Poems

Hey all, I was browsing through the Symposium and came across a thread titled "Poems..." and I really liked it. So I thought I'd start a similar thread for those of us who aren't Civites but would like to post poems/songs/anything that any of us have written or have really spoken to us. So, post anything that you wish to share.

In the tall grass of a long sun
a quiet repast and
i'm sweet nothings
come hell i'm your lover
your man
your friend
your fair weather
it's a world stopped afternoon
passion legs your wordless
all blue routes to your birth place
chalk white wincing pretty in it
summer dress your hair's wet and gets into our kisses
can you tell
why my intentions always
wind up near misses
there's a kindness in your smile but my sky plays fatal music
there's the promise and the shell
of great beginnings seldom finished
in the laze of a barefoot afternoon
what's a boy to do?
sunday eyes
am i losing you?
is the summer really through?
in the laze of an empty afternoon
it's all happening too soon
sunday eyes
am i losing you?
say it isn't true
there's an end but we don't get to choose
we can only lose
if i cried a river just for you
would you swim in it some sunny afternoon?
in the summer you'll really know
you're the only summer that i think i'll ever know
so i'll keep trying
to find you somewhere smiling
over me
over you
over me
- Blake Schwarzenback

As promised in our PM convo, I'll post the one's I wrote from the Symposium to here.

The Doom to the Dome

Upon the pathway to the dome,
I saw a city upon a hill.
I saw strolling avenues paved in stone,
And behold, a knight riding with impetuous zeal.

Approaching me in condescending form, he asked,
“What is thy purpose here, in this solemn afternoon?”
“Nothing, oh noble sir. Just a fair walk to the crypt.” I masked.
“Hurry so you must, before the sun wakes the moon.”

The knight galloped into the shade,
Before the sun escaped into the light.
Walking I remained, seeking no shelter from the bade.
But on the surface of the sky, Venus revealed with great delight.

The foreboded warning I ignored,
For passion warred with reason in determinate form.
Reason fled as passion soared,
For these two mixtures torn and forlorn.

The night crept into the day,
As Andromeda and Capricorn joined Mars,
My pace continuing without delay.
But there it was, awaiting me within the stars.

Oh a torturous fiend, I saw with fright,
As it grasped me in its enormous palms.
It swallowed me whole, with unparalleled might,
Leaving no room for remorse or alms.

So here I sit, in the belly of the beast,
Telling the story as I starve in peace.
This here lesson teaches that no matter the feast,
One must follow advice or suffer the yeast.

A Puzzle

From facile to complex
And miniscule to immense,
Life is made of puzzles
Whose ends always meet with time.

Yet there in lies a puzzle,
An enigma, or so so they say.
Twas' a mystery without parallel,
As no man could find its way.

Its awkward ends found no match,
Thus weakening its fine shine.
As the puzzle stood and watched,
A solver stumbled upon its vine.

This solver had a puzzle,
A puzzle of its own.
It needed answers and so it gave
Its puzzle to the vine.

With vines unclogged
The puzzle saw
The solver’s fragment
Matched its own.

So puzzles found,
Puzzles met,
When time predicted
Their two own fates.

Duele

No se ni quien soy ni quien seré.
De mis ojos, nada tiene ser.
Propósito escondido abandona.
Duele decirte. Duele enseñarte.

Yo tenía vida y alegría.
Y tú la compartías.
Ya no. Se fue.
Duele ignorar. Duele olvidar.

Ambos sin ayuda y sin apoyo.
Necesito tu hombro y tú el mío.
¿Adonde estas?
Duele consolarte. Duele apreciarte.

Inocencia perdida. Corrupción del saber.
Da agonía aprender.
Y tortura conocer.
Ya no duele nada sino amarte.

Alivio de la vida. Muerte al nacer.
Todo se hace. Todo termina.
Todo se olvida. Nada tiene vida.
La muerte viene al reconocer.

Corazón que odia, ódiame.
Odia mi dolor. Odia mi amor.

The Hole

Conscious life warring soulless,
Lonesome soul wanders lifeless,
Heartless self sombers frightless,
Frightful life knows no kindness.
Self-abandoned he comprises,
Sleepless torture in great harness.
Forceful requiem is sung quietless,
Souless life stops in silence.

Wrote all of these in the past year.

The Google Translator isn't the best solution. Would you care to give us a translation of Duele Sib, for those of us who don't speak Spanish?

Originally Posted by D-503

The Google Translator isn't the best solution. Would you care to give us a translation of Duele Sib, for those of us who don't speak Spanish?

Sure... it'll be easy since it doesn't have any structured rhyme scheme:

Duele

It Hurts

No se ni quien soy ni quien seré.
De mis ojos, nada tiene ser.
Propósito escondido abandona.
Duele decirte. Duele enseñarte.

I don't know either who I am or who I will be.
Everything means nothing from my eyes.
Hidden purpose abandons.
It hurts to tell you. It hurts to teach you.

Yo tenía vida y alegría.
Y tú la compartías.
Ya no. Se fue.
Duele ignorar. Duele olvidar.

I had life and joy.
And you shared it with me.
Not anymore. It's gone.
It hurts to ignore. It hurts to forget.

Ambos sin ayuda y sin apoyo.
Necesito tu hombro y tú el mío.
¿Adonde estas?
Duele consolarte. Duele apreciarte.

Both lacking help and support.
I need your shoulder, and you need mne.
Where are you?
It hurts to console. It hurts to appreciate you.

Inocencia perdida. Corrupción del saber.
Da agonía aprender.
Y tortura conocer.
Ya no duele nada sino amarte.

Innocence lost. Corruption of knowledge.
It pains to learn.
It pains to know.
Nothing hurts anymore but to love you.

Alivio de la vida. Muerte al nacer.
Todo se hace. Todo termina.
Todo se olvida. Nada tiene vida.
La muerte viene al reconocer.

Relief from life. Death at birth.
Everthing is made. Everything is finished.
All is forgotten. Nothing has life in it.
Death comes at recognizing this.

Corazón que odia, ódiame.
Odia mi dolor. Odia mi amor.

Heart that hates, hate me.
Hate my pain. Hate my love.


P.S.- Keep in mind that I wrote this in a low period of my life.

Poems do look better in a foreign language though. I particularly liked this part:

Innocence lost. Corruption of knowledge.
It pains to learn.
It pains to know.

Excerpt from a long poem, 100 roubles to anyone who can guess the title. I've always loved Pushkin.

No! pining in his harem sadly,
No wife of his would act so madly;
To wish or think they scarcely dare;
By wretches, cold and heartless, guarded,
Hope from each breast so long discarded;
Treason could never enter there.
Their beauties unto none revealed,
They bloom within the harem's towers,
As in a hot-house bloom the flowers
Which erst perfumed Arabia's field.
To them the days in sameness dreary,
And months and years pass slow away,
In solitude, of life grown weary,
Well pleased they see their charms decay.
Each day, alas! the past resembling,
Time loiters through their halls and bowers;
In idleness, and fear, and trembling,
The captives pass their joyless hours.
The youngest seek, indeed, reprieve
Their hearts in striving to deceive
Into oblivion of distress,
By vain amusements, gorgeous dress,
Or by the noise of living streams,
In soft translucency meand'ring,
To lose their thoughts in fancy's dreams,
Through shady groves together wand'ring.
But the vile eunuch too is there,
In his base duty ever zealous,
Escape is hopeless to the fair
From ear so keen and eye so jealous.
He ruled the harem, order reigned
Eternal there; the trusted treasure
He watched with loyalty unfeigned,
His only law his chieftain's pleasure,
Which as the Koran he maintained.
His soul love's gentle flame derides,
And like a statue he abides
Hatred, contempt, reproaches, jests,
Nor prayers relax his temper rigid,
Nor timid sighs from tender breasts,
To all alike the wretch is frigid.
He knows how woman's sighs can melt,
Freeman and bondman he had felt
Her art in days when he was younger;
Her silent tear, her suppliant look,
Which once his heart confiding shook,
Now move not,--he believes no longer!

Originally Posted by D-503

Poems do look better in a foreign language though.

I agree it does look better when it's in a foreign language, but that poem isn't one of my best... the other three are better. What's good about that particular poem is the emotion that I put into it, but as a poem it's nothing out of the extraordinary.

Excerpt from a long poem, 100 roubles to anyone who can guess the title. I've always loved Pushkin.

Oooh I've read this before... :original: I'm somewhat sure the full poem is called The Bachesarian Fountain (sp?). Am I 100 roubles richer?

Yes, Octavian will be sending you your $3.54 via Fed Ex.

Originally Posted by therussian

Yes, Octavian will be sending you your $3.54 via Fed Ex.

Hooray! I'm rich! But no... this is not fair. I must return Octavian his money and give him 10,000 Venezuelan bolivares as a sign of kindness and friendship.

I read this poem a while ago for my latin class and I really liked it. I've always been jealous of poets, like Catullus (who wrote this poem), because they are able to formulate poems that speak to people long after they have been written.

Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis.
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum,
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus invidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum

Sometimes it's good to read a poem (or in this case an epigram) which makes you laugh. I've always found Martial's toilet humor to be entertaining. Hope you get a kick out of this.

Lesbia se iurat gratis numquam esse fututam,
Verum est. Cum futui vult, numerare solet.

Lesbia swears she was never laid for free.
Quite true, she always pays the fee.

God, yes, Martial is... well, Martial, I guess. However, another nice Catullus (your first latin one is by Catullus, in case people were wondering):

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam fortasse requiris.
Nescio, sed fieri sentio, et excrucior.

Trans: I hate and I love. And if you should ask how I can do both,
I couldn't say; but I feel it, and it shivers me.

Siblesz, I love the poetry... maybe eventually I'll post my one self-written ppoem that I think worth anything.

Squeakus, good Catullus selection. Here is another poem by Catullus, which some of you may recognize from the HBO series Rome (Octavian read it to Octavia).

Passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,
cui primum digitum dare adpetenti
et acris solet incitare morsus,
cum desiderio meo nitenti
carum nescio quid libet iocari
(et solaciolum sui doloris,
credo, ut tum gravis adquiescat ardor),
tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem
et tristis animi levare curas!
... Tam gratum est mihi quam* ferunt puellae
pernici aureolum fuisse malum,
quod zonam solvit diu ligatam

Sparrow, darling of my girl, with which she plays, which she presses to her bosom, to whom she gives her fingertip, arousing sharp bites as he seeks after it, when gleaming with desire of me she jests a light joke of it, so that, I think, it is a solace for her pain when the heavy burning is at rest. Could I but play with you just as she does and lighten the sad cares of mind. ... This was as pleasing to me as the golden apple was to the fleet footed girl, which unloosed her girdle long-time fastened.

I must say, I dislike Catullus on sparrows.... they annoy me somewhat too much...

One more from me:

The Urn

Oh how it tears through me,
This heart, this soul.

Oh how it breaks in me,
This love, this goal.

Oh, water from the well,
Flood thyself with the Nile,
To burn out this hell.

Oh wretched fire,
How it covers the skies in smoke,
As Nero keeps playing the lyre.

Oh green Earth,
The flames with fury persist,
As thy coat exhausts in dearth.

Oh tormenting phase,
How it decays.
I plant, and I graze,
But it rots; what a maze.

Persisting aversion,
I stand firm with desire,
With my decent intention,
Of taming this fire.

Oh how it burns,
This heat, this flame.
I seek to adjourn
For this struggle's in vain.

Alas, I remain.
In the urn I shall stay,
While the fire profanes
My cries of dismay.

The Ancient

My crown is green, against the sky
My roots run deep into the dark soil
My skin has seen many seasons pass by
My eyes see a world, to be destroyed

I am an ancient, still standing strong
Yet, I feel the strange winds of a new age
The old has shrivelled, fallen dead, long-gone
I see the axes, wishing to make me the new page
Tear me out of my native earth, I don't belong.

With each season that passes,
With each new moon that waxes
The Earth groans under my banes
As they grow, my kingdom wanes.

I convince myself, it is only fall
The world will grow cold and dark,
Slumber on, waiting for a spark!
Spring will find me still standing tall.

Death of a Soldier
Life contracts and death is expected,
As in a season of autumn.
The soldier falls.

He does not become a three-days personage,
Imposing his separation,
Calling for pomp.

Death is absolute and without memorial,
As in a season of autumn,
When the wind stops,

When the wind stops and, over the heavens,
The clouds go, nevertheless,
In their direction.

-Wallace Stevens

A great poem of the dull realism of war.

Great poems in this thread. I have really enjoyed reading them all. Here is another that I would like to share:

Originally Posted by T.V.B.

Since I stood you on your head
and told you
you don't know the way I feel
and you don't see the things I see.
Well,
you've been walking home alone
and shaking
weightless like a sparrow bone.
You know
my mind is like water
and I'm silver
like eels
and I am better left all alone.
But water's a lie and I am a liar
can you see this yet?
I was born
and
bred
hard as stone smooth like kerosene aching and soaking wet.
Gasoline night time,
silver eyes promise you thousands of sour lies,
grey
like eels.
Since I stood you on your head and told you,
you don't know the way I feel
and you don't see the things I see.
Well I've been watching your eyes
for some sign of betrayal,
a certain courage I thought you might find,
a little curl of your lips,
a little shudder of a wing
a little screaming to keep me in line.

Deleted by user.

Here is some more Martial. He may be my favorite Roman poet. Yes, his writing is crude, but sometimes I'm a sucker for toilet humor. Hope you enjoy!

Originally Posted by Martial

Rumor says, Chiona, that you are a virgin
and that nothing is purer than your fleshly delights.
Nevertheless, you do not bathe with the correct part covered:
if you have the decency, move your panties onto your face.

Here is a nice short one I wrote:

Window

The blinds are shut on this window we look though,
Our eyes ache as we strain.
Vision becomes blurred,
Heart starts to throb,
As conscious begins to fade.
Helplessly we fall,
Through our thoughts and hopes,
From the truths we wish we could see.
Just outside the lines we draw in,
At the end of our dreams.

I have a lot on my Mac, I'll post them tomorrow. Somehow, though, my poety always comes off as socialist, though...

Edit: They are Here, in this thread.

Maybe these threads should be merged.