A thread where you can post and share your favourite poems. They can be by very well-known poets, not-so well-known poets, poems by you or a friend...any poems that really mean something to you or you think highly of and would like everyone here to read. ^_^

I'll start with a very famous one! Enjoy!

Ah! Neat idea HB!! :D Here's one from me:

Fallen Angel by Jennifer Rondeau

I have fallen from sky,
Fallen to the ground,
I am the angel of sadness,
Angel of lost hopes,
Angel of lost dreams,
I am the fallen angel,
Fear me not,
I am here for reason,
That reason is to have a second chance in life,
That life I was given for a reason,
They took my wings,
They took me apart made me human,
I was the fallen angel,
But that fallen angel had one chance in life that she was given,
This angel won’t make the same mistakes she made before,
This angel will go down the right path that has been chosen for her,
This fallen angel know what she has to do to be forgiven.

Here's another very famous one; I like it because I'm just a sucker for tragic love-plus Kiss from a Rose is one of my favorite songs and it always reminds me of this poem!

Annabel Lee- Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love---
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-born kinsmen came
And bore her away from be,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me---
Yes!---that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we---
Of many far wiser than we---
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side,
Of my darling---my darling---my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Kusari >>> I love Edgar Allan Poe and his "Annabel Lee". :wub:

This is another one of my favorites from the master:
The Bells
by Edgar Allan Poe
I

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II

Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III

Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells,bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!

IV

Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

Agathocacological-- a sonnet by a dear friend, Wusai (link to her original fiction journal).

Two lives entwined. And thus, we are but one
abandoned couple in society.
Two faces, and two names together; run
from us with nothing but anxiety.
Our lives are filled with stark reality;
the bodies pile, and we are left with just
notoriety, impropriety.
We kill to live, and live to kill; we must.
And here we are, two killers wrapped with lust.
Invisible, we flit through life and death.
Our wings are spread as we live secrets; dust
is dust, and we will all become lost breaths.
But truly, whilst we stand amidst this ruin;
we know our love is true, from deep within.

Wow, everyone! Thanks for so many brilliant contributions! :woot: It's so good to see fans of the Poe here - The Bells is amazing; thank you for posting it here, Tifa! And MT, your friend's poem is remarkable. *reads through the rest of her work like mad* It's twisted, bleak and eeriely beautiful at the same time, and I enjoyed reading (and re-reading!) it. She's very gifted, thanks for sharing her with us.

Something short and sweet now. Enjoy! ^_^

This is one of my all-time favorite poems. It's by Max Ehrmann.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy

zomg <3


All of the poetry posted thus far has been LOVELY, I especially loved the Poe. :wub: And CloudSmiles, that poem was absolute love. <3 (it reminded me a bit of Aeris. :giggle: YES I AM A SHAMELESS FANGIRL).

ANYWAYS

I come here bearing a very different poem, but it's really good. Modern and a little bizarre, but it has a beautiful meaning.

This is one of my favorite poems I've ever read. <3

the lesson of the moth

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

Wonderful, CS! I love it. It's a poem I definitely could've benefitted from finding and reading a couple of years ago; its insights are spot-on and beautifully expressed. :wub:



Edit: ODDISH, YOU ARE LOVE. Fantastic post!

Thanks guys! :lol: It's a wonderful poem, leaves such an impression, yeah? Anyway, this next one is by Veronica Shoffstall. It's about relationships, and I loved it after the first time I read it.




EDIT: Hmm...Apparently there are several different versions of this poem, or so I've found. But that's okay, they're basically all the same except for a few minor differences. This one is fine.

Wonderful poems everyone!! I'm loving these- some really lovely pieces! Here's a famous one, but its always been a favorite of mine

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

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.

Ooooh, yay! I love poetry. :D

Here's one of my favorites. I actually wrote an eight page paper about this one recently for my contemporary latino cultures class.

It was originally written in Spainsh, but I hope no one minds, I'm just going to put the translation because transcribing the Spanish and English versions is too much of a hassle. Having read both, I can promise that this is a very faithful translation. :)

I Greet in You the New American Woman
by Julia de Burgos

I greet in you the new American woman
the one who resonates in the continent to the beat of a star
the one who grows in its blood, in its virtue, in its
soul to reach the hand that the future offers us.

From North to South dignity and the embrace join
to face the battlecry of the century of liberty or death.
Already the night breaks, split from silence
and the trunk from the cutting renews and flowers.

At its superb thrust the frontiers will be annulled
and the woken ideal will gallop on chargers
assaulting the land, rescuing consciences
and cleaning the streets of disloyal scraps.

You and I are of the century. Of pain. Of the moment,
flesh of the heart strangled by serpents.
We are of the new voice, stretched, instinctive
that will shake the language of progress.

We are a clamor of now. Pillars of the Caribbean
sustaining the intact modesty of our people,
I greet in you a woman who in me reproduces herself--
Dominican blood that breaks loose and spreads.

(*sigh* I looove art from a time of revolutionary fervor. :wub: )

A poem by one of my favorite poets, Conrad Aiken. ^_^

Music I Heard

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved, --
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always, --
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.



Just out of curiousity, does anyone know the name of that man who wrote all those poems to a woman he had only seen once? I can't remember who he was for the life of me, >_<

In The Quiet - Stephanie (Sweet-Lyrical)

---

i. do you love?

shhh. enough to paddle rafts across atlantic oceans
to brush fingers.
don't speak.


for this, I forsake my own centuries, chronologically absent
of you. I was there dragging pyramids from sand;

I was there.

(if love spans time,
non-linear, then I was a drop of salt
in your ocean when the world was new. I
was there for the celebrated supernova; we
were born of wrought iron and
fireworks and
heat.)


-and it was all empty.




ii.

the oracle of Delphi knew; I was not
groping for gods.

(you were not born yet, but I was upon
waves. I have died against rock and
sail before your time; I have been
Helen without hope.

and I was there forging wars from beauty, and they
were waged with wrought iron and
fireworks
and heat.)

I knew and I didn’t that the world
would not end before now.

I know and I don’t that we
still have time.




iii.

the ebb and flow of monsoons like your breathing –
you, the drought’s lullaby,

you.

there are beasts wild enough to tame strips
of skin from your bones, I know.

but you’re safe here.

(I was the heart of Africa, dark
and waiting; I was low on the horizon
when the meteor hit. I saw it
coming, for all its wrought
iron, and
fireworks, and heat.)

-and I saw the after, and it
was something.




iv.

I rode the crest of the crescendo to
this moment; I was there,

and you,
and you.

shhh. don’t speak.


---

Louis MacNeice - Prayer before Birth

I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; forgive me
For the sins that in me the world shall commit, my words
when they speak me, my thoughts when they think me,
my treason engendered by traitors beyond me,
my life when they murder by means of my
hands, my death when they live me.

I am not yet born; rehearse me
In the parts I must play and the cues I must take when
old men lecture me, bureaucrats hector me, mountains
frown at me, lovers laugh at me, the white
waves call me to folly and the desert calls
me to doom and the beggar refuses
my gift and my children curse me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

I am not yet born; O fill me
With strength against those who would freeze my
humanity, would dragoon me into a lethal automaton,
would make me a cog in a machine, a thing with
one face, a thing, and against all those
who would dissipate my entirety, would
blow me like thistledown hither and
thither or hither and thither
like water held in the
hands would spill me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise kill me.

I Shall Not Care - Sara Teasdale

When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,
Though you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;
And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.

Sonnets From the Portuguese I - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove, -
"Guess now who holds thee!" -
"Death," I said,
But, there,
The silver answer rang, "Not death, but Love."

So many great poems - thanks to everyone for posting! You all have excellent taste and I love all the contributions! ^_^

icor, I especially like In The Quiet. It's perfect, and I can definitely see why it appeals to you - the style of it really echoes yours (great to see you in this thread, btw!).

Hyper -- glad you like that poem, it's one of my favourites. And thanks for making this thread! I'm actually quiet fond of poetry nowadays.

[removed lulz]

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot

LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

READ MORE (130 lines)

Lightening the mood a bit. . . ^_^

Sick
by Shel Silverstein


"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Hee, I love that poem, Alantie! This is a great idea for a thread, my honey bunny Hyper! :glomp:
In my first year at uni, we studied Elizabethan sonnets, and this one by Shakespeare is one of my favourites.

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

*happy sigh*

Annnnnd, here's something completely different and silly and unromantic. I'm sort of reluctant to share this one, 'cause it's an original poem by me. I dunno why, but for some reason, I have no problem sharing my fanfics, but when it come to original stuff I get shy! Anyway, here you go, this is my freeverse poem that I wrote for my Creative Writing module.

Romance Novels Have A Lot To Answer For

Because when you meet a bloke in a club and you end up
standing together in the taxi queue, because it’s
cheaper to share and him and his mate live
somewhere near you, you expect it to be
perfect.
And through the beer goggles even his messy
bedsit doesn’t matter that much
so you expect it to be all
falling on his bed and
‘mm’s and ‘aah’s
and hands
and mouths
not ‘Uh, this hardly ever happens, just gimme a sec to sort it’
not ‘Erm, you’re kinda lying on my hair’
or ‘OW, where are you trying to put it?’
‘Sorry, I didn’t know it was there!’
And there’s never the bit afterwards where you
go to the bathroom and
bump
into his flatmate who’s half asleep in his tatty grey boxers
and then have to search
on the floor
and
under the bed
among the magazines and old tissues
for your discarded underwear.

icor - *is an incoherent puddle of bliss after reading As Ophelia Hath Drowned* That was incredible - honest and brutal but so lyrical and beautiful. The language is gorgeous, it feels so real and immediate and the narrator has so much personality (not easy to express in a short poem). I particularly loved the ending. *sigh* Thanks for showing us this one, I really love it.

Alantie - Heehee, I loved that poem! Made me laugh! Thanks for lightening the mood; we definitely need a few more funny and happy pieces here! *goes searching for dirty limericks*

Yukari - Glad my little lovemuffin likes my thread! :glomp2: And yay - you included another one of Shakespeare's Sonnets! *pours molten-hot luff on you* I studied Renaissance Poetry last year and I'd love to contribute some of those. I'll start working on digging up my poor ruined textbook and finding my favourites for you! ^_^ I loved your original piece too and understand why it's scarier to post something like that than a fanfic - with a fanfic there are lots of rules (canon, characterization, etc) and if you keep to them then you have an already good piece and can feel more comfortable about imposing your writing-style on characters you're familar with. When writing something totally original, there are no rules and it's mostly a matter of taste if someone loves or hates you. Also, when you're writing originally, you take a lot more from your own experiences and feelings than you would when writing a fanfic, so you do show more of yourself when writing an original piece. But anyway, your poem was a great read (and depressingly true), but funny at the same time.

A couple more of my faves now...



Now this next one is one of mine and, like Yukari, I feel kinda shy about it so please be nice. I hope you all enjoy it! :gift:

:lmao: HB, that Their Sex Lives is too funny!!! :lol: But I must tell you I love your poem that you wrote! the imagery is beautiful, and it flows so nice. :D

Now, for some more poems!

It's Dark in Here

I am writing these poems
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.
So please excuse the handwriting
Which may not be too clear.
But this afternoon by the lion's cage
I'm afraid I got too near.
And I'm writing these lines
From inside a lion,
And it's rather dark in here.

Shel Silverstein

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's 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.

All Lovely Things

All lovely things will have an ending,
All lovely things will fade and die,
And youth, that's now so bravely spending,
Will beg a penny by and by.

Fine ladies soon are all forgotten,
And goldenrod is dust when dead,
The sweetest flesh and flowers are rotten
And cobwebs tent the brightest head.

Come back, true love! Sweet youth, return!—
But time goes on, and will, unheeding,
Though hands will reach, and eyes will yearn,
And the wild days set true hearts bleeding.

Come back, true love! Sweet youth, remain!—
But goldenrod and daisies wither,
And over them blows autumn rain,
They pass, they pass, and know not whither.


Conrad Aiken

Thanks, Alantie! I really love "Their Sex Life" too and I'm glad you liked it! :fangirl: And thanks so much for your compliments about my poem; I really appreciate it!

You've brought in some great new poems too. My favourite from your last post has to be "It's Dark In Here". Really enjoyed that one! ^_^

^_^ I'm glad you enjoyed them! Lol, yeah, I liked Its Dark in Here too. Shel Silverstein writes really funny poetry. I'm trying to find a site that has more of his poems so I can share some more of them!

One Inch Tall

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

Shel Silverstein


There is a Gentle Thought

There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to seduce our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’

Dante Alighieri



the winds blow for you

Angel…angel
Look at my face
Look at mine
Angel look at mine
My heart is for you
You know it’s true
Angel to see my love
Angel……..
I see you in my skies, an angel
You flying with your wings in the winds of the love
I insufflate to the skies for deluge winds for your fly in the sky
You can fly in the skies without fear
I’m be with you, my angel
the winds below for you

in order that you be happy my angel
I hope you find your love
or me or your hidden lover
my winds below for you
fly...fly...fly
my angel

Aidin Azarkerdar

That one makes me think of Cloud and Aerith. ^_^

Whoa, really? It's not even complete -- more of a work in progress that will never actually progress -- and really rough, and it seemed like a good idea to post after having a couple of drinks. I also made the title up on the spot. But, well, thanks! I'm glad -- and genuinely amazed -- that someone liked it. Especially you. I love your writing. <3

I also nabbed Their Sex Lives and stuck it in my journal. It was very amusing, and a great example to show that titles can be awesome to (I can't be the only person who writes just to give things a title sometimes, right?). And silly you, hiding your poem all the way at the end after the others -- it doesn't always follow that just because you can write prose you can write poetry, but this pleases me greatly. For what is a knot undone? is one of those lines that means so much more than it actually says.

---

Annnnnd re: your poem, Yukari - it's the truth and I love it.

---

More poems. I wrote a C/A fic to this, a little while ago:

The Wind - Sara Teasdale

A wind is blowing over my soul,
I hear it cry the whole night thro' --
Is there no peace for me on earth
Except with you?

Alas, the wind has made me wise,
Over my naked soul it blew, --
There is no peace for me on earth
Even with you.

---

Ein Gleiches - Goethe

Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh,
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch;
Die Vögelein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

I may try to go back and review all of the poems here, but unfortunately the commentary "They're all so lovely" must suffice for now. [P.S. to those who have shared their own poems, I think they're all wonderful! No need to feel self conscious at all!]

And another by Adrienne Rich, 'cause I adore her work (glad to find another fan in you, Hyper!)

Living in Sin
by Adrienne Rich

She had thought the studio would keep itself;
no dust upon the furniture of love.
Half heresy, to wish the taps less vocal,
the panes relieved of grime. A plate of pears,
a piano with a Persian shawl, a cat
stalking the picturesque amusing mouse
had risen at his urging.
Not that at five each separate stair would writhe
under the milkman's tramp; that morning light
so coldly would delineate the scraps
of last night's cheese and three sepulchral bottles;
that on the kitchen shelf among the saucers
a pair of beetle-eyes would fix her own---
envoy from some village in the moldings . . .
Meanwhile, he, with a yawn,
sounded a dozen notes upon the keyboard,
declared it out of tune, shrugged at the mirror,
rubbed at his beard, went out for cigarettes;
while she, jeered by the minor demons,
pulled back the sheets and made the bed and found
a towel to dust the table-top,
and let the coffee-pot boil over on the stove.
By evening she was back in love again,
though not so wholly but throughout the night
she woke sometimes to feel the daylight coming
like a relentless milkman up the stairs.

Just one for right now, but I'm loving all these poems you guys! icor, I love that Wind poem! It's so lovely!

A bit of humor to lighten the mood again. ^_^

Messy Room by Shel Silverstein

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!

As far as I know, this is a poem. Matthew Good is a singer and this is written like a song, but I have never found an actual song of this. His writing is nothing short of amazing though. *Has his book*

Heather's Like Sunday

Had a map
Had a chance left in a stolen car
The cruise sure looked like heaven
But we knew we'd never make it that far
The sea fields and the poor towns flew by in the dark
And our plan, my dear, there she slept, with one single shot
To the heart full of strings
Heart full of finer things
There is salvation out there
There are reasons for us to care
Hands on the wheel
Tried hard to breathe and feel
Cause going out's the easy part, I said going out's the easy part

And if the Devil was a poet, I doubt that he would know it
And I doubt that he could win your heart with simple words of flame
Like love is just a prison if there is no one there to listen
And the truth is shallow water if you learn nothing when it came

Found a cause
Had a chance dream with a cheap guitar
I know that she'd believe me but she knew I'd never make it that far
She said they'd follow me down if I didn't give myself away
So you just hold on tight and close your eyes
And try damn hard no to think about yesterday
She said her father was a holy man who hid her from the world
Like a puppet in an evening dress with plastic friends and pearls
And I was never much for dancing but I was the leader of the band
And I played revolutionary waltzes with a revolver in my
Hand over strings
A hand full of finer things
There is salvation in here
Reasons for us to care
Hands on the wheel
Tried to breathe and feel
Cause going out's the easy part, I said going out's the easy part

And if the Devil was a poet, I doubt that he would know it
And I doubt that he could win your heart with simple words of flame
Like love is just the meaning of someone else's dreaming
And Heather's like Sunday

Eee, I can't believe I never saw this thread! Goodness, shows how long I've been out of the loop from this forums. Loved all the poems! I really liked 'There is a gentle thought' by Dante Alighieri.

Here's a poem I quite like, I suppose it's quite well-known, but the opening verses catch me everytime.

The World
by Henry Vaughan

I SAW Eternity the other night
Like a great Ring of pure and endless light,
All calm, as it was bright,
And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years
Driv’n by the spheres
Like a vast shadow mov’d, In which the world
And all her train were hurl’d;
The doting Lover in his queintest strain
Did their Complain,
Neer him, his Lute, his fancy, and his flights,
Wits sour delights,
With gloves, and knots the silly snares of pleasure
Yet his dear Treasure
All scatter’d lay, while he his eys did pour
Upon a flowr.

The darksome States-man hung with weights and woe
Like a thick midnight-fog mov’d there so slow
He did nor stay, nor go;
Condemning thoughts (like sad Ecclipses) scowl
Upon his soul,
And Clouds of crying witnesses without
Pursued him with one shout.
Yet dig’d the Mole, and lest his ways be found
Workt under ground,
Where he did Clutch his prey, but one did see
That policie,
Churches and altars fed him, Perjuries
Were gnats and flies,
It rain’d about him bloud and tears, but he
Drank them as free.

The fearfull miser on a heap of rust
Sate pining all his life there, did scarce trust
His own hands with the dust,
Yet would not place one peece above, but lives
In feare of theeves.
Thousands there were as frantick as himself
And hug’d each one his pelf,
The down-right Epicure plac’d heav’n in sense
And scornd pretence
While others slipt into a wide Excesse
Said little lesse;
The weaker sort slight, triviall wares Inslave
Who think them brave,
And poor, despised truth sate Counting by
Their victory.

Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing,
And sing, and weep, soar’d up into the Ring,
But most would use no wing.
O fools (said I,) thus to prefer dark night
Before true light,
To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day
Because it shews the way,
The way which from this dead and dark abode
Leads up to God,
A way where you might tread the Sun, and be
More bright than he.
But as I did their madnes so discusse
One whisper’d thus,
This Ring the Bride-groome did for none provide
But for his bride.

How bout a spooky, tragic poem, just in time for Halloween? :D *loves balladesque poems*

The Highwayman- Alfred Noyes

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shuters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

PART TWO

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

The last two stanzas always make me shiver :ghost:

I'm not exactly very good at poetry, but I do -love- some poems. :)

I

NOW that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy--
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

II

He is with her; and they know that I know
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
Empty church, to pray God in, for them! -- I am here.

III

Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
Pound at thy powder, -- I am not in haste!
Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

IV

That in the mortar -- you call it a gum?
Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
Sure to taste sweetly, -- is that poison too?

V

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
A signet, a fan-mount, a filligree-basket!

VI

Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give
And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head
And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!

VII

Quick -- is it finished? The colour's too grim!
Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?
Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

VIII

What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me--
That's why she ensnared him: this never will free
The soul from those masculine eyes, -- say, 'no!'
To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.

IX

For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall,
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does not all!

X

Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
Let death be felt and the proof remain;
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace--
He is sure to remember her dying face!

XI

Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee--
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

XII

Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
Ere I know it -- next moment I dance at the King's!

And I'm an Edgar Allen Poe fan too! :0

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 visitor,' 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 named 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor 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 darkness 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 above 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 further 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 all my sad soul 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, 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 has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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!

I found this poem online - it's about anti-bullying, and it's amazingly written.

'I don't want to go to school today.'
'Feeling sick again like yesterday.'

Beating myself up over fright
Crying myself to sleep at night
Wishing, praying that you don't find me
I'll hide in the shadows silently.

I'm hungry today; please don't take my money
You laugh and joke but it's really not funny

You punched me hard; I just took my last breath
Is this the end? My painless death?
I've wanted to do it myself for years
But all I could do was produce more tears.

CHANCE MEETINGS

by: Conrad Aiken

In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive,
The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves,
In the drowse of the sunlight, among the low voices,
I suddenly face you,

Your dark eyes return for a space from her who is with you,
They shine into mine with a sunlit desire,
They say an 'I love you, what star do you live on?'
They smile and then darken,

And silent, I answer 'You too--I have known you,--I love you!--'
And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves
Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight
To divide us forever.

This is a particularly poignant poem, and it's one of my favorites. It's called "Puerto Rican Obituary" by Pedro Pietri. Unfortunately, it's too long for me to type it out here, but should you want to read it, here's a link:

Puerto Rican Obituary

Older thread, lol. I don't know if this has been posted already, but I have to share it. I thought it was quite Cleris. :blush:

Oh wow. . . that poem is BEAUTIFUL! And it inspires me for my current Clerith oneshot piece for the theme Wind, so thank you! :huggle:

The Dead Faith
She made a little shadow-hidden grave,
The day Faith died;
Therein she laid it, heard the clod's sick fall,
And smiled aside-
"If less I ask," tear-blind, she mocked, "I may
Be less denied."

She set a rose to blossom in her hair,
The day Faith died-
"Now glad," she said, "And free at last, I go,
And life is wide."
But through long nights she stared into the dark,
And she knew she lied.

- Fannie Heaslip Lea


I don't know, maybe I'm just on crack, but that sort of makes me think of Cloud. :blink:

YAY! I helped inspire Alantie! :huggle:

This is another of my favorite poems. It's short and sweet. I found it a few years ago, and have loved it ever since.

Soneto XCVIII by Pablo Neruda

Y esta palabra, este papel escrito
por las mil manos de una sola mano,
no queda en ti, no sirve para sueños,
cae a la tierra: allí se continúa.

No importa que la luz o la alabanza
se derramen y salgan de la copa
si fueron un tenaz temblor del vino,
si se tiñó tu boca de amaranto.

No quiere más la sílaba tardía,
lo que trae y retrae el arrecife
de mis recuerdos, la irritada espuma,

no quiere más sino escribir tu nombre.
Y aunque lo calle mi sombrío amor
más tarde lo dirá la primavera.

Translation (courtesy of Steven Tapscott--the Spanish is much prettier though, imo. The English doesn't seem to capture its meaning as well, alas.)

And this word, this paper the thousand hands
of a single hand have written on, does not remain
inside you, it is no good for dreaming.
It falls to the earth; there it continues.

No matter that the light, or praise,
spilled over the rim of the cup,
if they were a willful shimmer in the wine,
if your mouth were stained purple as amaranth.

This word: it no longer wants the slow-spoken syllable,
what thar reef brings, and brings back,
from my memories, the churned foam:

it wants nothing but to write your name.
And even though my brooding love silences it
now, later the springtime will pronounce it.

Be proud of yourself indeed, Kuraudo!! :D

The Two Trees

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the wingèd sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.

Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.

Here's one of my favorites:

Get Together by the The Youngbloods (This is a 60s song.)

Love is but the song we sing,
And fear's the way we die
You can make the mountains ring
Or make the angels cry
Know the dove is on the wing
And you need not know why
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
Some will come and some will go
We shall surely pass
When the one that left us here
Returns for us at last
We are but a moments sunlight
Fading in the grass
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
If you hear the song I sing,
You must understand
You hold the key to love and fear
All in your trembling hand
Just one key unlocks them both
It's there at your command
C'mon people now,
Smile on your brother
Ev'rybody get together
Try and love one another right now
Right now
Right now!

Umm, is that originally a poem, Angel? Just wondering, 'cause the thread isn't for song lyrics, just poetry. ^_^

Here's a poem by William Wordsworth that we studied in my British Poetry class at university. I found it really touching and sad. It's basically Wordsworth wanting to share some sudden happiness with his daughter, and then remembering that he can't, because she isn't there. (His daughter died when she was four.)

Surprised By Joy

Surprised by joy -impatient as the wind
I turned to share the transport -Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind -
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss? -That thought's return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn,
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

i carry your heart with me - e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

:o Damn, I was going to post that poem, icor!! >_<

e.e. cummings is awesome, and he's one of my favourite poets. His poems are really cute and romantic, but, as icor has posted, i carry your heart with me is probably my most favourite.

It really reminds me of Sora and Kairi. ^_^