposium and found the poetry topic. Wished I could talk about it to others, but there isn't a topic here on it, so I thought I'd make one. To start off, a few of my favorite poems.

He Wishes for the Cloths in Heaven
by W.B. Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread upon my dreams


Holy Sonnet X
by John Donne

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


Dream Within a Dream
by Edgar Allen Poe

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

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


Care to share any favorites of yours or comment?

[Angered Roach]

{avoid trolling with insults even if in jest and you will live ling and prosper}

Right...so, with my usual angry tipping of the proverbial cap in your direction, i'll go ahead and proceed to the meat of the post, shall I?

I love Poe...but then, so does everyone. I've only met one guy in my life who didn't like Poe, and the only work of Poe's he ever read was...I believe the Casque Of Amantillado, in school. Some reason, he didn't like it.

I rather liked John Donne's poem...it's a bit like your standard "death" related poem, with the whole "Don't be afraid, death is a good thing!" type of message, but it was still enjoyable. Not too familiar with any of his other works, however.

Edit: Alas, Invoker is my friend from off of these forums, but, avoid it, I shall.

[Turnus]

Ad Lesbiam
by Lord Byron (Translation of Catullus LI)

Equal to Jove that youth must be--
Greater than Jove he seems to me--
Who, free from Jealousy's alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv'd for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though 'tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch'd to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o'erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil'd in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.

That's all for now.

[BassV2]

MC

Mike Hawk, Mike Hawk,
Where Art Thou,
You left me so suddenly,
You were ripped away from my...
Mike Hawk, Mike Hawk...
I have none....
They say Anita,
Bath and Jacques,
Strap my head.
The Sofa King,
Fag is me.

[DrakKassleron]

Hey all, here's my Poem. It's a "Variation" on "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll. It's funny. Or, at least it should be. *wink*

Here:


Twas Brillig, and silthy toves did gyre, gimble, entirely was outgrabe
of raths of borogroves and mome with mimsy wabe!

My son of Jabberwock be careful! The jaw which you bite, the nail
which is caught! The bird of Jub-Jub be careful, strike Frumious and
mischievous Bandersnatch with the open hand!

He him pursued the hand and that vorpal sword of long time, the
terrible enemy where therefore he went to bed with the tree of Tum,
Tum-Tum stood for a while in thought you took.

And, with Uffish the way when thinking and him, Jabberwock of the eye
of the flame, standing, coming it came simultaneously, and passing by
the burbled tulgey tree, whiffling!

One and 2! One and 2! And - the blade of Vorpal went food giggle
completely lightly! As for him the head to extent that broke the ankle
where chortling he shoots that stench very, pain of that knee it
pulled the spasm, running to dead, eagerly the leaving which does.

And Jabberwock thou of hast which is murdered? You come to my arm, my
beamish boy! The Ohio state Frabjous day, callay calloh! As for him
with that joy Chortled.

Twas Brillig, and slithy toves did gyre, gimble, entirely was outgrabe
of raths of borogroves and mome with mimsy wabe!

[SlartyBartfast]

The Last Australian Guitar Hero by T.I.S.M.

in a tiny inner-city pub, the amps were being stacked
leads were getting wound up, it was full of pissed anzacs
got no more gigs for tuesday nights, said the barman to the star
we're putting pokies in the lounge and strippers in the bar
the Star, he raised his fingers and said, " this in hole"
but to his faithful roadie he says, it's the death of rock and roll


there ain't a single place that's left to play amplified guitar
every place is serving long blacks and become a tapas bar
his dirty denim jacket was gapped and turning black
hair was missing on his forehead but it reached right down his back
I don't blame that barman bastard he told his roadie, "hey, no"
I blame all those faggot s, who are playing this techno


brothers couldn't work it out, get ed, they can kiss my rotten arse
work out what happened to real music, is what I'd like to ask
everything is all machine, run with midi and adas,
but all they do is go ping ping ping like a truck that's backing back
who the are the Chemical Brothers, that they now call the shots
Goldie's the name of a light beer, Elastica holds up socks
the roadie sat there silent next to the ejaculating Star
what's the en point of drum and bass, if no one can play guitar?


have you seen those en clubbers, with their peroxided dreads?
dressed up in ing adidas, like ing ed heads
I wouldn't drop a tab of E if you in' paid me man
I got the guts for LSD, and the only jungle i know is 'Nam
the roadie sat still silent, but then he finally began to speak
actually Star, I maybe shoulda told you this last week
but i scored a job as DJ at the latest techno club
i'm sick of working with a loser, see ya later Bub


well the roadie owned the PA and the roadie owned the ute,
the roadie told Star to get out or he'd bash one up his chute
and there on that cold freeway, Star walked along alone
of course he got kicked out halfway between emergency telephones


" ya's all", said Star aloud in the emergency stopping lane
to quote from that chick Juliet, hey what's in a name?
a good song's just a good song, just the same as long ago
but dress it up as something new and suddenly you're picasso
every white boy pommy , thinks that you're so hip
read NME from ten years ago and there's all the same dick-slip
Prodigy are just the band who are getting it this year
rolling stone's got no more cred than en New Idea


Star's anguish voice called in grief as he cryed unto the moon
in the end when all is said and done, a tune's just a in' tune
Star played his amp far too loud, his hearing was sorta gone
so he never heard the grinding squeal as the truckie put the brakes on
26 road train wheels, played a tune upon his head
"he just wandered into the traffic", the distraught driver said
the cops had seen it all before, the ambos washed the freeway clean
there ain't no contest when you put a man against a machine

[Trax]

Epic necro

Ad Lesbiam
by Lord Byron (Translation of Catullus LI)

And Catullus is translation of Sappho.