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message 1: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
A poem can be a brief, shining moment in which you capture a kernel of
something beautiful for the first time.
It can be way for you to explore your deepest, private thoughts
and make language come alive.
(I copied these words from web, I'm no poet:))

Feel free to share your favourite poetry in this thread.


message 2: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring


message 3: by Ajay (new)

Ajay (Ajay_N) D. H. Lawrence

Snake


A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
i o And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.


message 4: by [deleted user] (new)

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.

From THE REMORSEFUL DAY by A.E. Housman

One of the best lines I had read, courtesy of a detective novel of the same name by Colin Dexter.


❄️ Propertea Of Frostea ❄️ Bitter SnoBerry ❄ (BerryNumey) “Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”


― Robert Frost, My poetic idol :)


message 6: by [deleted user] (new)

Can we share lyrics?? i hope we can.........

Into this life we're born
Baby sometimes, sometimes we don't know why
And time seems to go by so fast
In the twinkling of an eye
-Van Morrison from the song "Bright Side Of The Road"


message 7: by [deleted user] (new)

A typical black American blues lyrics. Simple words, simple themes, but with a deep sadness attached to it!!!

My love is like a fire
Your love is like a cigarette
My love is like a fire
But baby yours is like a cigarette
I watch you step down on it baby and crush it
Tell me how, tell me how, how blue can you get
- Leonard Feather


message 8: by Sandeep (last edited Oct 29, 2012 12:18PM) (new)

Sandeep (sandeep_singh) | 219 comments My personal Favorite these days ;)


You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you
You'd be like heaven to touch
I wanna hold you so much
At long last love has arrived
And I thank God I'm alive
You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you

-- Andy Williams


message 9: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
One of my favourite.....

“You Learn.

You Learn


After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security.



And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,


And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,


And you learn to build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.


After a while you learn...
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.


So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.


And you learn that you really can endure...

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth...

And you learn and learn...

With every good-bye you learn.”
― Jorge Luis Borges


message 10: by [deleted user] (new)

Neena wrote: "One of my favourite.....

“You Learn.

You Learn


After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And compan..."


You know what I like about these poems, is the clarity of thoughts and use of simple language. I really have problems deciphering poems with twisted lines and language.

This is one is soooo Good, look how Borges using simple words portray such a wonderful message!!!


message 11: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
yes very powerful words.....my absolute favourite:)


message 12: by Dyuti (last edited Oct 30, 2012 02:00AM) (new)

Dyuti (dyuti_c) @Neena: Really loved the poem.. :)

@Anirban: Same here. I hate poetry which is so abstract that it loses its meaning. 'Atel marka' jake bole. Lol.

I love ballads though, and poems like these which stir your soul with beautiful imagery rather than abstractness.


message 13: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
@ Dyuti thanks:)


message 14: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
One of my favourite because it seems so real:)


“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
― Rosemarie Urquico


message 15: by Dyuti (last edited Oct 30, 2012 01:42PM) (new)

Dyuti (dyuti_c) That was so beautiful Neena. I love your taste in poetry. :)

I loved the poem. Thanks for sharing. Saved it.


message 16: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
you are welcome:)


message 17: by Abhay (new)

Abhay Kulkarni | 11327 comments Mod
Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

-William Butler Yeats


message 18: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
Numey's courtesy:)

"The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."— Robert Frost


message 19: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
Something that is very close to my heart because that's exactly what I feel too:)

“I feel good with my husband: I like his warmth and his bigness and his being-there and his making and his jokes and stories and what he reads and how he likes fishing and walks and pigs and foxes and little animals and is honest and not vain or fame-crazy and how he shows his gladness for what I cook him and joy for when I make him something, a poem or a cake, and how he is troubled when I am unhappy and wants to do anything so I can fight out my soul-battles and grow up with courage and a philosophical ease. I love his good smell and his body that fits with mine as if they were made in the same body-shop to do just that. What is only pieces, doled out here and there to this boy and that boy, that made me like pieces of them, is all jammed together in my husband. So I don't want to look around any more: I don't need to look around for anything.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Platho:)


message 20: by Ajay (new)

Ajay (Ajay_N) Wow! That's about as earnest and authentic as poetry can get. Yes, Sylvia Plath was one of those gifted poets.


message 21: by Ritu (new)

Ritu | 2 comments Neena wrote: "Something that is very close to my heart because that's exactly what I feel too:)

“I feel good with my husband: I like his warmth and his bigness and his being-there and his making and his jokes a..."


so nice:)


message 22: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
When You Are Old


When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

-William Butler Yeats


message 23: by Abhishek (new)

Abhishek Shrivastava | 6 comments Something I wrote last year


Little Love
------------------------


When I woke up in the morning,through the window I gazed at the sun,
looking at the empty room back,I realized I'd always missed the fun,
I assumed always that I deserve no happiness for my life ever,
But I forget that my god has given me and my life a huge favor.

it was not so long ago when I little life became my life,
purging the darkness in me, and bringing love's light,
She's always just a call away to kill my fears,
the little love is becoming more special,with new days and years.

and in this morning I am again searching for the glow of those angel eyes,
which always guides me in life and force me to stay calm and wise,
Though she she says I am her role model to live,
but I know I've got nothing except my care for her to give.

the relation of me and her may not make a natural bloodline,
yet it's far more pure, it's far more divine,
and now I am thinking how to praise the god living in you,
and i am standing outside your temple in such a long queue.

Everyday I Pray that I see your angel eyes glowing,
happiness in them must be there,always overflowing,
and you get everything in life you want,
like the one you love, for whom your life is always meant.

If ever you wanna go away from me, and you wanna leave me,
maybe that will be my destiny,but,you'll always be a part of me,
but you'll always be my little love,my little daughter,
who's the cause of my life's happiness and my laughter.


message 24: by Abhay (new)

Abhay Kulkarni | 11327 comments Mod
One the THE BEST poems i've ever come across. Its beauty almost brought tears in my eyes lol

A PSALM OF LIFE

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real ! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

-HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW


message 25: by [deleted user] (new)

Abhay wrote: "One the THE BEST poems i've ever come across. Its beauty almost brought tears in my eyes lol

A PSALM OF LIFE

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream ! —
..."


Great. Thanx for sharing :)


message 26: by Abhay (new)

Abhay Kulkarni | 11327 comments Mod
@Anirban: My pleasure ;)

I came across this poem a few months back. It may seem too depressing and disturbing at first, but from a literary point of view, its just too good and powerful to be ignored.

WARPED AND TWISTED

Harsh words & violent blows
Hidden secrets nobody knows
Eyes are open, hands are fisted
Deep inside I'm warped & twisted
So many tricks & so many lies
Too many whens & too many whys
Nobody's special, nobody's gifted
I'm just me, warped & twisted
Sleeping awake & choking on a dream
Listening loudly to a silent scream
Call my mind, the number's unlisted
Lost in someone so warped & twisted
On my knees, alive but dead
Look at the invisible blood I've bled
I'm not gone, my mind has drifted
Don't expect much, I'm warped & twisted
Burnt out, wasted, empty, & hollow
Today's just yesterday's tomorrow
The sun died out, the ashes sifted
I'm still here, warped & twisted


-SKITTLES(alias on some forum on the net)


message 27: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
Insatiableavi wrote: "Something I wrote last year


Little Love
------------------------


When I woke up in the morning,through the window I gazed at the sun,
looking at the empty room back,I realized I'd always misse..."


Beautiful!! there is separate thread where you can post your own writing......here is the link

http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/1...


message 28: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
@ Abhay really nice..both of them.....


message 29: by Abhay (new)

Abhay Kulkarni | 11327 comments Mod
Yeah. Poems, the art of making the most sense and beauty in least number of words, rhyming them. Incredible Art and ability of the human mind.


message 30: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling


message 31: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments This is a sonnet called "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. Gets better every time you reread it.


Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desart. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away


message 32: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments And this is my favorite poem of all time for some reason. Haunting and beautiful and gloomy.


THE RAVEN

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 visiter," 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 name 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 visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visiter 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 stillness 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 upon 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 farther then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will 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 my sad fancy 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, ghastly, 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 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 hath 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 name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name 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!


- Edgar Allen Poe


message 33: by [deleted user] (new)

A Song Of Despair

The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!

Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.

In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.

You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!

It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.

Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!

In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!

I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.

Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.

Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.

There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.

Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!

How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.

Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.

Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.

Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.

And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.

This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!

Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!

From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.

You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.

Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!

It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.

The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.

Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.

Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.

It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
Pablo Neruda


message 34: by Anil (new)

Anil Srivastava (AnilSrivastava) | 37 comments DREAM
By
Anil Srivastava

Your astounding beauty had blinded me, O my nubile, young friend,
In my obsession, I had forgotten that your incandescent beauty belongs to another.
Under the layers of darkness, I did give expression to my desires,
But, when my image shattered to pieces in the mirror of your eyes,
I realized that in your pure being I was not the beloved: I was God.
When the walls of that holy catacomb collapsed in the flood of your tears,
I became aware that the entombed person was not a Saint; just a common man.
The light of day opened my eyes; I became conscious of my status,
It dawned on me, that the diamond is the Emperor’s beloved treasure,
The yeoman may only see the Kohinoor’s reflection; he dare not touch it.


message 35: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
Anil wrote: "DREAM
By
Anil Srivastava

Your astounding beauty had blinded me, O my nubile, young friend,
In my obsession, I had forgotten that your incandescent beauty belongs to another.
Under the layers of da..."


very nice Anil. You can post it in your own poems thread too.


message 36: by Anil (new)

Anil Srivastava (AnilSrivastava) | 37 comments Neena wrote: "Anil wrote: "DREAM
By
Anil Srivastava

Your astounding beauty had blinded me, O my nubile, young friend,
In my obsession, I had forgotten that your incandescent beauty belongs to another.
Under the..."


Nina: Thank you. I first wrote the poem in Urdu, under the title, "Khwab", and then translated it to the English.


message 37: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments Anil wrote: "DREAM
By
Anil Srivastava

Your astounding beauty had blinded me, O my nubile, young friend,
In my obsession, I had forgotten that your incandescent beauty belongs to another.
Under the layers of da..."




This one is amazing Anil.


message 38: by Anil (new)

Anil Srivastava (AnilSrivastava) | 37 comments Vitai Lampada
("They Pass On The Torch of Life")
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'

Sir Henry Newbolt (1862-1938)


message 39: by [deleted user] (new)

The Remorseful Day

How clear, how lovely bright,
How beautiful to sight
Those beams of morning play;
How heaven laughs out with glee
Where, like a bird set free,
Up from the eastern sea
Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,
No more shall yield to wrong,
Shall squander life no more;
Days lost, I know not how,
I shall retrieve them now;
Now I shall keep the vow
I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies
How heavily it dies
Into the west away;
Past touch and sight and sound
Not further to be found,
How hopeless under ground
Falls the remorseful day.

-A.E. Housman


message 40: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
“If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.”
― Pablo Neruda


❄️ Propertea Of Frostea ❄️ Bitter SnoBerry ❄ (BerryNumey) The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by S.T.Coleridge


(PART TWO)

THE Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners' hollo!

And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!

Nor dim nor red like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.

Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assur'ed were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.

Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.



message 42: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments ✮ Ї'м Йоt Шєїґd, Ї'м Gїftєd ღ ~ Йцмєу ☮ wrote: "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

by S.T.Coleridge

(PART TWO)

THE Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.

And the good sout..."





Yay another Mariner fan :D I LOVE that ballad :D


message 44: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments I remember reading that in school. We only had some 3-4 pages of it and I went on the internet right away to get the full poem :D


This poem AND The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe (that I posted above) are my absolute favorites. And Paradise Lost by John Milton but that is more of an epic than poetry.


message 45: by Neena (last edited Dec 18, 2012 10:24PM) (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
You are part of my existence, part of myself.
You have been in every line I have ever read.
You have been in every prospect I have ever seen - on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea in the streets.
You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become accquainted with.
The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made are not more real, or more impossible to be displaced by your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be.
To the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.
But in this separation, I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm. Let me feel now what sharp distress I may.

Charles Dickens


message 46: by Rakesh (new)

Rakesh Ranjan (RakeshRanjan) A poem I wrote some years back....

MY LOVE, MY LIFE

All day, I move with that pride,
Because I feel I have success by my side.
So much to show, to boost my ego
But, I still feel the void.

At the end of a tiring day,
I do feel the need
To have someone by my side-
My love,

A look at her eyes,
That rids me of all my pride.
To whom I am my own self,
Innocent and true, with no garb,

Who makes me smile and rejoice
Amidst all the fight in my life.
Sorrow and grief just vanish
A proud man ready to bow down his head.

For the sweetest one on the Earth,
She is my love, She is my life.
Requiem: Will the Dead Come Back for Love?


message 47: by Neena (last edited Jan 12, 2013 10:38PM) (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
It happens so suddenly.
We are going about our own mundane tasks when - a phrase of music, a shaft of sunlight on a snowy roof, a handful of yellow butterflies, or the arc of a bird diving to the earth, pierces us.
For one brief moment, we are lifted out of our daily routine into the untold realms of light and beauty. Then the moment is gone.
We are back on Earth - but we are not the same.

Honore de Balzac


message 48: by Neena (new)

Neena (I-am-addicted-to-reading) | 9758 comments Mod
A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe


Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


message 49: by Rahul Nath (new)

Rahul Nath (cultofpersonality) | 2406 comments I love Edgar Allan Poe's poems. His "The Raven" is my most favorite poem ever I think.


❄️ Propertea Of Frostea ❄️ Bitter SnoBerry ❄ (BerryNumey) I read Alone, and it was too good!


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