Poetry Corner

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

hipeter your poem was ok
but freakyfreaky's are the best.

[hipeter924]

Re: Poetry Corner

I write poems when I have some free time.

Here is one:

Nature, and we

The rain pours hard
To some it is a gail
To me it is a heavenly breeze
What to some is bitter rain
Refreshes my soul
Only the cold air; the blue sky
To some is torture
But to me is freedom
Nature
Enlightens my being
Brings voice to my heart
These are simple pleasures
But ones that belong
A forest needs not humanity
But without it
What are we?
But a grain in the sand
A star in the sky
A void

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Prell

Day changes from cannon to morning glory
her body dances death dances in the prell light

beads strung out all through Japan's public park's, my head,
light green eyes of the birds that break branches to build homes there.

she tore the page, "Varieties of Emeralds"
from little sister's picture encyclopedia.

I watched this all with a spike in my vein from a top floor window
I felt the blood pass from my arm into the glass tube above it...

then it was rainy bonzais everywhere for me
and black masses across my brain like planets on solar maps

paper secrets I used to believe lined the open closet shelves
her body split and floated into the air forests like astral monkeys.

It's there, the air the body the soft green day:
your life cutting throught the light noise of New York City's traffic
dawn.

-- Carroll, Jim. Living at the Movies.

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Nothing Gold Can Stay

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

-- Robert Frost

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

The Echoing Green



The sun does arise,

And make happy the skies;

The merry bells ring

To welcome the spring;

The skylark and thrush,

The birds of the bush,

Sing louder around

To the bell's cheerful sound,

While our sports shall be seen

On the Echoing Green.



Old John with white hair,

Does laugh away care,

Sitting under the oak,

Among the old folk.

They laugh at our play,

And soon they all say:

"Such, such were the joys

When we all, girls and boys,

In our youth time were seen

On the Echoing Green."



Till the little ones, weary,

No more can be merry;

The sun does descend,

And our sports have an end.

Round the laps of their mothers

Many sisters and brother,

Like birds in their nest,

Are ready for rest,

And sport no more seen

On the darkening Green.

-- William Blake

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

-- Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat

"How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some:
Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"
Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
Oh, the brave music of a distant Drum!

-- Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean—
Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

-- Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat

In spring if a houri-like sweetheart
Gives me a cup of wine on the edge of a green cornfield,
Though to the vulgar this would be blasphemy,
If I mentioned any other Paradise, I'd be worse than a dog.

-- Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Old Walt

Old Walt Whitman
Went finding and seeking,
Finding less than he sought
Seeking more than found,
Every detail minding
Of the seeking or the finding.

Pleasured equally
In seeking as in finding,
Each detail minding,
Old Walt went seeking
And finding.

- Langston Hughes

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

Mowlana Jalaluddin Rumi

REALITY AND APPEARANCE

'Tis light makes colour visible: at night
Red, greene, and russet vanish from thy sight.
So to thee light by darkness is made known:
Since God hath none, He, seeing all, denies
Himself eternally to mortal eyes.
From the dark jungle as a tiger bright,
Form from the viewless Spirit leaps to light.


- R. A. Nicholson, 'Persian Poems', an Anthology of verse translations
edited by A.J.Arberry, Everyman's Library, 1972.



On the Deathbed Go, rest your head on a pillow, leave me alone;
leave me ruined, exhausted from the journey of this night,
writhing in a wave of passion till the dawn.
Either stay and be forgiving,
or, if you like, be cruel and leave.
Flee from me, away from trouble;
take the path of safety, far from this danger.
We have crept into this corner of grief,
turning the water wheel with a flow of tears.
While a tyrant with a heart of flint slays,
and no one says, "Prepare to pay the blood money."
Faith in the king comes easily in lovely times,
but be faithful now and endure, pale lover.
No cure exists for this pain but to die,
So why should I say, "Cure this pain"?
In a dream last night I saw
an ancient one in the garden of love,
beckoning with his hand, saying, "Come here."
On this path, Love is the emerald,
the beautiful green that wards off dragonsnough, I am losing myself.
If you are a man of learning,
read something classic,
a history of the human struggle
and don't settle for mediocre verse.

- Kulliyat-i-Shams 2039

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER

by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around,
Brought bloom and joy again,
The murdered traveller's bones were found,
Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung
Her tassels in the sky;
And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead,
And fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,
With watching many an anxious day,
Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,
When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed, and hard beset;--

Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,
The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,
They dressed the hasty bier,
And marked his grave with nameless stones,
Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;
And dreamed, and started as they slept,
For joy that he was come.

So long they looked--but never spied
His welcome step again,
Nor knew the fearful death he died
Far down that narrow glen.

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

THE ANATOMY OF ROCK

The 1st electric wildness came
over the people
on sweet Friday.
Sweat was in the air.
The channel beamed,
token of power.
Incense brewed darkly.
Who could tell then that here
it would end?

One school bus crashed w/ a train.
This was the Crossroads.
Mercury strained.
I couldn't get out of my seat.
The road was littered
w/ dead jitterbugs.
Help,
we'll be late for class.

The secret flurry of rumor
marched over the yard &
pinned us unwittingly
Mt. fever.
A girl stripped naked on the
base of the flagpole.

In the restrooms all was cool
& silent
w/ the salt-green of latrines.
Blankets were needed.

Ropes fluttered.
Smiles flattered
& haunted.

Lockers were pried open
& secrets discovered.

Ah sweet music.

Wild sounds in the night
Angel siren voices.
The baying of great hounds.
Cars screaming thru gears
& shrieks
on the wild skid & slid
into dangerous curves.

Favorite corners.
Cheerleaders raped in summer
buildings.
Holding hands
& bopping towards Sunday.

Those lean sweet desperate hours.

Time searched the hallways
for a mind.
Hands kept time.
The climate altered like a
visible dance.

Night-time women.
Wondrous sacraments of doubt
Sprang sullen in bursts of fear & guilt
in the womb's pit hole
below
The belt of the beast

Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol.1, p. 27.