The Return of Talking Time

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  #61  
Old 11-12-2012, 10:42 AM
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Originally Posted by Karzac View Post
I really like the first two stanzas of this poem, but the third is so "rah rah" that I have a hard time stomaching it.
Have some of this then:
Quote:
Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
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  #62  
Old 11-12-2012, 12:25 PM
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Yeah, that's a lot better. I should look into some more Wilfred Owen.
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  #63  
Old 11-12-2012, 07:20 PM
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Coming be-
comes you,
little one:
rockabye world as you lie, and the great pang takes you in
waves. Coming
becomes you.

With horses you come, with arabian
slather with jugular grunts and in
fretwork, in fistfuls, on Fridays we come in the
danger and midnight of horses.
Coming you come like a spill, like a
spell, like a spoonful of flesh in the
roaring, high on blood
ocean, come with your horses, you come to be played.

In after-
come, you nuzzle;
you nestle and noodle and nest.
And the ghosts in your eyes
do their long-legged, chaste parade.
Each time such sadness
hushes me: slow
ache in your gaze—nostalgia for
now, for now as it
goes away. You're
beautiful, small
queen of the pillow drowse, and
rockabye world in my arms.
Coming becomes you.

-Dennis Lee
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  #64  
Old 10-22-2013, 09:00 PM
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Default I knew there would be a good poetry thread if I looked hard enough

Tychbornes Elegie, written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of paine,
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,
My fruite is falne, & yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.
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  #65  
Old 10-22-2013, 10:08 PM
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Originally Posted by Teaspoon View Post
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
Goddamn that shit is hot.
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  #66  
Old 02-22-2014, 06:24 PM
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Default I was looking up Belloc for something about to go in the Religion thread

Ha'nacker Mill

Sally is gone that was so kindly,
Sally is gone from Ha'nacker Hill
And the Briar grows ever since then so blindly;
And ever since then the clapper is still...
And the sweeps have fallen from Ha'nacker Mill.

Ha'nacker Hill is in Desolation:
Ruin a-top and a field unploughed.
And Spirits that call on a fallen nation,
Spirits that loved her calling aloud,
Spirits abroad in a windy cloud.

Spirits that call and no one answers --
Ha'nacker's down and England's done.
Wind and Thistle for pipe and dancers,
And never a ploughman under the Sun:
Never a ploughman. Never a one.
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  #67  
Old 05-19-2014, 07:45 PM
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Default is this the right thread for posting random poetry? I'll assume it is

Sometimes in the middle autumn days,
The windless days when the swallows have flown,
And the sere elms brood in the mist,
Each tree a being, rapt, alone,

I know, not as in barren thought,
But wordlessly, as the bones know,
What quenching of my brain, what numbness,
Wait in the dark grave where I go.

And I see the people thronging the street,
The death-marked people, they and I
Goalless, rootless, like leaves drifting,
Blind to the earth and to the sky;

Nothing believing, nothing loving,
Not in joy nor in pain, not heeding the stream
Of precious life that flows within us,
But fighting, toiling as in a dream.

O you who pass, halt and remember
What tyrant holds your life in bond;
Remember the fixed, reprieveless hour,
The crushing stroke, the dark beyond.

And let us now, as men condemned,
In peace and thrift of time stand still
To learn our world while yet we may,
And shape our souls, however ill;

And we will love, hand, eye and brain,
Piously, outwardly, ever-aware,
Till all our hours burn clear and brave
Like candle flames in windless air;

So shall we in the rout of life
Some thought, some faith, some meaning save,
And speak it once before we go
In silence to the silent grave

- George Orwell
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  #68  
Old 06-07-2014, 02:28 PM
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Default I wouldn't be triple posting if there were more people in this thread.

A wonderful star broke forth,
New-born, in the skies of the North,
To shine on an Old Year's Night.

And a bud on the dear White Rose
Flowered, in the season of snows,
To bloom for an hour's delight.

Lost is the Star from the night,
And the Rose of an hour's delight
Went — where the roses go ;

But the fragrance and light from afar,
Born of the Rose and the Star,
Live through the years and the snow.

- Andrew Lang
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  #69  
Old 06-09-2014, 01:46 PM
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Mirage

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake,
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silent harp there, wrung and snapped
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream's sake.

- Christina Georgina Rossetti
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  #70  
Old 06-10-2014, 03:00 PM
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On a Ruined Farm near the His Master's Voice Gramophone Factory

As I stand at the lichened gate
With warring worlds on either hand —
To left the black and budless trees,
The empty sties, the barns that stand

Like tumbling skeletons — and to right
The factory-towers, white and clear
Like distant, glittering cities seen
From a ship's rail — as I stand here,

I feel, and with a sharper pang,
My mortal sickness; how I give
My heart to weak and stuffless ghosts,
And with the living cannot live.

The acid smoke has soured the fields,
And browned the few and windworn flowers;
But there, where steel and concrete soar
In dizzy, geometric towers —

There, where the tapering cranes sweep round,
And great wheels turn, and trains roar by
Like strong, low-headed brutes of steel —
There is my world, my home; yet why

So alien still? For I can neither
Dwell in that world, nor turn again
To scythe and spade, but only loiter
Among the trees the smoke has slain.

Yet when the trees were young, men still
Could choose their path — the winged soul,
Not cursed with double doubts, could fly,
Arrow-like to a foreseen goal;

And they who planned those soaring towers,
They too have set their spirit free;
To them their glittering world can bring
Faith, and accepted destiny;

But none to me as I stand here
Between two countries, both-ways torn,
And moveless still, like Buridan's donkey
Between the water and the corn.

- George Orwell
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  #71  
Old 07-11-2014, 05:46 PM
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Default how about I put a very dirty poem here instead, maybe someone will notice the thread

The Joy of Six or - A Golden Pair

We had a quick toss,

And you put me in.

At first it was hard

To penetrate the inner ring.

I was ready for a long session,

Eager to dig in,

Your bouncers were flying,

But I took 'em on the chin.

Chorus:You've got two fine legs

And you're always appealing,

You left my heart

And my leg stump reeling,

But my middle stump.... Is still standin'.

Your deep gully

Looked more tempting by the minute,

But when I stroked you through the covers,

You came over the wicket.

But in my corridor of uncertainty

You expertly probed,

As the finger went upI rolled my eyes and groaned.

Chorus Bridge:

But oh oh...How I love to stick it...Down in your...Deep midwicket....You came out,

The pressure was daunting -I winked and mouthed,'You're opening'.

Then I banged it in,

To your block hole,

My length was good,

My balls were full.

Chorus

I fancied a bit of rough,

More grip to append,

So I thought I'd have a go,

At the other end.

I was getting closer to the edge,

As you tickled me fine,

But then you found the sweet spot. And got over the line.

Chorus and fin.


(nicked out of the Guardian)
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  #72  
Old 08-03-2014, 11:28 AM
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I'm partial to this one, especially during tough weeks:

Quote:
Invictus

Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul

~ William Ernest Henley
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  #73  
Old 08-03-2014, 02:05 PM
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Hurrah, someone else is in this thread!





(I have a sneaking fondness for "Pro Rege Nostro" but that's admittedly pretty tacky. The "match the master-work you've done" line is practically camp.)
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  #74  
Old 08-03-2014, 02:27 PM
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Heh. I love poetry but haven't been able to post as much.

That was a great poem you linked, Teaspoon. The robo-voice reading it was a liiiiiitle creepy though. :P
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  #75  
Old 08-03-2014, 05:01 PM
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Oh. I usually browse with my sound off, so I didn't notice that...

good grief. I see what you mean.
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  #76  
Old 08-04-2014, 09:44 AM
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We should have a TT poetry reading. Everyone reads a favorite poem and uploads it to soundcloud or something like that.
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  #77  
Old 08-04-2014, 03:23 PM
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The trouble is, having heard myself recorded, I dislike the sound of my own voice.

Nevertheless, I've gone a whole post without listing a poem, so here's another one. Tragedy and pathos ahead.


"Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat Drowned in a Tub of Goldfishes"


’Twas on a lofty vase’s side,
Where China’s gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow;
Demurest of the tabby kind,
The pensive Selima, reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She saw; and purred applause.

Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The genii of the stream;
Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize.
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat’s averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent
Again she stretch’d, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood
She mewed to every watery god,
Some speedy aid to send.
No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard;
A Favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,
Know, one false step is ne’er retrieved,
And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;
Nor all that glisters, gold.

- Thomas Gray
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  #78  
Old 08-04-2014, 03:38 PM
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Default The Ruin

Quote:
Originally Posted by Modern English
Bright were the halls, many the baths,
High the gables, great the joyful noise,
many the mead-hall full of pleasures.
Until fate the mighty overturned it all.

Slaughter spread wide, pestilence arose,
and death took all those brave men away.
Their bulwarks were broken, their halls laid waste,
the cities crumbled, those who would repair it
laid in the earth. And so these halls are empty,

and the curved arch sheds its tiles,
torn from the roof. Decay has brought it down,
broken it to rubble. Where once many a warrior,
high of heart, gold-bright, gleaming in splendour,
proud and wine-flushed, shone in armour,

looked on a treasure of silver, on precious gems,
on riches of pearl...
in that bright city of broad rule.
And in the original:

Quote:
Originally Posted by Old English
Beorht wæron burgræced, burnsele monige,
heah horngestreon, heresweg micel,
meodoheall monig dreama full,
oþþæt þæt onwende wyrd seo swiþe.

Crungon walo wide, cwoman woldagas,
swylt eall fornom secgrofra wera;
wurdon hyra wigsteal westen staþolas,
brosnade burgsteall. Betend crungon
hergas to hrusan. Forþon þas hofu dreorgiað,

ond þæs teaforgeapa tigelum sceadeð
hrostbeages hrof. Hryre wong gecrong
gebrocen to beorgum, þær iu beorn monig
glædmod ond goldbeorht gleoma gefrætwed,
wlonc ond wingal wighyrstum scan;

seah on sinc, on sylfor, on searogimmas,
on ead, on æht, on eorcanstan,
on þas beorhtan burg bradan rices.
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  #79  
Old 08-04-2014, 04:04 PM
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^ I LOVE THAT POEM.

(enough to suffer the wrath of capsban, apparently)
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  #80  
Old 08-04-2014, 04:06 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mara View Post
^ I LOVE THAT POEM.

(enough to suffer the wrath of capsban, apparently)
WE GOT RID OF CAPSBAN, I THINK
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  #81  
Old 08-04-2014, 04:09 PM
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IN THAT CASE, I LOVE THAT POEM. AND I'M SHOUTING IT.
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  #82  
Old 08-04-2014, 05:10 PM
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The fragmented feel adds to it.

Like the ideal of a lost poem, but in real life.
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  #83  
Old 08-08-2014, 01:43 PM
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from The Temple of Nature:

Organic Life beneath the shoreless waves
Was born and nurs’d in Ocean’s pearly caves;
First forms minute, unseen by spheric glass,
Move on the mud, or pierce the watery mass;
These, as successive generations bloom,
New powers acquire, and larger limbs assume;

The lordly Lion, monarch of the plain,
The Eagle soaring in the realms of air,
Whose eye undazzled drinks the solar glare,
Imperious man, who rules the bestial crowd,
Of language, reason, and reflection proud,
With brow erect who scorns this earthy sod,
And styles himself the image of his God;
Arose from rudiments of form and sense,
An embryon point, or microscopic ens!

-Erasmus Darwin

(Charles Darwin's grandfather)
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  #84  
Old 09-07-2014, 12:57 PM
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"Falling Through Eden"

Adam felt sun and sucked at pulpy fruit,
spitting the seeds between his dusty toes.
He never searched the fig tree’s roiled root
nor felt a thorn upon the nose-brushed rose.

He tapped the tiger’s fawning teeth, and knew
no growling worry at the sun’s soft fall
(with warming Eve to hold against the dew
and Eden’s boredom): nor cared nor thought at all.

But what load to saddle on a simple man,
to be the first! He could not bear it long
and did the dooming error. Then he ran,
and found outside he gloried in his wrong.

He burnished evil, savored bright new fears,
and dreamed of Eden through a thousand years.

- Alan C. Elms
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  #85  
Old 09-10-2014, 09:23 AM
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This thread should be in the Books subforum
Maybe?
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  #86  
Old 09-10-2014, 01:48 PM
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Suits me.

I don't think anyone else would object.
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  #87  
Old 09-10-2014, 01:55 PM
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I agree, and it might cause more people to find this thread and participate. :)

Great poem you posted, btw, Teaspoon. I like it.
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  #88  
Old 09-10-2014, 02:27 PM
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Done and done. :3
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  #89  
Old 09-10-2014, 05:40 PM
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Thanks, Mara. And hurrah for new visibility.

In the meantime we've gone four posts without a poem, so here is one.

"My Secret"

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:
Perhaps some day, who knows?
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,
And you're too curious: fie!
You want to hear it? well:
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.


Or, after all, perhaps there's none:
Suppose there is no secret after all,
But only just my fun.
Today's a nipping day, a biting day;
In which one wants a shawl,
A veil, a cloak, and other wraps:
I cannot ope to every one who taps,
And let the draughts come whistling thro' my hall;
Come bounding and surrounding me,
Come buffeting, astounding me,
Nipping and clipping thro' my wraps and all.
I wear my mask for warmth: who ever shows
His nose to Russian snows
To be pecked at by every wind that blows?
You would not peck? I thank you for good will,
Believe, but leave that truth untested still.


Spring's an expansive time: yet I don't trust
March with its peck of dust,
Nor April with its rainbow-crowned brief showers,
Nor even May, whose flowers
One frost may whither thro' the sunless hours.


Perhaps some languid summer day,
When drowsy birds sing less and less,
And golden fruit is ripening to excess,
If there's not too much sun nor too much cloud,
And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,
Perhaps my secret I may say,
Or you may guess.

- Christina Rossetti
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  #90  
Old 09-10-2014, 11:31 PM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by gahitsu View Post
Done and done. :3
Thank you! :D


Here's a lesser-known poem by J.R.R. Tolkien:

"Cat"

The fat cat on the mat
may seem to dream
of nice mice that suffice
for him, or cream;
but he free, maybe,
walks in thought
unbowed, proud, where loud
roared and fought
his kin, lean and slim,
or deep in den
in the East feasted on beasts
and tender men.
The giant lion with iron
claw in paw,
and huge ruthless tooth
in gory jaw;
the pard dark-starred,
fleet upon feet,
that oft soft from aloft
leaps upon his meat
where woods loom in gloom —
far now they be,
fierce and free,
and tamed is he;
but fat cat on the mat
kept as a pet
he does not forget.

~J.R.R. Tolkien
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