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Poetry Corner

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  • Re: Poetry Corner

    Originally posted by jgk3 View Post
    Thank you Anoush, that was a very moving piece.
    Thank you and you are most welcomed dear jgk. I love most of Kh. Gibran's poems and especially this one!

    Comment


    • Re: Poetry Corner

      A Winter Morning

      It's frost and sunshine --wondrous morning!--
      My lovely friend, and you're still snoring.
      It's time, my beauty, open eyes!
      Ope wide your bliss enveloped gazing
      And to the North's Aurora blazing
      As the North Star come forth, arise!

      Last night, remember snowstorm's raging?
      In murky skies that gloom rampaging?
      The moon was but a faint, pale stain.
      Through gloomy clouds it yellowed, flitting.
      And, oh, how sadly you were sitting!
      And now—look out our windowpane!

      'Neath blue cerrulean heavens' gleaming
      In wondrous carpets, softly keening,
      In sunlight sparkling, the snow lies.
      Transparent woods are all that darkens.
      The fir greens o'er the frost and harkens,
      The river shines beneath the ice.

      And our whole room with amber sparkling
      Glints in the dawn. With merry gargling
      The hearth-stove crackles, wood piled high.
      It's pleasant lying in bed thinking.
      But say, though, shouldn't we be ringing
      To yoke the brown mare to the sleigh?

      As we on morning snow go sliding,
      My darling, feeling the full riding,
      As our horse runs impatiently,
      We'll see the fields, their barren bleakness,
      The woods, which recently were leafy,
      The lakeshore, that’s so dear to me.

      -- Alexander Pushkin


      Зимнее утро

      Мороз и солнце; день чудесный!
      Еще ты дремлешь, друг прелестный—
      Пора, красавица, проснись:
      Открой сомкнуты негой взоры
      Навстречу северной Авроры
      Звездою севера явись!

      Вечор, ты помнишь, вьюга злилась,
      На мутном небе мгла носилась;
      Луна, как бледное пятно,
      Сквозь тучи мрачные желтела,
      И ты печальная сидела—
      А нынче…погляди в окно:

      Под голубыми небесами
      Великолепными коврами,
      Блестя на солнце, снег лежит;
      Прозрачный лес один чернеет,
      И ель сквозь иней зеленеет,
      И речка подо льдом блестит.

      Вся комната янтарным блеском
      Озарена. Веселым треском
      Трещит затопленная печь.
      Приятно думать у лежанки.
      Но знаешь: не велеть ли в санки
      Кобылку бурую запречь?

      Скользя по утреннему снегу,
      Друг милый, предадимся бегу
      Нетерпеливого коня
      И навестим поля пустые,
      Леса, недавно столь густые,
      И берег, милый для меня.

      To a Poet

      A poet! Do not prize the love of people around,
      It soon will pass -- the glorifying hum --
      And come a court of fools and laughing of cold crowd --
      But you must always stay firm, morose and calm.

      You're king: live lonesome. Along the freedom's road,
      Stride there, to where just shows your free mind,
      While modernizing fruits of thoughts, beloved,
      And not demanding you to be awarded.

      Awards inside of you. You are your highest court;
      Severely then all, you value your effort.
      Well, are you satisfied, oh, my severe artist?

      You're satisfied. Then let the mob condemn your verse,
      Spit at the altar, where your fire burns,
      And toss your brass tripod with somewhat childish wildness.

      -- Alexander Pushkin

      The Shoemaker (A Parable)

      Once a shoemaker, on the art’s creation,
      In drown shoes had found a mistake;
      With his fast brush, an artist made correction;
      But the shoemaker went without a break:
      “I think the face a little crooked is shown…
      The breast’s much bared, as I’ve understood...”
      Here Apelles stopped him (his patience gone):
      “Friend, judge the things not higher than a boot!”

      Mid friends of mine, I too see one, the clever;
      I do not know in which a subject ever
      He’d be an ace, tho’ his words of strong roots,
      But just a fiend brings him to judge men’ level:
      Let him make judgment only for their boots!

      -- Alexander Pushkin
      Between childhood, boyhood,
      adolescence
      & manhood (maturity) there
      should be sharp lines drawn w/
      Tests, deaths, feats, rites
      stories, songs & judgements

      - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

      Comment


      • Re: Poetry Corner

        PROLOGUE

        On seashore far a green oak towers,
        And to it with a gold chain bound,
        A .learned cat whiles away the hours
        By walking slowly round and round.
        To right he walks, and sings a ditty;
        To left he walks, and tells a tale....

        What marvels there! A mermaid sitting
        High in a tree, a sprite, a trail
        Where unknown beasts move never seen by
        Man's eyes, a hut on chicken feet,
        Without a door, without a wdndow,
        An evil witch's lone retreat;
        The woods and valleys there are teeming
        With strange things.... Dawn brings waves that, gleaming,

        Over the sandy beaches creep,
        And from the clear and shining water
        Step thirty goodly knights escorted
        By their Old Guardian, of the deep
        An ancient dweller.... There a dreaded
        And hated tsar is captive ta'en;
        There, as all watch, for cloud banks headed,
        Across the sea and o'er a plain,
        A warlock bears a knight. There, weeping,
        A princess sits locked in a cell,
        And Grey Wolf serves her very well;
        There, in a mortar, onward sweeping
        All of itself, beneath the skies
        The wicked Baba-Yaga flies;
        There pines Koshchei and lusts for gold....

        All breathes of Russ, the Russ of old
        There once was I, friends, and the с
        As near him 'neath the oak I sat
        And drank of sweet mead at my leisure,
        Recounted tales to me.... With pleasure
        One that I liked do I recall
        And here and now will share with all...

        -- Pushkin, Alexander. Ruslan and Lyudmila

        "WHEN THE YELLOWING CORNFIELD
        IS WAVING . . ."


        When the yellowing cornfield is waving,
        And the fresh forest murmurs to the wailing of the wind,
        And the crimson berry hides itself in the garden
        Under the sweet shade of the green leaflet ;

        When, sprinkled with fragrant dew
        In the purple evening or the golden hour of morning,
        From under the bush the silvery lily-of-the-valley to me
        In welcome beckons with its head ;

        When the chilly fountain is playing along the ravine
        And, sinking its thought into some sad dream,
        Lisps to me a mysterious legend
        About the peaceful land whence it hurries :

        Then the throbbing of my heart is stilled.
        Then the furrows on my forehead are smoothed,
        And I can attain happiness on the earth,
        And in the Heavens I see God . . .

        -- Mikhail Lermontov
        Between childhood, boyhood,
        adolescence
        & manhood (maturity) there
        should be sharp lines drawn w/
        Tests, deaths, feats, rites
        stories, songs & judgements

        - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

        Comment


        • Re: Poetry Corner

          Under Moonshine

          The dawn crept into by room
          And stole my dream
          Now I'll never know
          Just what it means
          Or what could have been
          Yet still I try to lie
          But I'm seen
          Under moonshine that's where I've been
          Under moonshine I'm clearly seen
          Under moonshine that's where I've been
          Under moonshine I'm clearly seen
          Creator of dreams that melt with the sun
          I'll send you the things this man has done
          He was a saint and a sinner rolled in one
          But I miss now that he's gone
          I sure miss him now that he's gone
          Sure I feel the pain
          Deep inside I pour like rain
          Remember when you smile
          Love's in your eyes
          The world keeps turning
          The grass still grows green
          The fruit on my tree
          Is the biggest you've ever seen
          Which way up you know when you're down
          They've gotta stand tall
          With your feet on the ground
          You must stand tall
          With your feet on the ground
          Or maybe I'm crazy
          Also they say I'm lazy
          But I'll have my days
          When I do as I please
          For you won't see the woods
          While you're a tree
          No you'll never see the woods
          While you're a tree
          Yes I'm crazy
          Also they say I'm lazy
          But I'll have my days
          When I do as I please
          You won't see the woods
          While you're a tree
          No you'll never see the woods
          While you're a tree

          -- Ray Thomas

          Take the Long Way Home

          So you think youre a romeo
          Playing a part in a picture-show
          Take the long way home
          Take the long way home

          Cos youre the joke of the neighborhood
          Why should you care if youre feeling good
          Take the long way home
          Take the long way home

          But there are times that you feel youre part of the scenery
          All the greenery is comin down, boy
          And then your wife seems to think youre part of the
          Furniture oh, its peculiar, she used to be so nice.

          When lonely days turn to lonely nights
          You take a trip to the city lights
          And take the long way home
          Take the long way home

          You never see what you want to see
          Forever playing to the gallery
          You take the long way home
          Take the long way home

          And when youre up on the stage, its so unbelievable,
          Unforgettable, how they adore you,
          But then your wife seems to think youre losing your sanity,
          Oh, calamity, is there no way out?

          Does it feel that you lifes become a catastrophe?
          Oh, it has to be for you to grow, boy.
          When you look through the years and see what you could
          Have been oh, what might have been,
          If youd had more time.

          So, when the day comes to settle down,
          Whos to blame if youre not around?
          You took the long way home
          You took the long way home...........

          -- Rick Davies and Roger Hodgson
          Between childhood, boyhood,
          adolescence
          & manhood (maturity) there
          should be sharp lines drawn w/
          Tests, deaths, feats, rites
          stories, songs & judgements

          - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

          Comment


          • Re: Poetry Corner

            Cup of joe 7/22/09

            Cup of joe
            on the go
            to the snow
            or just in tow
            to and fro
            but never
            just for show
            no no no
            cup of joe
            go, go, go
            every morn
            sure
            as
            the shift
            starting
            horn
            cup of joe
            go, go, go
            Between childhood, boyhood,
            adolescence
            & manhood (maturity) there
            should be sharp lines drawn w/
            Tests, deaths, feats, rites
            stories, songs & judgements

            - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

            Comment


            • Re: Poetry Corner

              Trees

              I THINK that I shall never see
              A poem lovely as a tree.

              A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
              Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

              A tree that looks at God all day,
              And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

              A tree that may in summer wear
              A nest of robins in her hair;

              Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
              Who intimately lives with rain.

              Poems are made by fools like me,
              But only God can make a tree.

              -- Joyce Kilmer. 1886–1918
              Between childhood, boyhood,
              adolescence
              & manhood (maturity) there
              should be sharp lines drawn w/
              Tests, deaths, feats, rites
              stories, songs & judgements

              - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

              Comment


              • Re: Poetry Corner

                Who Goes Amid the Green Wood

                Who goes amid the green wood
                With springtide all adorning her?
                Who goes amid the merry green wood
                To make it merrier?

                Who passes in the sunlight
                By ways that know the light footfall?
                Who passes in the sweet sunlight
                With mien so virginal?

                The ways of all the woodland
                Gleam with a soft and golden fire -- -
                For whom does all the sunny woodland
                Carry so brave attire?

                O, it is for my true love
                The woods their rich apparel wear -- -
                O, it is for my own true love,
                That is so young and fair.

                -- James Joyce

                The Twilight Turns

                The twilight turns from amethyst
                To deep and deeper blue,
                The lamp fills with a pale green glow
                The trees of the avenue.

                The old piano plays an air,
                Sedate and slow and gay;
                She bends upon the yellow keys,
                Her head inclines this way.

                Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands
                That wander as they list -- -
                The twilight turns to darker blue
                With lights of amethyst.

                -- James Joyce
                Between childhood, boyhood,
                adolescence
                & manhood (maturity) there
                should be sharp lines drawn w/
                Tests, deaths, feats, rites
                stories, songs & judgements

                - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

                Comment


                • Re: Poetry Corner

                  People Who Died

                  Teddy sniffing glue, he was 12 years old
                  Fell from the roof on East Two-nine
                  Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
                  On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
                  Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
                  He looked like 65 when he died
                  He was a friend of mine

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  G-berg and Georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
                  So they died of hepatitis in upper Manhattan
                  Sly in Vietnam took a bullet in the head
                  Bobby OD'd on Drano on the night that he was wed
                  They were two more friends of mine
                  Two more friends that died

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
                  Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
                  Judy jumped in front of a subway train
                  Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
                  And Eddie, I miss you more than all the others
                  And I salute you brother

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  Herbie pushed Tony from the Boys' Club roof
                  Tony thought that his rage was just some goof
                  But Herbie sure gave Tony some xxxxxen proof
                  "Hey," Herbie said, "Tony, can you fly?"
                  But Tony couldn't fly, Tony died

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  Brian got busted on a narco rap
                  He beat the rap by rattin' on some bikers
                  He said, "Hey, I know it's dangerous, but it sure beats Riker's"
                  But the next day he got offed by the very same bikers

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  Teddy sniffing glue, he was 12 years old
                  Fell from the roof on East Two-nine
                  Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
                  On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
                  Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
                  He looked like 65 when he died
                  He was a friend of mine

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  G-berg and Georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
                  So they died of hepatitis in upper Manhattan
                  Sly in Vietnam took a bullet in the head
                  Bobby OD'd on Drano on the night that he was wed
                  They were two more friends of mine
                  Two more friends that died

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
                  Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
                  Judy jumped in front of a subway train
                  Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
                  And Eddie, I miss you more than all the others
                  And I salute you brother

                  Those are people who died, died
                  They were all my friends, and they died

                  -- Carroll, Jim (8/1/1949 - 9/11/09)
                  Between childhood, boyhood,
                  adolescence
                  & manhood (maturity) there
                  should be sharp lines drawn w/
                  Tests, deaths, feats, rites
                  stories, songs & judgements

                  - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

                  Comment


                  • Re: Poetry Corner

                    Pop

                    Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
                    In, sprinkled with ashes,
                    Pop switches channels, takes another
                    Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
                    What to do with me, a green young man
                    Who fails to consider the
                    Flim and flam of the world, since
                    Things have been easy for me;
                    I stare hard at his face, a stare
                    That deflects off his brow;
                    I'm sure he's unaware of his
                    Dark, watery eyes, that
                    Glance in different directions,
                    And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
                    Fail to pass.
                    I listen, nod,
                    Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
                    Beige T-shirt, yelling,
                    Yelling in his ears, that hang
                    With heavy lobes, but he's still telling
                    His joke, so I ask why
                    He's so unhappy, to which he replies . . .
                    But I don't care anymore, cause
                    He took too damn long, and from
                    Under my seat, I pull out the
                    Mirror I've been saving; I'm laughing,
                    Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
                    To mine, as he grows small,
                    A spot in my brain, something
                    That may be squeezed out, like a
                    Watermelon seed between
                    Two fingers.
                    Pop takes another shot, neat,
                    Points out the same amber
                    Stain on his shorts that I've got on mine and
                    Makes me smell his smell, coming
                    From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
                    He wrote before his mother died,
                    Stands, shouts, and asks
                    For a hug, as I shink, my
                    Arms barely reaching around
                    His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; 'cause
                    I see my face, framed within
                    Pop's black-framed glasses
                    And know he's laughing too.

                    -- Barack Obama
                    Last edited by freakyfreaky; 12-07-2009, 09:10 PM.
                    Between childhood, boyhood,
                    adolescence
                    & manhood (maturity) there
                    should be sharp lines drawn w/
                    Tests, deaths, feats, rites
                    stories, songs & judgements

                    - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

                    Comment


                    • Re: Poetry Corner

                      All in Green

                      All in green went my love riding
                      on a great horse of gold
                      into the silver dawn.

                      Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
                      the merry deer ran before.

                      Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
                      the swift red deer
                      the red rare deer.

                      Four red roebuck at a white water
                      the cruel bugle sang before.

                      Horn at hip went my love riding
                      riding the echo down
                      into the silver dawn.

                      Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
                      the level meadows ran before.

                      Softer be they than slippered sleep
                      the lean lithe deer
                      the fleet flown deer.

                      Four fleet does at a gold valley
                      the famished arrow sang before.

                      Bow at belt went my love riding
                      riding the mountain down
                      into the silver dawn.

                      Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
                      the sheer peaks ran before.

                      Paler be they than daunting death
                      the sleek slim deer
                      the tall tense deer.

                      Four tall stags at the green mountain
                      the lucky hunter sang before.

                      All in green went my love riding
                      on a great horse of gold
                      into the silver dawn.

                      Four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
                      my heart fell dead before.

                      -- ee cummings

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                      Have luncheon there this afternoon, all you jobless.
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                      Dine with some of the men and women who got rich off of
                      your labor, who clip coupons with clean white fingers
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                      Democracy

                      Democracy will not come
                      Today, this year
                      Nor ever
                      Through compromise and fear.

                      I have as much right
                      As the other fellow has
                      To stand
                      On my two feet
                      And own the land.

                      I tire so of hearing people say,
                      Let things take their course.
                      Tomorrow is another day.
                      I do not need my freedom when I'm dead.
                      I cannot live on tomorrow's bread.

                      Freedom
                      Is a strong seed
                      Planted
                      In a great need.

                      I live here, too.
                      I want freedom
                      Just as you.

                      -- Langston Hughes
                      Last edited by freakyfreaky; 11-29-2009, 04:54 PM.
                      Between childhood, boyhood,
                      adolescence
                      & manhood (maturity) there
                      should be sharp lines drawn w/
                      Tests, deaths, feats, rites
                      stories, songs & judgements

                      - Morrison, Jim. Wilderness, vol. 1, p. 22

                      Comment

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