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Author Topic: The Poetry Thread  (Read 107628 times)

hedgerow

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #240 on: June 30, 2021, 02:34:23 am »

Alfred Austin's My Winter Rose

Why did you come when the trees were bare?
Why did you come with the wintry air?
When the faint note dies in the robin's throat,
And the gables drip and the white flakes float?

What a strange, strange season to choose to come,
When the heavens are blind and the earth is dumb:
When nought is left living to dirge the dead,
And even the snowdrop keeps its bed!

Could you not come when woods are green?
Could you not come when lambs are seen?
When the primrose laughs from its childlike sleep,
And the violets hide and the bluebells peep?

When the air as your breath is sweet, and skies
Have all but the soul of your limpid eyes,
And the year, growing confident day by day,
Weans lusty June from the breast of May?

Yet had you come then, the lark had lent
In vain his music, the thorn its scent,
In vain the woodbine budded, in vain
The rippling smile of the April rain.

Your voice would have silenced merle and thrush,
And the rose outbloomed would have blushed to blush,
And Summer, seeing you, paused, and known
That the glow of your beauty outshone its own.

So, timely you came, and well you chose,
You came when most needed, my winter rose.
From the snow I pluck you, and fondly press
Your leaves 'twixt the leaves of my leaflessness.


Just a pretty poem.  All the great poets use repetitive syllabilism.
« Last Edit: June 30, 2021, 02:40:23 am by hedgerow »
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Magmacube_tr

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #241 on: August 27, 2021, 06:10:23 am »

Uzun İnce Bir Yoldayım-(I Am On A Long And Thin Road)

Uzun ince bir yoldayım-(I am on a long and thin road)
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)
Bilmiyorum ne haldeyim-(I don't know how I am)
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)
 

Dünyaya geldiğim anda-(The moment I came to this world)
Yürüdüm aynı zamanda-(I walked at the same time)
İki kapılı bir handa-(In an inn with two doors)
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)
 

Uykuda dahi yürüyom-I walk even as I sleep)
Kalmaya sebeb arıyom-(I look for a reason to stay)
Gidenleri hep görüyom-(I see always see those who leave)
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)

Kırkdokuz yıl bu yollarda-(Fortynine years in these roads)
Ovada dağda çöllerde-(On lowlands mountains deserts)
Düşmüşüm gurbet ellerde-(I have fallen on foreign lands[?])
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)
 

Şaşar Veysel işbu hale-(Şaşar Veysel's plight is this)
Gah ağlayan gahi güle-(Some cry some laugh)
Yetişmek için menzile-(To catch up to the horizon)
Gidiyorum gündüz gece-(I am going day and night)

-Aşık Veysel
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TD1

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #242 on: January 27, 2022, 08:37:14 pm »

dreams unspoken

I wake, sometimes, in the bright electric night
with orange bars unspooling on the bed
 
(having dreamt of lakewater catching golden
or a salamander breathing over coals)
 
and, rising to reality with the spark of speech
a-sizzle on my tongue,
 
pause. deflate. a stillness slides between my ribs, and coils
itself about my heart. my quiet bubbles
 
with sirens, parties next door,
or just the restless susurration of my breath.
 
and I am alone.



 - -  Written by me
« Last Edit: January 27, 2022, 08:41:20 pm by Th4DwArfY1 »
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Poetry Thread

hedgerow

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #243 on: February 04, 2022, 04:49:38 am »

So, this thread is to do with all things poetical. (And as of Reply 155, lyrics as well, it would seem!)

The greatest song of all time, and the second-horniest Amy Winehouse hit:

Quote
Look at us baby, up all night
Tearing our love apart
Aren't we the same two people
Who lived through years in the dark?
Every time I try to walk away
Something makes me turn around and stay
And I can't tell you why

Quote
Meet you downstairs in the bar and hurt
Your rolled up sleeves in your skull T-shirt
You say "what did you do it with him today?"
And sniffed me out like I was Tanqueray
'Cause you're my fella, my guy
Hand me your Stella and fly
By the time I'm out the door
You tear me down like Roger Moore

TD1

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #244 on: August 18, 2023, 04:54:17 pm »

The Phone Buzzes

A comet yawns golden. I smile.
Mountain cracks its knuckles. I nod.
Author manifests magnum-opus. I salute.
You send me a text and the world becomes
A still moment between one heartbeat and the next
Which breaks sharply, as the world does, around my ears.





Calypso
i
She was

Close,
Closer than our breath,
Closest to anchor
I have ever known.

ii
Indifference swells
The seas
And on her laughter
Came becalming weather, or thunder.

iii
She is
Far,
Farther than sanity
Farthest thing from me

And indifference swells the sea.
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zhijinghaofromchina

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #245 on: September 23, 2023, 09:21:27 am »

长风不散酷暑热,游子怀乡徒思归
李杜诗歌应犹在,明月清秋入骨来
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TD1

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #246 on: September 25, 2023, 11:38:21 am »

Sometimes a comet scribes a line across
The vast velvet of space. It makes me smile.
So, too, when mountains crack their knuckles,
Yawning in their dreams of thickened moss.

Likewise, man manifests magnum opus
From the bare threads of reality, stitching
Out of words, paint, baritone, something
To make me liquify my life in reassessment.

But you, you send a text and world becomes a still moment stretched between one heartbeat
And the next, which breaks sharply, as all the world does, about my feet.
« Last Edit: September 25, 2023, 11:41:04 am by TD1 »
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Poetry Thread

zhijinghaofromchina

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #247 on: September 29, 2023, 07:56:04 am »

Below is a poem written by a poet called 苏东坡, a wonderful and talented ancient poet .

明月几时有?把酒问青天。不知天上宫阙,今夕是何年。我欲乘风归去,又恐琼楼玉宇,高处不胜寒。起舞弄清影,何似在人间。

转朱阁,低绮户,照无眠。不应有恨,何事长向别时圆?人有悲欢离合,月有阴晴圆缺,此事古难全。但愿人长久,千里共婵娟。
« Last Edit: September 29, 2023, 07:58:28 am by zhijinghaofromchina »
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Digganob

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #248 on: October 31, 2023, 10:55:34 pm »

Here is Mythopoeia, a philosophically and theologically powerful poem by Tolkien, which feels very apt for Dwarf Fortress. It is certainly memorization worthy. It has saved me from a great deal of boredom at work, just thinking about its multitude of meanings and metaphors.


To one [C.S. Lewis] who said that myths were lies and therefore worthless, even though ‘breathed through silver’.

Philomythus to Misomythus

You look at trees and label them just so,
(for trees are ‘trees’, and growing is ‘to grow’);
you walk the earth and tread with solemn pace
one of the many minor globes of Space:
a star’s a star, some matter in a ball
compelled to courses mathematical
amid the regimented, cold, inane,
where destined atoms are each moment slain.

At bidding of a Will, to which we bend
(and must), but only dimly apprehend,
great processes march on, as Time unrolls
from dark beginnings to uncertain goals;
and as on page o’er-written without clue,
with script and limning packed of various hue,
an endless multitude of forms appear,
some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer,
each alien, except as kin from one
remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun.
God made the petreous rocks, the arboreal trees,
tellurian earth, and stellar stars, and these
homuncular men, who walk upon the ground
with nerves that tingle touched by light and sound.
The movements of the sea, the wind in boughs,
green grass, the large slow oddity of cows,
thunder and lightning, birds that wheel and cry,
slime crawling up from mud to live and die,
these each are duly registered and print
the brain’s contortions with a separate dint.
Yet trees are not ‘trees’, until so named and seen
and never were so named, till those had been
who speech’s involuted breath unfurled,
faint echo and dim picture of the world,
but neither record nor a photograph,
being divination, judgement, and a laugh
response of those that felt astir within
by deep monition movements that were kin
to life and death of trees, of beasts, of stars:
free captives undermining shadowy bars,
digging the foreknown from experience
and panning the vein of spirit out of sense.
Great powers they slowly brought out of themselves
and looking backward they beheld the elves
that wrought on cunning forges in the mind,
and light and dark on secret looms entwined.

He sees no stars who does not see them first
of living silver made that sudden burst
to flame like flowers beneath an ancient song,
whose very echo after-music long
has since pursued. There is no firmament,
only a void, unless a jewelled tent
myth-woven and elf-patterned; and no earth,
unless the mother’s womb whence all have birth.
The heart of Man is not compound of lies,
but draws some wisdom from the only Wise,
and still recalls him. Though now long estranged,
Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed.
Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned,
and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned,
his world-dominion by creative act:
not his to worship the great Artefact,
Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light
through whom is splintered from a single White
to many hues, and endlessly combined
in living shapes that move from mind to mind.
Though all the crannies of the world we filled
with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build
Gods and their houses out of dark and light,
and sowed the seed of dragons, ’twas our right
(used or misused). The right has not decayed.
We make still by the law in which we’re made.

Yes! ‘wish-fulfilment dreams’ we spin to cheat
our timid hearts and ugly Fact defeat!
Whence came the wish, and whence the power to dream,
or some things fair and others ugly deem?
All wishes are not idle, nor in vain
fulfilment we devise — for pain is pain,
not for itself to be desired, but ill;
or else to strive or to subdue the will
alike were graceless; and of Evil this
alone is deadly certain: Evil is.

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate
that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate;
that seek no parley, and in guarded room,
though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom
weave tissues gilded by the far-off day
hoped and believed in under Shadow’s sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah’s race that build
their little arks, though frail and poorly filled,
and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith,
a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith.

Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme
of things not found within recorded time.
It is not they that have forgot the Night,
or bid us flee to organized delight,
in lotus-isles of economic bliss
forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss
(and counterfeit at that, machine-produced,
bogus seduction of the twice-seduced).
Such isles they saw afar, and ones more fair,
and those that hear them yet may yet beware.
They have seen Death and ultimate defeat,
and yet they would not in despair retreat,
but oft to victory have tuned the lyre
and kindled hearts with legendary fire,
illuminating Now and dark Hath-been
with light of suns as yet by no man seen.

I would that I might with the minstrels sing
and stir the unseen with a throbbing string.
I would be with the mariners of the deep
that cut their slender planks on mountains steep
and voyage upon a vague and wandering quest,
for some have passed beyond the fabled West.
I would with the beleaguered fools be told,
that keep an inner fastness where their gold,
impure and scanty, yet they loyally bring
to mint in image blurred of distant king,
or in fantastic banners weave the sheen
heraldic emblems of a lord unseen.

I will not walk with your progressive apes,
erect and sapient. Before them gapes
the dark abyss to which their progress tends
if by God’s mercy progress ever ends,
and does not ceaselessly revolve the same
unfruitful course with changing of a name.
I will not treat your dusty path and flat,
denoting this and that by this and that,
your world immutable wherein no part
the little maker has with maker’s art.
I bow not yet before the Iron Crown,
nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.

In Paradise perchance the eye may stray
from gazing upon everlasting Day
to see the day illumined, and renew
from mirrored truth the likeness of the True.
Then looking on the Blessed Land ’twill see
that all is as it is, and yet made free:
Salvation changes not, nor yet destroys,
garden nor gardener, children nor their toys.
Evil it will not see, for evil lies
not in God’s picture but in crooked eyes,
not in the source but in malicious choice,
and not in sound but in the tuneless voice.
In Paradise they look no more awry;
and though they make anew, they make no lie.
Be sure they still will make, not being dead,
and poets shall have flames upon their head,
and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall:
there each shall choose for ever from the All.
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pr1mezer0

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Re: The Poetry Thread
« Reply #249 on: January 31, 2024, 10:44:17 am »

five to 6

Will that others meet your best with theirs. Then will the best be better. Then will you meet again. When times past will be gone. While you still wish yourself the best. You know others will be better. Then times past will begone.

All knowledge will be manifested. The unknown is provident. The march to chaos is inevitable, but time will tell its tale, as suns forge their relentless path through the cosmos. Tossed by lifes current, you head for a coconut palm, while moments in ebb multiply. And fantasies R.I.P.

Swear by truth. It's a weighty matter or it won't bear. Curses in vain leave no stain. Actions are more or less intentions. Show your strength. Take care in the affair. Pray you're ahead as you prepare for bed.

I'm overcome by rigour, patience exhausted. I don't want to know what I don't know, by ghosts haunted. From little things big things grow, tennis ball slobbered. The result of the sum is bigger, high priestess robed. Follow yellow brick road, it casts a glimmering glow. The burning bush is real, tall ships slough. Silence makes me feel attuned, erase the rubber. I could swear I've never pruned, the goes the lubber. The light wanes, it's time I looked to gains. Tap more bright grows, water more light flows.
« Last Edit: February 03, 2024, 11:02:26 am by pr1mezer0 »
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