Poetry Corner

[Hakob]

Re: Poetry Corner

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UEaXyEeVvYQ

[Artashes]

Re: Poetry Corner

The Giant
I saw a giant
Walking toward me
He was striding so purposefully
I shouted to giant
So far above
Where are you going
And where are you from
I'm going to Hay
I've come from above
And why are you going
To the land of Hay
If I may ask
On this very day
I'm going to visit the High today
For as you may know
I'm a friend of Hay
Have you not heard
I cried from below
The High have been killed
And Hay is destroyed
Few there are left
From days of old
The giant kept walking
So purposefully
Toward masif mountain
Standing so majestically
I shouted to the giant
So far above
What is your name
And what shall you do
The giant roared
My name is Merdis
And I have unfinished business to do

[Artashes]

Re: Poetry Corner

Here are two poems that I've carried down the road with me for over 40 years and a poem I wrote after reading Vagharshapats intro: (1) Across the fields of yesterday/ He sometimes comes to me/ A little lad just back from play/ The lad I used to be/ And yet he smiles so wistfully/ Once he has crept within/ I wonder if he hopes to see/ The man I might have been. Thomas S. Jones Jr. Thi next one is by an unknown Author and is said to be Abraham Lincolns favorite poem ---- Tell me ye winged winds / That round my pathways roar/ Do ye not know someplace/ Where mortals weep no more/ The loud winds dwindled/ To a wispers low/ And sighed for pity/ As they answered no.
After reading Vagharshapat describe himself as ( like a mud) I wrote this poem: Like a mud, where the grass grows so rich and green/ Like a mud, where the flowers bloom so vibrant in color/ Like a mud ,so teeming with life/ Like a mud, where the gold is found so valued and precious/ Yes, you are like a mud/ Gods mud.

[Artashes]

Re: Poetry Corner

Sorry I forgot to put 4 lines of Abes poem.when more computer savvy I'll add them

[Artashes]

Re: Poetry Corner

Here are two poems that I've carried down the road with me for over 40 years and a poem I wrote after reading Vagharshapats intro: (1) Across the fields of yesterday/ He sometimes comes to me/ A little lad just back from play/ The lad I used to be/ And yet he smiles so wistfully/ Once he has crept within/ I wonder if he hopes to see/ The man I might have been. Thomas S. Jones Jr. Thi next one is by an unknown Author and is said to be Abraham Lincolns favorite poem ---- Tell me ye winged winds / That round my pathways roar/ Do ye not know someplace/ Where mortals weep no more/ The loud winds dwindled/ To a wispers low/ And sighed for pity/ As they answered no.
After reading Vagharshapat describe himself as ( like a mud) I wrote this poem: Like a mud, where the grass grows so rich and green/ Like a mud, where the flowers bloom so vibrant in color/ Like a mud ,so teeming with life/ Like a mud, where the gold is found so valued and precious/ Yes, you are like a mud/ Gods mud.

[Hyegirl]

Re: Poetry Corner

Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines


Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

--Pablo Neruda

[freakyfreaky]

Re: Poetry Corner

In the Next Galaxy

Things will be different.
No one will lose their sight,
their hearing, their gallbladder.
It will be all Catskills with brand
new wrap-around verandas.
The idea of Hitler will not
have vibrated yet.
While back here,
they are still cleaning out
pockets of wrinkled
Nazis hiding in Argentina.
But in the next galaxy,
certain planets will have true
blue skies and drinking water.

-- Ruth Stone


Turn Your Eyes Away (Second-hand Coat)

The gendarme came
to tell me you had hung yourself
on the door of a rented room
like an overcoat
like a bathrobe
hung from a hook;
when they forced the door open
your feet pushed against the floor.
Inside your skull
there was no room for us,
your circuits forgot me.
Even in Paris where we never were
I wait for you
knowing you will not come.
I remember your eyes as if I were
someone you had never seen,
a slight frown between your brows
considering me.
How could I have guessed
the plain-spoken stranger in your face,
your body, tagged in a drawer,
attached to nothing, incurious.
My sister, my spouse, you said,
in a place on the other side of the earth
where we lay in a single bed
unable to pull apart
breathing into each other,
the Gideon Bible open to the Song of Songs,
the rush of the El-train
jarring the window.
As if needles were stuck
in the pleasure zones of our brains,
we repeated everything
over and over and over.

-- Ruth Stone


Always on the Train

Writing poems about writing poems
is like rolling bales of hay in Texas.
Nothing but the horizon to stop you.
But consider the railroad's edge of metal trash;
bird perches, miles of telephone wires.
What is so innocent as grazing cattle?
If you think about it, it turns into words.
Trash is so cheerful; flying up
like grasshoppers in front of the reaper.
The dust devil whirls it aloft; bronze candy wrappers,
squares of clear plastic--windows on a house of air.
Below the weedy edge in last year's mat,
red and silver beer cans.
In bits blown equally everywhere,
the gaiety of flying paper
and the black high flung patterns of flocking birds.

-- Ruth Stone


Reading

It is spring when the storks return.
They rise from storied roofs.
In the quick winter afternoon
you lie on your bed
with a library book close to your face,
your body on a single bed,
and the storks rise
with the sound of a lifted sash.
You know without looking
that a servant girl
is leaning out in the soft foreign air.
A slow spiral of smoke
from green firewood
is reflected in her eyes.
She moves down an outside stair
absently driving the poultry.
The storks are standing on the roof.
The girl wraps her hands in her apron.
Small yellow flowers
have clumped among the tussocks
of coarse grass.
She listens with her mouth open
to something you cannot hear.
Your body is asleep.
She smiles.
She does not know a cavalry is coming
on a mud-rutted road,
and men with minds like ferrets
are stamping their heavy boots
along the pages.

-- Ruth Stone

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

Morning Song

O Day-spring, Sun of righteousness, shine forth with light for me!
Treasure of mercy, let my soul thy hidden riches see!

Thou before whom the thoughts of men lie open in thy sight,
Unto my soul, now dark and dim, grant thoughts that shine with light!

O Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Almighty One in Three,
Care-taker of all creatures, have pity upon me!

Awake O Lord, awake to help, with grace and power divine;
Awaken those who slumber now, like heaven's host to shine!

O Lord and Saviour, life-giver, unto the dead give life,
And raise up those that have grown weak and stumbled in the strife!

O skilful Pilot! Lamp of light, that burnest bright and clear!
Strength and assurance grant to me, now hid away in fear!

O thou that makest old things new, renew me and adorn;
Rejoice me with salvation, Lord, for which I inly mourn.

Giver of good, unto my sins be thy forgiveness given!
Lead thy disciples, heavenly King, unto the flocks of heaven!

Defeat the evil husbandman that soweth tares and weeds;
Wither and kill in me the fruits of all his evil seeds!

O Lord, grant water to my eyes, that they may shed warm tears
To cleanse and wash away the sin that in my soul appears!

On me now hid in shadow deep, shine forth, O glory bright!
Sweet juice, quench thou my soul's keen thirst! Show me the path of light!

Jesus, whose name is love, with love crush thou my stony heart;
Bedew my spirit with thy blood, and bid my griefs depart!

O thou that even in fancy art so sweet, Lord Jesus Christ,
Grant that with thy reality my soul may be sufficed!

When thou shalt come again on earth, and all thy glory see,
Upon that dread and awful day, O Christ, remember me!

Thou that redeemest men from sin, O Saviour, I implore,
Redeem him who now praises thee, to praise thee evermore!

Sayat Nova (1712-1795)

[MrHyeSev]

Re: Poetry Corner

Messy Room

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!
-Shel Silverstein

[Hai]

Re: Poetry Corner

I have looked at a few of the recent postings. Worst collection of poetry. Is this a serious thread on literature ?