kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 e. e. cummings beautiful is theunmeaningof (sil ently) fal ling (everywhere) s now :goodone: I think about this one from time to time when I'm I standing outside while snow is falling. Love how the form replicates the random patterns of softly falling snow. And he breaks up the words "everywhere" and "snow" to make the words "here" and "now." So it's like he is writing the poem as he is watching the snow falling. I always liked that interpretation. I never saw that before until you just pointed it out. wow. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Maverick Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Each life converges to some centreExpressed or still;Exists in every human natureA goal, Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,Too fairFor credibility's temerityTo dare. Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,To reachWere hopeless as the rainbow's raimentTo touch, Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;How highUnto the saints' slow diligenceThe sky! Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,But then,Eternity enables the endeavoringAgain. -Emily Dickinson Love me some Emily, but OMG that poor, tortured girl! My life closed twice before its close; It yet remains to seeIf Immortality unveil A third event to me, So huge, so hopeless to conceive As these that twice befell.Parting is all we know of heaven, And all we need of hell. Ach, bleak stuff! Because I could not stop for death, he kindly stopped for me. The carriage held by just ourselves, and Immortality. Yeah. Pretty bleak. But we still love her. But that bitch needed to learn how to make titles fire her poems. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Approach of Winter The half-stripped treesstruck by a wind together,bending all,the leaves flutter drilyand refuse to let goor driven like hailstream bitterly out to one sideand fallwhere the salvias, hard carmine--like no leaf that ever was--edge the bare garden. - William Carlos Williams YES, Barney!! You are kicking some ass with WCW and St. Vincent Millay!! Read so many poems by them, currently reading a book of Emily Dickinson's stuff! 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Picturesque Winter ski hills soft and whiteAutumn colours naturally brightSummer vacations and time consumedSpring flowers and their natural bloomThe son sliding into home plateThe daughter as she learns to skateChildren together at the campgroundYoung babies with smiles all aroundA family portrait so naturally clicheA wedding photo capturing the big day Lovely couples with affectionWe see picture perfectionA deadly car accident so grotesqueWhy can't life be so picturesque? -B. Lee 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Power On IP packetsIncoming trafficOpen closed bracketsDisplaying graphics Program loadConfirmationAccess codeData violation Binary to hexChecksum errorDecimal to textOutput: T E R R O R -B. Lee Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Maverick Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 The Span Of Life by Robert Frost The old dog barks backwards without getting up.I can remember when he was a pup. 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 The Beautiful Changes One wading a Fall meadow finds on all sides The Queen Anne’s Lace lying like liliesOn water; it glidesSo from the walker, it turnsDry grass to a lake, as the slightest shade of you Valleys my mind in fabulous blue Lucernes. The beautiful changes as a forest is changed By a chameleon’s tuning his skin to it; As a mantis, arrangedOn a green leaf, growsInto it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows. Your hands hold roses always in a way that says They are not only yours; the beautiful changes In such kind ways, Wishing ever to sunderThings and things’ selves for a second finding, to lose For a moment all that it touches back to wonder. -- Richard Wilbur 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Where Flesh Circulates Its so hard to remember in the world - - Weren’t you there? Dead so you think of ports - - Couldn’t reach flesh - - Might have to reach flesh from anybody - - And i will depart under the Red Masters for strange dawn words of color exalting their falling on my face impending attack satellite in a Gold and perfumes of light city red stone shadows brick terminal time wet dream flesh creakily the the last feeble faces fountains play stale spit from crumpled cloth Weimar youths on my face bodies where flesh circulates Masters of color exalting their dogs impending attack of light unaware of the vagrant shadows on the Glass and Metal Streets silver flying scanning patterns electric dogs dark street life ”Here he is now” staring out from the dawn he strode toward the flesh jissom webs drifting where identity scarred metal faces masturbating ”Who him?” spitting blood laugh on the iron afternoons ejaculates wet dream flesh in red brick Terminal Time red nitrous fumes under the orange gas flares grey metal fall out on terminal cities to the shrinking sky fading color sewage delta caught in this dead whistle stop post card sky dead rainbow flesh and copper pagodas flickered on the in a city of red stone black skin work fish smell and dead eyes in doorways red water words spitting blood laugh sharp as water reeds fish syllables stirring this Moroccan sunlight vagrant noon station spent in the mirror dawn jissom webs drifting rainbow speeded up from afternoon’s slow ferris wheel flesh. - William S. Burroughs 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 'Til Death Here I thought you were waitingat the gates of heaven in world's end So kiss meif it's the lasttaste of your toxic lipsso red from my bloodglaring at the sunsetbefore we dieas the sky turnsbrighter than a thousand suns -B. Lee 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Pondering ...Sometimes I wonder how it will turnJust experiences we all learn ...Sometimes I see how you feelA poor soul begs for his next meal ...Sometimes I know how it all endsNow I redefine the term "friends" ...Sometimes I look for my false-godAnother used-salesman, smile, or fraud ...Sometimes I sit all day and repeat 'WHY'And those stars fill the night-lit sky -B. Lee 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Questions? Question me about my faithand my answer is love Question me about my loveand my answer is life Question me about my lifeand my answer is my faith -B.Lee 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Portrait She has no need to fear the fallOf harvest from the laddered reachOf orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing From the steep beach. Nor hold to pain's effronteryHer body's bulwark, stern and savage,Nor be a glass, where to foresee Another's ravage. What she has gathered and what lost,She will not find to lose again.She is possessed by time, who once Was loved by men. -- Louise Bogan 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 The Photographer He holds the cameraattention focused on his subject Camera raisedto his eyes As steady as a sniperwho slowly focuseson his subject... He gasps -As the camerabecomes his mind's eye Holding his breath...The trigger is set... Slowly pressing...locked -(Two beeps)Sees redExhales andpresses that trigger! SNAP! Though he may not understand warHe will return homesafely Many storieswill soonbe told to his children "We fought men""We fought Mother Nature""We fought ourselves...." - B. Lee Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Men's lenses She is like the world to meEyes blue like the clear watersof a tropical beach Her personality -PromisingHow I perceived itto be Her face glowsbrightness -Like the morning sun Her beauty -is everything to mehow everything should be Most of allWhat I love about her mostare her tits -B. Lee 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Men's lenses She is like the world to meEyes bluelike the clear watersof a tropical beach Her personality -PromisingHow I perceived itto be Her face glowsbrightness -Like the morning sun Her beauty -is everything to mehow everything should be Most of allWhat I love about her mostare her tits -B. Lee That's fanTAStic!! :rfl: Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Orville and Steve Back in Preston High,these two kids would fightOrville was black,and Steve was white They both punched and kickedto aim for the headFifteen years passed -both are now dead -B. Lee Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 34C At Ryerson-U that fall,Dida lived down the hallShe flipped me her bra that one aft,Showed her size and we both laughed I wrote on her door in bad taste,My marker couldn't be erasedThough Dida was not at all mad,We laughed at all the fun we had Whenever I write from now and then,I make sure it's not a permanent penAnd because of my ideas and me,Her 'nick that year was "34C"! -B. Lee Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 Stars Over the Dordogne Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggyPicket of trees whose silhouette is darkerThan the dark of the sky because it is quite starless.The woods are a well. The stars drop silently.They seem large, yet they drop, and no gap is visible.Nor do they send up fires where they fallOr any signal of distress or anxiousness.They are eaten immediately by the pines. Where I am at home, only the sparsest starsArrive at twilight, and then after some effort.And they are wan, dulled by much travelling.The smaller and more timid never arrive at allBut stay, sitting far out, in their own dust.They are orphans. I cannot see them. They are lost.But tonight they have discovered this river with no trouble,They are scrubbed and self-assured as the great planets. The Big Dipper is my only familiar.I miss Orion and Cassiopeia's Chair. Maybe they areHanging shyly under the studded horizonLike a child's too-simple mathematical problem.Infinite number seems to be the issue up there.Or else they are present, and their disguise so brightI am overlooking them by looking too hard.Perhaps it is the season that is not right. And what if the sky here is no different,And it is my eyes that have been sharpening themselves?Such a luxury of stars would embarrass me.The few I am used to are plain and durable;I think they would not wish for this dressy backclothOr much company, or the mildness of the south.They are too puritan and solitary for that—When one of them falls it leaves a space, A sense of absence in its old shining place.And where I lie now, back to my own dark star,I see those constellations in my head,Unwarmed by the sweet air of this peach orchard.There is too much ease here; these stars treat me too well.On this hill, with its view of lit castles, each swung bellIs accounting for its cow. I shut my eyesAnd drink the small night chill like news of home. -- Sylvia Plath 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 17, 2013 Share Posted January 17, 2013 (edited) The Indigo Bunting I go to the door often.Night and summer. Cricketslift their cries.I know you are out.You are drivinglate through the summer night. I do not know what will happen,I have no claim on you.I am one staryou have as guide; otherslove you, the nightso dark over the Azores. You have been working outdoors,gone all week. I feel youin this lamp litso late. As I reach for itI feel myselfdriving through the night. I love a firmness in youthat disdains the trivialand regains the difficult.You become part thenof the firmness of night,the granite holding up walls. There were women in Egypt whosupported with their firmness the starsas they revolved,hardly awareof the passage from nightto day and back to night. I love you where you gothrough the night, not swerving,clear as the indigobunting in her flight,passing over twothousand miles of ocean. -- Robert Bly LOVE this poem. LOVE this poet. Every single word he has ever written astonishes me. Edited January 17, 2013 by kkdalloway 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 18, 2013 Share Posted January 18, 2013 It's long but it's worth every minute. Sunday Morning 1 Complacencies of the peignoir, and lateCoffee and oranges in a sunny chair,And the green freedom of a cockatooUpon a rug mingle to dissipateThe holy hush of ancient sacrifice.She dreams a little, and she feels the darkEncroachment of that old catastrophe,As a calm darkens among water-lights.The pungent oranges and bright, green wingsSeem things in some procession of the dead,Winding across wide water, without sound.The day is like wide water, without sound,Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feetOver the seas, to silent Palestine,Dominion of the blood and sepulchre. 2 Why should she give her bounty to the dead?What is divinity if it can comeOnly in silent shadows and in dreams?Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,In pungent fruit and bright green wings, or elseIn any balm or beauty of the earth,Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?Divinity must live within herself:Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;Grievings in loneliness, or unsubduedElations when the forest blooms; gustyEmotions on wet roads on autumn nights;All pleasures and all pains, rememberingThe bough of summer and the winter branch.These are the measure destined for her soul. 3 Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.No mother suckled him, no sweet land gaveLarge-mannered motions to his mythy mind.He moved among us, as a muttering king,Magnificent, would move among his hinds,Until our blood, commingling, virginal,With heaven, brought such requital to desireThe very hinds discerned it, in a star.Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to beThe blood of paradise? And shall the earthSeem all of paradise that we shall know?The sky will be much friendlier then than now,A part of labor and a part of pain,And next in glory to enduring love,Not this dividing and indifferent blue. 4 She says, 'I am content when wakened birds,Before they fly, test the realityOf misty fields, by their sweet questionings;But when the birds are gone, and their warm fieldsReturn no more, where, then, is paradise?'There is not any haunt of prophecy,Nor any old chimera of the grave,Neither the golden underground, nor isleMelodious, where spirits gat them home,Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palmRemote on heaven's hill, that has enduredAs April's green endures; or will endureLike her remembrance of awakened birds,Or her desire for June and evening, tippedBy the consummation of the swallow's wings. 5 She says, 'But in contentment I still feelThe need of some imperishable bliss.'Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,Alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreamsAnd our desires. Although she strews the leavesOf sure obliteration on our paths,The path sick sorrow took, the many pathsWhere triumph rang its brassy phrase, or loveWhispered a little out of tenderness,She makes the willow shiver in the sunFor maidens who were wont to sit and gazeUpon the grass, relinquished to their feet.She causes boys to pile new plums and pearsOn disregarded plate. The maidens tasteAnd stray impassioned in the littering leaves. 6 Is there no change of death in paradise?Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughsHang always heavy in that perfect sky,Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,With rivers like our own that seek for seasThey never find, the same receding shoresThat never touch with inarticulate pang?Why set pear upon those river-banksOr spice the shores with odors of the plum?Alas, that they should wear our colors there,The silken weavings of our afternoons,And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,Within whose burning bosom we deviseOur earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly. 7 Supple and turbulent, a ring of menShall chant in orgy on a summer mornTheir boisterous devotion to the sun,Not as a god, but as a god might be,Naked among them, like a savage source.Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,Out of their blood, returning to the sky;And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,The windy lake wherein their lord delights,The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,That choir among themselves long afterward.They shall know well the heavenly fellowshipOf men that perish and of summer morn.And whence they came and whither they shall goThe dew upon their feet shall manifest. 8 She hears, upon that water without sound,A voice that cries, 'The tomb in PalestineIs not the porch of spirits lingering.It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.'We live in an old chaos of the sun,Or old dependency of day and night,Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,Of that wide water, inescapable.Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quailWhistle about us their spontaneous cries;Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;And, in the isolation of the sky,At evening, casual flocks of pigeons makeAmbiguous undulations as they sink,Downward to darkness, on extended wings. -- Wallace Stevens 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
barney_rebel Posted January 19, 2013 Share Posted January 19, 2013 (edited) Communities 2.0 Logging-on will make us showwith you I can now growStepping forward how we knew,with that time spent with you For now we do pretend,For you are now my friendPlease do enjoy your stay...We connect in every way One day a connection will die"Friends Forever" was a big lieRealities which were spared,are illusions only shared Each day we grew much stronger,As we are friends no-longerBehind each step I see,is the time taken from me - B. Lee Edited January 19, 2013 by barney_rebel Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Maverick Posted January 20, 2013 Share Posted January 20, 2013 http://i1239.photobucket.com/albums/ff508/blackcc/296831_538807002804296_1995711772_n_zps8e35f7cd.jpg 3 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 21, 2013 Share Posted January 21, 2013 (edited) Song She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a streamWatching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept away Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam,Watching the blossoms of the May Weap leaves into the stream. I wept for memory She sang for hop that is so fair:My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air. -- Christina Rosetti Edited January 21, 2013 by kkdalloway 2 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 21, 2013 Share Posted January 21, 2013 (edited) excerpt fromOde: Intimations of Immortality Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The soul that rises with us our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness,But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home:Heaven lies about us in our infancy!Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy,But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy;The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended;At length the Man perceives it die away,And fade into the light of common day. -- William Wordsworth Edited January 21, 2013 by kkdalloway 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
kkdalloway Posted January 21, 2013 Share Posted January 21, 2013 from A Midsummer Night's DreamAct V, Scene 1 If we shadows have offended,Think but this and all is mended -That you have but slumb'red hereWhile these visions did appear.And this weak and idle theme,No more yielding than a dream.Gentles, do not reprehend.If you pardon, we will mend.And, as I am an honest Puck,If we have unearned luckNow to scape the serpent's tongue,We will make amends ere long;Else the Puck a liar callSo, good night unto you all.Give me your hands if we be friends,And Robin shall restore amends. -- William Shakespeare One of my favorites of Shakespeare's. Incidentally, some of you might remember that the character Neal performs this soliloquy during a performance of the play in the movie Dead Poet's Society. 1 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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