Okay so I'm not a die-hard artistic type with my nose in a collection of poetry 24/7, but there are a few poets I enjoy, Kipling in particular. I caught this one tonight, posted elsewhere by a friend of mine, and well, it's good. A bit idiosyncratic but it definitely sets a mood. Post your faves as well.
Reality Demands
By Wislawa Szymborska
Reality demands
we also state the following:
life goes on.
It does so near Cannae and Borodino,
at Kosovo Polje and Guernica.
There is a gas station
in a small plaza in Jericho,
and freshly painted
benches near Bila Hora.
Letters travel
between Pearl Harbor and Hastings,
a furniture truck passes
before the eyes of the lion of Cheronea,
and only an atmospheric front advances
towards the blossoming orchards near Verdun.
There is so much of Everything
that Nothing is quite well concealed.
Music flows
from yachts near Actium
and couples on board dance in the sunlight.
So much keeps happening,
that it must be happening everywhere.
Where stone is heaped on stone,
there is an ice cream truck
besieged by children.
Where Hiroshima had been,
Hiroshima is again
manufacturing products
for everyday use.
Not without its charms is this terrible world,
not without its mornings
worth our waking.
In the fields of Maciejowice
the grass is green
and on the grass is -- you know how grass is --
transparent dew.
Maybe there are no fields other than battlefields,
those still remembered,
and those long forgotten,
birch woods and cedar woods,
snows and sands, iridescent swamps,
and ravines of dark defeat
where today, in sudden need,
you squat behind a bush.
What moral flows from this? Maybe none.
But what really flows is quickly-drying blood,
and as always, some rivers and clouds.
On the tragic mountain passes
the wind blows hats off heads
and we cannot help--
but laugh.
Ancient Archive-for topics 5-6 mos old
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quikstrike98
- Enthusiastic Fan
- Posts: 289
- Joined: Mon Oct 09, 2006 4:36 am
- Location: St. Louis
Poetry
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.
--John Stuart Mill
--John Stuart Mill
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romanceismusic
- Owen's Helper
- Posts: 1797
- Joined: Mon Sep 25, 2006 3:53 am
- Location: Colorado
So i made this for all of you that participated in Cassieiswatching and beyond:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ruqnRghHOI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ruqnRghHOI
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rachelalexis
- The Order of Denderah
- Posts: 4104
- Joined: Fri Sep 22, 2006 2:20 pm
- Location: Making a collage of Columbia and Magenta
One of my personal favorites, by Percy Bysse Shelley
Ozymandias
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away
Ozymandias
I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away
FuturePeter is my make believe boyfriend.
When in doubt, go straight to sex. --Jack Coleman (HRG)
When in doubt, go straight to sex. --Jack Coleman (HRG)
-
AutoPilate
- The Order of Denderah
- Posts: 4338
- Joined: Wed Oct 18, 2006 7:56 am
- Location: Vatican City State (Holy See)
- Contact:
This one's a bit long, but it's my favourite poem of all time. MY AVATAR WILL FIGHT ANYONE WHO THINKS OTHERWISE! 
Anyway, here it is, please note that some of the spacing is off because of the way these phpBB sites parse out leading whitespace.
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
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.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Anyway, here it is, please note that some of the spacing is off because of the way these phpBB sites parse out leading whitespace.The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
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.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Why was there BACON IN THE SOAP?!
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rachelalexis
- The Order of Denderah
- Posts: 4104
- Joined: Fri Sep 22, 2006 2:20 pm
- Location: Making a collage of Columbia and Magenta
Oooooh, T.S. Eliot. Well played sir, well played.AutoPilate wrote:I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
I hadn't read this poem before, but this line made me chuckle. If you've ever seen the movie Blown Away with Tommy Lee Jones and Jeff Bridges, there's a part where TLJ pulls lobsters out of a bag and mimes them saying "I should ave been a pair of ragged claws" "You are a pair of ragged claws" and then fighting. That's my stupid eureka moment from reading the poem is knowing what that refers to.
Yeah, I'm a massive dork.
FuturePeter is my make believe boyfriend.
When in doubt, go straight to sex. --Jack Coleman (HRG)
When in doubt, go straight to sex. --Jack Coleman (HRG)
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Mirage
- Hymn of One
- Posts: 8652
- Joined: Fri Sep 15, 2006 7:07 pm
- Location: I say! I'm going to crush your city!
As usual.cup o' noodles wrote:
hot e-present wrapping going on i see.
But in all serious, you guys ARE welcome to wrap my presents for me.
When I was a kid I'd just hand them off to my mom to wrap. If I do that now, it'll take me another week to go back and pick them up. I'd never get anything done! 
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Broken Kid
- Site Admin
- Posts: 5214
- Joined: Thu Sep 14, 2006 10:33 am
That was fun, Romance!romanceismusic wrote:ummm so here is my youtube URL.
my videos are mainly stupid...and have a sort of drunken nature to them...But im sure i had a blast making them
I LOVERLY YOU CB!!!!!!
http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=romanceismusic
**prepare to be stupified**
So cute! I liked it!President of the Owen Fan Club
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GoodGollyItsHolly
- P. Monkey's Agent
- Posts: 2079
- Joined: Thu Oct 19, 2006 7:57 pm
- Location: Pacey Whitters Arms
people in my family always make me do it all. I love wrapping! I devote entire days to wrapping!
Im sorry; you must have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Anastasia Beaverhousen.
Jonas Is OBSESSED!!
http://one.revver.com/watch/297382/flv/affiliate/48242
Jonas Is OBSESSED!!
http://one.revver.com/watch/297382/flv/affiliate/48242
-
GoodGollyItsHolly
- P. Monkey's Agent
- Posts: 2079
- Joined: Thu Oct 19, 2006 7:57 pm
- Location: Pacey Whitters Arms
If I Could Tell You
W. H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
W. H. Auden
Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.
The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.
Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.
Im sorry; you must have mistaken me for someone else. My name is Anastasia Beaverhousen.
Jonas Is OBSESSED!!
http://one.revver.com/watch/297382/flv/affiliate/48242
Jonas Is OBSESSED!!
http://one.revver.com/watch/297382/flv/affiliate/48242
-
quikstrike98
- Enthusiastic Fan
- Posts: 289
- Joined: Mon Oct 09, 2006 4:36 am
- Location: St. Louis
it may not always be so; and i say
it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
e. e. cummings
it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
e. e. cummings
War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse.
--John Stuart Mill
--John Stuart Mill
-
spaciegirlreturn
- The Order of Denderah
- Posts: 2761
- Joined: Tue Dec 19, 2006 8:37 pm
- Location: Jupiter
- Contact:
Please god, let yahoo maps route me in a logical manner today...or, at least, let my map guide me to the correct, general area. Also, break all the gates at the front of every neighborhood I have to visit and kill the robocops. Amen. I do not want to end up crying hysterically in my car on Swinton Ave. again. Thank you , lord.
Me and my key...same as it ever was.
-
wintermute
- Site Admin
- Posts: 4348
- Joined: Wed Sep 20, 2006 3:52 pm
- Location: Stalking Rae and gamejacking CiW
- Contact:
That reminds me of when I had a friend insist that they use MapQuest to find my house, even though I offered several times to give directions... Then they got lost, and spent all day driving around town, unable to find my house. Mapquest took them down an offramp, but didn't tell them where to turn. If they guessed correctly, they'd come to a Y in the road, so they'd have to guess again. Then, they'd have to guess which sidestreet to turn at or wind up at a medium-security prison. Then they'd have to guess which way to turn when that sidestreet eventually dead-ended. Long story short, Mapquest leaves people about 7 miles, and several turns, short of my house. A wrong guess, you're either lost in BFE or at a state prison. Not fun.spaciegirl wrote:Please god, let yahoo maps route me in a logical manner today...or, at least, let my map guide me to the correct, general area. Also, break all the gates at the front of every neighborhood I have to visit and kill the robocops. Amen. I do not want to end up crying hysterically in my car on Swinton Ave. again. Thank you , lord.
'mute
LG15.com's first (and so far only) former 2-time moderator (wanna go for three? )
Proud member of LG15 Defense Force.
Proud member of "The Five" (who have been "Tagged" by Hymn of One).
'vote 'mute in '08!
)Proud member of LG15 Defense Force.
Proud member of "The Five" (who have been "Tagged" by Hymn of One).
'vote 'mute in '08!
