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post a poem doesn't have to be one you wrote, just anything you like. i love this one 
When I am feeling depressed and anxious sullen all you have to do is take off your clothes and all is wiped away revealing life's tenderness that we are flesh and breathe and are near us as you are really as you are I become as I really am alive and knowing vaguely what is and what is important to me above the intrusions of incident and accidental relationships which have nothing to do with my life when I am in your presence I feel life is strong and will defeat all its enemies and all of mine and all of yours and yours in you and mine in me sick logic and feeble reasoning are cured by the perfect symmetry of your arms and legs spread out making an eternal circle together creating a golden pillar beside the Atlantic the faint line of hair dividing your torso gives my mind rest and emotions their release into the infinite air where since once we are together we always will be in this life come what may - "poem" by frank o'hara | |
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The Silver Swan
The silver swan, who living had no note, When death approach'd, unlock'd her silent throat; Leaning her breast against the reedy shore, Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more. Farewell, all joys; O Death, come close mine eyes; More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise. -- Orlando Gibbons | |
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ome 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. [Edited 9/8/06 16:08pm] And be among her cloudy trophies hung. | |
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pointless joke bad taste joke edit [Edited 9/8/06 20:39pm] | |
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Imago said: Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of General Discussion threads, I'd say any post by 2the9s should suffice, Though if I had to perish twice, From what I've read of evenstar's blogs, I'd rather die from ice.   | |
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I had a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions in the dread Of this desolation; and all hearts Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light: And they did live by watchfires - and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, And men were gathered round their blazing homes To look once more into each other's face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch: A fearful hope was all the world contain'd; Forest were set on fire but hour by hour They fell and faded and the crackling trunks Extinguish'd with a crash and all was black. The brows of men by the despairing light Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them; some lay down And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world; and then again With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd, And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl'd And twined themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food: And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again; a meal was bought With blood, and each sate sullenly apart Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought and that was death, Immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh; The meagre by the meagre were devoured, Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept The birds and beasts and famish'd men at bay, Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and perpetual moan And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand Which answered not with a caress, he died. The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies; They met beside The dying embers of an altar-place Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things For an unholy usage; they raked up, And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath Blew for a little life, and made a flame Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and Each other's aspects. saw, and shriek'd, and died, beheld Even of their mutual hideousness they died, Unknowing who he was upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. The world was void, The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still, And nothing stirred within their silent depths; Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp'd They slept on the abyss without a surge The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave, The moon their mistress had expired before; The winds were withered in the stagnant air, And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need Of aid from them. She was the universe. | |
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Tears, Idle Tears by Alfred Tennyson
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on the sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more. Well, lucky-lucky us. Lucky-lucky-luck.
Luck-luck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-LAKK-LAKK-LAKK. | |
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flutterbyyy said: Tears, Idle Tears by Alfred Tennyson
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on the sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remember'd kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more. I love this poem. | |
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