deguonis
07-25-2013, 01:12 PM
A Matter of Graveness
The startled members dreamt no more,
I will not madly deem that power,
Among pigeons and bees, while the great Archer,
so far as children are concerned,
seemed to lift and bear them away
In a shower of gold, say fables of gold,
such tricks and such meanings abound on the lips
to have lit upon as clean and sweet a tale
and having perhaps the better claim
yours is the Earth and everything that's in it
Under the bludgeoning of chance
the beauty is kinder, yet for a reason,
that cannot fly
chasing the prey
who never did a thousand things
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
that floats on high over vales and hills
in haste and hurry to be there
and waits until it strikes, alas!
because the springtime has not come
Floating, white and close
I pace upon the battlements and stare,
fallen cold and dead
with a man's unskillful art,
on the prairie
The tireless thunder of a sadder sea,
With the Lord's legions led by clamorous care,
The noise of little lives and brave, of needy lives and high;
To him that sits thereon
on the big mahogany table
something so conditional
ignorance made me forlorn
in an instant
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
with small desert of praise or blame
There are worse plagues on Earth than tears,
And cautiously I move about the place
And if you ask me how,
There walks another love with me
and we were lingering to and fro
I will enter the heart of the hills where the Gods of the old world are gone
and so make life, death and that vast for-ever
to fate's implacable eyes and withering breadth
since what hath been will be
and there by thee will hum the bee
and there will safely ride when we are gone
In that rich Earth a richer dust concealed,
It took dominion everywhere
And swift things have grown slow
In autumns that there were,
under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
far apart, far away in the gusty time of year
Shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay,
Shall you and she meet yet?
To keep my branches green,
To wash away my stubborn thought,
All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
Whose matter in thee is soon spent
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
along the wind, along the estuary?
so whilst our infant loves did grow
a canker worked into that crimson flower
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
no one spoke of him again.
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
No matter what may be your bodily ills
And so by touch and shadow, glimpse and gleam,
that what he did would maybe help them grow --
Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night,
COME away, come away, death.
***
I'd like to mention that I wrote none of these lines. Each of these lines is taken from other poets' poems. Each line is from a different poem by a different author. I'll mention them if needed. I'm just doing an experiment. I think this is called "Found Poetry". Still and all, this looks like a truly good poem indeed. Doesn't it?
The startled members dreamt no more,
I will not madly deem that power,
Among pigeons and bees, while the great Archer,
so far as children are concerned,
seemed to lift and bear them away
In a shower of gold, say fables of gold,
such tricks and such meanings abound on the lips
to have lit upon as clean and sweet a tale
and having perhaps the better claim
yours is the Earth and everything that's in it
Under the bludgeoning of chance
the beauty is kinder, yet for a reason,
that cannot fly
chasing the prey
who never did a thousand things
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
that floats on high over vales and hills
in haste and hurry to be there
and waits until it strikes, alas!
because the springtime has not come
Floating, white and close
I pace upon the battlements and stare,
fallen cold and dead
with a man's unskillful art,
on the prairie
The tireless thunder of a sadder sea,
With the Lord's legions led by clamorous care,
The noise of little lives and brave, of needy lives and high;
To him that sits thereon
on the big mahogany table
something so conditional
ignorance made me forlorn
in an instant
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
with small desert of praise or blame
There are worse plagues on Earth than tears,
And cautiously I move about the place
And if you ask me how,
There walks another love with me
and we were lingering to and fro
I will enter the heart of the hills where the Gods of the old world are gone
and so make life, death and that vast for-ever
to fate's implacable eyes and withering breadth
since what hath been will be
and there by thee will hum the bee
and there will safely ride when we are gone
In that rich Earth a richer dust concealed,
It took dominion everywhere
And swift things have grown slow
In autumns that there were,
under the blanching, vertical eye-glare
far apart, far away in the gusty time of year
Shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay,
Shall you and she meet yet?
To keep my branches green,
To wash away my stubborn thought,
All made of the back-bedroom chairs,
Whose matter in thee is soon spent
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
along the wind, along the estuary?
so whilst our infant loves did grow
a canker worked into that crimson flower
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
no one spoke of him again.
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
No matter what may be your bodily ills
And so by touch and shadow, glimpse and gleam,
that what he did would maybe help them grow --
Peered from his dripping seat across the wet and stormy night,
COME away, come away, death.
***
I'd like to mention that I wrote none of these lines. Each of these lines is taken from other poets' poems. Each line is from a different poem by a different author. I'll mention them if needed. I'm just doing an experiment. I think this is called "Found Poetry". Still and all, this looks like a truly good poem indeed. Doesn't it?