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    Posted: 26-Nov-2004 at 00:47
I cannot say I have the time to partake in too many full length book readings, but poems are usually short enough for me to read. 

I've come across one recently that's pretty good. What do you think?

HAPPY THE MAN, From Horace's Odes
Translated by Dryden

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
he who can call today his own:
he who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine
the joys I have possessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself, upon the past has power,
but what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.


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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote vagabond Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-Nov-2004 at 18:44

(Abend) - Evening -- by Ranier Maria Rilke
translated by C F MacIntyre

Slowly now the evening changes his garments
held for him by a rim of ancient trees:
you gaze: and the landscape divides and leaves you,
one sinking and one rising toward the sky.

And you are left, to none belonging wholly,
not so dark as a silent house, nor quite
so surely pledged unto eternity
as that which grows to star and climbs the night.

To you is left (unspeakably confused)
your life, gigantic, ripening, full of fears,
so that it, now hemmed in, now grasping all,
is changed in you by turns to stone and stars.



Edited by vagabond
In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Exorsis C Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 29-Nov-2004 at 03:55

Nice poems, both of them. I have read quite a few poems in my life, although I have managed to miss these two, so thanks for bringing them to my attention.

A question: Can we post our own poetry, or does it have to be something that has been published?

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Cornellia Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 29-Nov-2004 at 14:49

I think we'd all love to read your poetry, Exorsis C....and that goes for any of our poetic souls.

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Exorsis C Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 30-Nov-2004 at 01:23
Okay, then I'll try to post some later. I don't have them here right now, but I'll bring them tomorrow. I don't think I have any on this computer, but I'll check. If I find any I'll post them.
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Exorsis C Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 02-Dec-2004 at 03:25

Here's one that I wrote a long time ago. I posted it at another forum about a year ago, so some of you may have read it already.

NOT ALONE

People around me,
laughing and talking,
having fun.
I hardly notice
that they´re here.
Not alone,
but feeling lonely,
missing him.
I´ve missed him for years now.
I´ll never stop missing him,
for as long as I live.
Not alone,
but feeling lonely,
and in pain.
I´ve felt the pain for so long now
and it will never go away.
I´m in pain,
missing him,
wishing he was here.
Wishing he was still alive.
Wishing he could hold me
and stop me from feeling lonely.
No,
I´m not alone,
but I´m feeling lonely...

(copyright CS 1987)

I hope you like it... If not, don't be afraid to say so, but please say it in a nice way, perhaps with some constructive critisism.

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote vagabond Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 03-Dec-2004 at 01:45

Thanks Exorsis C

I hope that you are not still lonely.  If you are - come visit us here at AE.

Most of my stuff tends to be a bit freeform as well.

In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Exorsis C Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 03-Dec-2004 at 03:22

Thanks Vagabond.

No, I'm not still lonely. I am now in a very good relationship and have very good friends, so my life is much better now. But I'll still visit AE, lonely or not...

Many of my poems are pretty sad or depressing, since I mostly write when I'm feeling down. It's a kind of therapy for me and it helps me get through bad times.

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote vagabond Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 21-Dec-2004 at 03:01

Perhaps my favorite poet is Robert Frost. 

http://www.bartleby.com/people/Frost-Ro.html

He's usually thought of a pretty country images - but there's a depth and a very dark side to a great deal of his poetry.  Two (out of a long list) of my favorites of his:

For Once, Then Something

Others taunt me with having knelt at well-curbs
Always wrong to the light, so never seeing
Deeper down in the well than where the water
Gives me back in a shining surface picture
Me myself in the summer heaven godlike
Looking out of a wreath of fern and cloud puffs.
Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb,
I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture,
Through the picture, a something white, uncertain,
Something more of the depths--and then I lost it.
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out. What was that whiteness?
Truth? A pebble of quartz? For once, then, something.

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

In the time of your life, live - so that in that wonderous time you shall not add to the misery and sorrow of the world, but shall smile to the infinite delight and mystery of it. (Saroyan)
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote troyforever Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 10-Feb-2005 at 23:59
Originally posted by vagabond vagabond wrote:

ACQUAINTED WITH THE NIGHT

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

This stanza is most inspiring. (can we walk freely in and out of the night? if the time is like the rain, can we walk at our own will in and out of it?.....)

Originally posted by vagabond vagabond wrote:

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

Imagine that one walked in a lonely lane in the night, 'unwillikng to explain', ---that feels terrific. 

 

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote akıncı Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 28-May-2005 at 07:45
since there is a topic about poetry i should ask,has anyone read the raven?
"I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
              
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote vulkan02 Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 02-Jun-2005 at 15:49

u mean the Raven by Allan Poe? I have read that long ago ... it was pretty good i liked it... it gives you that creepy feeling... anyway here is one of my favorite poems

Rupert Brooke

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:
    That there's some corner of a foreign field
The is for ever England. There shall be
    In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
    Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
    Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
    A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
        Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
    And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
        In hearts at peace, under and English heaven.

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Destroy first and construction will look after itself - Mao
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote TheodoreFelix Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 04-Jun-2005 at 23:11

I love that poem.

" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."  "

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote Goblin Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 09-Jun-2005 at 15:11

Well, I'm new here so why not start off with a couple of poems? 

Don't mind if I do.

*scratches head* Maybe I should find one first....

In the meantime, I'd like to say that I love every one of the poems that have been posted.  I especially like "For Once, Then Something".

AH!  Here we go!  (All were copyrighted in 2004.)

If you like these few, I will post more:

Holy Days of Past

Remember Monday?
How it wept with sorrow,
for the Holy Days of Past?
How,
whenever we would meditate,
the skies always seemed to darken?
I still haven't figured out
if it darkened in rage, or love, or just
-simply-
understanding.
I'm sure you don't know either.
It's just one of those things . . .
you know?
But now I see that,
when the storm moves in,
it welcomes me.
In an odd sort of way,
that no one else can understand,
I welcome it, too.
It has become a part of me.
Fresh air.
Clean earth.
I'm sure you understand,
because I understand, as well,
and we always understand each other.
Monday....
monday......
Forever has the Monday come and gone,
leaving us only the remains of ourselves,
for the Holy Days of Past,
are trapped behind what is already gone.
New shall be our souls,
and new shall be the days in which they are revived.

La supersticion del lobo

El lobo de noche
Corre en el bosque
Canta por miedo
Y se come a los muertos

Tu chillido
Por la luna llena
Yo te digo
Es solo supersticion

Yo tomo la sidra
Como el lobo de noche
Regresa del bosque
Y se sienta a mi lado

The Little Lady In Red

The little lady in red
Whose heart was already dead
Spoke of her life
And all of it's strife
And of why she hadn't been wed.

The little lady had been
Waiting on her choice of all men
In her best red dress
Not a hair a mess
Until the hour of ten.

Standing on the wet city street
Over-hearing the chorus' beat
Her heart sunk low
As she realized, now
That her and her man wouldn't meet.

Slowly she started to weep
Yet made not even a peep
Alone in the chill
Lip quivering, not still
And heart beginning to seep.

"Believe it or not," she did say
"Since withstanding the rain on that day,
I knew what what was wrong
So simple the song
No heart could love me, that way."

So, indeed, she did feel
Until she ate her last meal
That unloveable was she
And her heart would never see
To her, a man who would kneel.

"Man is free at the moment he wishes to be." -Voltaire



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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote akıncı Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 13-Jun-2005 at 14:24

 

 

 



Edited by akıncı
"I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
              
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote akıncı Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 14-Jun-2005 at 06:30

the whole of the raven:

[First published in 1845]

horizontal space 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 violet 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!

"I am the scourage of god appointed to chastise you,since no one knows the remedy for your iniquity exept me.You are wicked,but I am more wicked than you,so be silent!"
              
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote morticia Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 13:39
Hi.. OK, let's liven up this poem thread a bit!

A friend e-mailed me these poems and I got a good chuckle.... the difference between a Female poem and a Male poem....I am sure that all of you can relate!!!

Here it goes:

FEMALE POEM

I want a man who's handsome, smart and strong.
One who loves to listen long,
One who thinks before he speaks,
One who'll call, not wait for weeks.
I want him to be gainfully employed,
And when I spend his cash, he not be annoyed.
Pulls out my chair and opens my door,
Massages my back and begs to do more.
Oh! For a man who makes love to my mind,
and knows what to answer to "how big is my behind?"
I want this man to love me to no end,
And always be my very best friend


AWWWWW that was so sweet!!!!!
Now, for the male poem!

MALE POEM

I want a deaf-mute nymphomaniac with huge tits who owns a liquor store and a bass boat.
I know this doesn't rhyme and I don't give a sh*t.

AWWWW, that was so sweet!!!!!





Edited by morticia
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Trust in God: She will provide." -- Emmeline Pankhurst
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote çok geç Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 13:44

Here is my best. I wrote that around the spring of 2001. Sorry if it carried too much feelings, but at that time, the emphasis was on that issue . I copied it back from Poetry.com (some of you know this website).

Let the Rocks Say, O'Jerusalem

Let the rocks speak and talk,Listen to them whimpering and walk,
Let them tell you the story of Jerusalem's folk,
And they will speak, O'Jerusalem.
The appeal letters they send, The bloodshed that shall end,
The injustice and malice cannot bend,
And they will whisper, O'Jerusalem.
See those young boys at the gates,
Fighting tanks, and rocks are their mates,
Death is watching, and their fates,
And they will yell, O'Jerusalem.
In day, lachrymose bombs are smelled,
In night, gunshots are heard,
Death became my friend,
And they will call, O'Jerusalem.
Children asking for peace,War that will not cease,
All had to beg on knees,
And you will still hear them, O'Jerusalem.
By the sunset, I had to go,Leaving them as you know,
Ask the rocks what they saw,
And they will answer you, O'Jerusalem.

Wael Mansour Qassim

Copyright ©2005 Wael Mansour Qassim

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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote morticia Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 14:04
WOW Cok Gec, I'm impressed!!!!! Very nice!
"Morty

Trust in God: She will provide." -- Emmeline Pankhurst
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Post Options Post Options   Thanks (0) Thanks(0)   Quote çok geç Quote  Post ReplyReply Direct Link To This Post Posted: 06-Oct-2005 at 14:14
Muchas Gracias Morticia
D.J. Kaufman
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