Favorite poem?

A Sign-Seeker
Thomas Hardy


I MARK the months in liveries dank and dry,
The day-tides many-shaped and hued;
I see the nightfall shades subtrude,
And hear the monotonous hours clang negligently by.

I view the evening bonfires of the sun
On hills where morning rains have hissed;
The eyeless countenance of the mist
Pallidly rising when the summer droughts are done.

I have seen the lightning-blade, the leaping star,
The caldrons of the sea in storm,
Have felt the earthquake's lifting arm,
And trodden where abysmal fires and snowcones are.

I learn to prophesy the hid eclipse,
The coming of eccentric orbs;
To mete the dust the sky absorbs,
To weigh the sun, and fix the hour each planet dips.

I witness fellow earth-men surge and strive;
Assemblies meet, and throb, and part;
Death's soothing finger, sorrow's smart;
--All the vast various moils that mean a world alive.

But that I fain would wot of shuns my sense--
Those sights of which old prophets tell,
Those signs the general word so well,
Vouchsafed to their unheed, denied my watchings tense.

In graveyard green, behind his monument
To glimpse a phantom parent, friend,
Wearing his smile, and "Not the end!"
Outbreathing softly: that were blest enlightenment;

Or, if a dead Love's lips, whom dreams reveal
When midnight imps of King Decay
Delve sly to solve me back to clay,
Should leave some print to prove her spirit-kisses real;

Or, when Earth's Frail lie bleeding of her Strong,
If some Recorder, as in Writ,
Near to the weary scene should flit
And drop one plume as pledge that Heaven inscrolls the wrong.

--There are who, rapt to heights of trancéd trust,
These tokens claim to feel and see,
Read radiant hints of times to be--
Of heart to heart returning after dust to dust.

Such scope is granted not my powers indign...
I have lain in dead men's beds, have walked
The tombs of those with whom I'd talked,
Called many a gone and goodly one to shape a sign,

And panted for response. But none replies;
No warnings loom, nor whisperings
To open out my limitings,
And Nescience mutely muses: When a man falls he lies.

Dies Irae

ON that great, that awful day,
This vain world shall pass away.
Thus the sibyl sang of old,
Thus hath holy David told.
There shall be a deadly fear
When the Avenger shall appear,
And unveiled before his eye
All the works of man shall lie.
Hark! to the great trumpet's tones
Pealing o'er the place of bones:
Hark! it waketh from their bed
All the nations of the dead,--
In a countless throng to meet,
At the eternal judgment seat.
Nature sickens with dismay,
Death may not retain its prey;
And before the Maker stand
All the creatures of his hand.
The great book shall be unfurled,
Whereby God shall judge the world;
What was distant shall be near,
What was hidden shall be clear.
To what shelter shall I fly?
To what guardian shall I cry?
Oh, in that destroying hour,
Source of goodness, Source of power,
Show thou, of thine own free grace,
Help unto a helpless race.
Though I plead not at thy throne
Aught that I for thee have done,
Do not thou unmindful be,
Of what thou hast borne for me:
Of the wandering, of the scorn,
Of the scourge, and of the thorn.
Jesus, hast thou borne the pain,
And hath all been borne in vain?
Shall thy vengeance smite the head
For whose ransom thou hast bled?
Thou, whose dying blessing gave
Glory to a guilty slave:
Thou, who from the crew unclean
Didst release the Magdalene:
Shall not mercy vast and free,
Evermore be found in thee?
Father, turn on me thine eyes,
See my blushes, hear my cries;
Faint though be the cries I make,
Save me for thy mercy's sake,
From the worm, and from the fire,
From the torments of thine ire.
Fold me with the sheep that stand
Pure and safe at thy right hand.
Hear thy guilty child implore thee,
Rolling in the dust before thee.
Oh the horrors of that day!
When this frame of sinful clay,
Starting from its burial place,
Must behold thee face to face.
Hear and pity, hear and aid,
Spare the creatures thou hast made.
Mercy, mercy, save, forgive,
Oh, who shall look on thee and live?

Thomas Babbington Macaulay {Dies Irae, Dies Illa. from the Gregorian chant translated means "Day of wrath, Day of Mourning" which is sung in the Mass for the Dead...Roman Catholic High Mass}

I will come to you in the day time.
I will raise you from your sleep.
I will kiss you in four places,
as I go running down your street.
And I will squeeze the life right out of you.
I will make you laugh and make you cry.
And we may never forget it
'cuz we had the time of our life.
And now all the good times are through.
And I will always love you.
So shed your tears, let's get it over.
I will come to you in at night time.
I will put you to bed.
I will say I love you.
And I won't be happy even when you're dreaming,
because I know I will bleeding
when I tell you, darlin', I'm leaving.
But let's put that aside and have some fun.
We'll never forget it even when we're done.
Because we had the time of our life,
and now that is through.
Please baby, don't cry when I say I love you.
Because now it's time to leave
and we may never forget it.
So baby please say good bye.
Don't shed a tear, no please don't cry.
Together we are, but now miles apart.
The inches between seem like light years.
Emptyness runs down my face in the form of tears.
-- Submitted by Jeff Fair from Centereach
e-mail: [email protected]
{To Logos: This posting is a test as I found alot of poetry advertised as poetry from all over the world, adjusted by subject matter...cr issues are unclear}

To me, no poem can ever be the equal of,



THANATOPSIS

by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)

O him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels ! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s’est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Éternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l’azur comme un sphinx incompris ;
J’unis un cœur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes ;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j’ai l’air d’emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d’austères études ;

Car j’ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles :
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles !


Charles Baudelaire

Cors de chasse

Notre histoire est noble et tragique
Comme le masque d'un tyran
Nul drame hasardeux ou magique
Aucun détail indifférent
Ne rend notre amour pathétique

Et Thomas de Quincey buvant
L'opium poison doux et chaste
A sa pauvre Anna allait rêvant
Passons passons puisque tout passe
Je me retournerai souvent
[The two last lines are some of my favorite... incredible]

Les souvenirs sont cors de chasse
Dont meurt le bruit parmi le vent

-Apollinaire

Hercule et Omphalle

Le cul
D'Ophalle
Vaincu
S'affale.

- "Sens-tu
Mon phalle
Aigu
- "Quel mâle!...

Le chien
Me crève!...
Quel rêve?...

- ...Tiens bien?"
Hercule
L'encule.

-Apollinaire

More grotesque but very funny especially in their context, they are from Gargantua and Pantagruel by Rabelais. The young Gargantua is reciting them (I do not like the english translations of them):

Chiard,
Foirard,
Pétard,
Brenous,
Ton lard,
Chappard,
S'épart,
Sur nous,
Ordous,
Merdous,
Egous,
Le feu de saint Antoine t'ard,
Si tous
Te trous
Eclous
Ne torches avant ton départ.

Rondeau

En chiant, l'autre hier, senti
La gabelle qu'à mon cul dois;
L'odeur fut autre que cuidois;
J'en fus du tout empuanti.
Oh! si quelqu'un eut consenti
M'amener une qu'attendais
En chiant!

Car je lui eusse acimenti
Son trou d'urine à mon lourdois;
Cependant eût avec ses doigts
Mon trou de merde garanti
En chiant!

-Young Gargantua to his father Grandgousier

To *_Annabel Lee_* & Etienne: Could I request a translation from you French speaking poetry lovers? Your own would be fine. quasimodo1

"Th' Expense of Spirit in a Waste of Shame"

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, muderous bloody, full of blame,
Savage, exstreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight:
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having,and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof; and proved a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream,
All this the world knows well; yet none knows well,
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
~William Shakespeare

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by quasimodo1

To *_Annabel Lee_* & Etienne: Could I request a translation from you French speaking poetry lovers? Your own would be fine. quasimodo1

---

Hunting horns

Our story’s noble as its tragic
like the grimace of a tyrant
no drama’s chance or magic
no detail that’s indifferent
makes our great love pathetic

And Thomas de Quincey drinking
Opiate poison sweet and chaste
Of his poor Anne went dreaming
We pass we pass since all must pass
Often I’ll be returning

Memories are hunting horns alas
whose note along the wind is dying

-Apollinaire

My favourite poem is an excerpt from 'Tamburlaine the Great' Part I. The text is as follows:

"Nature, that fram'd us of our four elements
Warring within our breasts for regiment,
Doth teach us all to have aspiring minds.
Our souls, whose faculties can comprehend
The wondrous architecture of the world,
And measure every wandering planet's course,
Still climbing after knowledge infinite,
And always moving as the restless spheres,
Wills us to wear ourselves and never rest,
Until we reach the ripest fruit of all,
That perfect bliss and sole felicity,
The sweet fruition of an earthly crown."

When it comes to "poem as a poem"... H. G. Hopkins' "The Windhover".

"The Windhover"

To Christ our Lord


I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

For lo! thy law is passed
That this my love should manifestly be
To serve and honor thee;
And so I do; and my delight is full,
Accepted for the servant of thy rule.

“Without almost, I am all rapturous,
Since thus my will was set
To serve, thou flower of joy, thine excellence;
Nor ever seems it anything could rouse
A pain or regret,
But on thee dwells mine every thought and sense;
Considering that from thee all virtues spread
As from a fountain head,—
That in thy gift is wisdom’s best avail,
And honor without fail;
With whom each sovereign good dwells separate,
Fulfilling the perfection of thy state.

“Lady, since I conceived
That pleasurable aspect in my heart,
My life has been apart
In shining brightness and the place of truth;
Which till that time, good sooth,
Groped among shadows in a darken’d place,
Where many hours and days
It hardly ever had remember’d good.
But now my servitude
Is thine, and I am full of joy and rest.
A man from a wild beast
Thou madest me, since for thy love I lived.

To White camellia: OK, who is the author?

i like the raven

Hi, I'm new here! Thought I share one of my favorites poems:

"Hope' is the thing with feathers"

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all

And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea
Yet, never in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of Me

Emily Dickinson

Welcome to the litnet Fawkes. quasimodo1

How Do We Mend A Broken Heart

How do we mend our broken hearts,
When our loved one has been untrue,
Surrounded with lies and deception,
After hearing the words I love only you.

Self esteem is now at an all time low,
Confidence has taken wings and flew,
Your trust in love has been shattered,
Now alone in a world with just you.

Falling tears that you cried leave you empty,
Your faith once so strong is now weak,
The love that you fought and sacrificed for,
Leaves you devastated and unable to speak.

The words keep haunting you day after day,
All the stories you once thought were true,
Asking yourself the same question once more,
Now what on earth shall I do.

Cracks and holes have pierced through your heart,
From someone who had claimed to love you,
Seem so slow in becoming whole once again,
But heal faster from what you can do!

Do not sit alone contemplating your past,
Self pity has hooks made of steel,
Hold your head way up high when your walking,
Be thankful no more hurt will you feel.

And please do not ever give up on love,
Take the lessons you've learned and be wise,
Make certain when someone says they love you,
It will not bring about your demise!

There are men and women who are genuine and true,
Who've been victims of lies and deceit,
So never give up on your dreams for happiness,
A true love is waiting just for you to meet!

If It’s Okay With You

You are the love of a lifetime
I’ve always wanted as mine.”
You are everything I’ve ever wanted
and so much more than that,
and my heart tells me every second
of every minute
of every hour
of every day
that “you are the special soul mate
I always hoped I’d find.
You are the one perfect person in my life,
everything I always hoped for… my secret
dream that swept me off my feet and really
did come true.
You have the warmth of the morning sun in
your spirit, and you have a gentle soul that
I always want to be close to. I deeply, dearly,
and happily love you,” and I will until the end of time.
“And there will never be a day when I will
take even one moment of that joy and that
sweetness for granted.” You make a certain sense
of tranquility embed itself in my mind, and you
make me feel like a better person. I will never ask
for anything more from you, because you are the best
how you are, right here, right now. “I know what a
gift you are… and I want you to know it, too.
You have an amazing way of touching
my heart, and you have a way of turning
every day into a time and a place where
the nicest feelings and the deepest gratitude
all come together. I have such an immense
amount of thanks and appreciation for all this.”
You are truly the best thing that has ever
happened to me, and I could never ask for
anything else, because there is nothing in the
entire world that could make me happier
than you do when I’m around you.
You are the only one for me,
“and if it’s okay with you,
I’d love to go on loving you
forever.”

HYMN TO APOLLO
God of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!

The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
Why touch thy soft lute
Till the thunder was mute,
Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
O Delphic Apollo!

The Pleiades were up,
Watching the silent air;
The seeds and roots in Earth
Were swelling for summer fare;
The Ocean, its neighbour,
Was at his old labour,
When, who---who did dare
To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
And grin and look proudly,
And blaspheme so loudly,
And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
O Delphic Apollo!

my favourite poem is below and my favourite poet is Emily Dickenson

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by protagonist

my favourite poem is below and my favourite poet is Emily Dickenson

I'm Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us?
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

---

I like this one. :)

My haert is broken!!!!

My heart is broken
and i am torn
between my life
between my all

my heart is broken
my life is gone
all my dreams
everything crushed

my heart is broken
in a million places
living alone
a lonely life

my heart is broken
without you here
my heart is broken
like never before

Fred Cogswell- The Butterfly

A pretty boy --- with an auctioneer.
Bargaining there, I fancy.

:lol: Written by the Roman poet Catullus.

Hi everyone, I'm new here! (I've been visiting the site for quite some time, but I've just now joined the forums)
This is my favorite
it is by Yousef Komunyakaa

"We Never Know"

He danced with tall grass
for a moment, like he was swaying
with a woman. Our gun barrels
glowed white-hot.
When I got to him,
a blue halo
of flies had already claimed him.
I pulled the crumbed photograph
from his fingers.
There's no other way
to say this: I fell in love.
The morning cleared again,
except for a distant mortar
& somewhere choppers taking off.
I slid the wallet into his pocket
& turned him over, so he wouldn't be
kissing the ground.

and also this one by Thomas Lux
"Refrigerator 1957"
More like a vault -- you pull the handle out
and on the shelves: not a lot,
and what there is (a boiled potato
in a bag, a chicken carcass
under foil) looking dispirited,
drained, mugged. This is not
a place to go in hope or hunger.
But, just to the right of the middle
of the middle door shelf, on fire, a lit-from-within red,
heart red, sexual red, wet neon red,
shining red in their liquid, exotic,
aloof, slumming
in such company: a jar
of maraschino cherries. Three-quarters
full, fiery globes, like strippers
at a church social. Maraschino cherries, maraschino,
the only foreign word I knew. Not once
did I see these cherries employed: not
in a drink, nor on top
of a glob of ice cream,
or just pop one in your mouth. Not once.
The same jar there through an entire
childhood of dull dinners -- bald meat,
pocked peas and, see above,
boiled potatoes. Maybe
they came over from the old country,
family heirlooms, or were status symbols
bought with a piece of the first paycheck
from a sweatshop,
which beat the pig farm in Bohemia,
handed down from my grandparents
to my parents
to be someday mine,
then my child's?
They were beautiful
and, if I never ate one,
it was because I knew it might be missed
or because I knew it would not be replaced
and because you do not eat
that which rips your heart with joy.

Grace Of God!!!!!

Surround me Gods.
Gods are worshipped by me.
As I sit in a room.
Looking am at all the posters.
Posters of gods and goddesses.
Colourful being the posters.
As colourful is the colour of worshipping.
Different being the ways of worshipping.
Goal being the same.
Which is to impress through impressions created by us in the eyes of god.
Look us for ways to impress the almighty.
Use us prayers to pray.
So we can reach the gods.
Gods who are listeners of our needs.
Needs which need fulfillment.
As he is all we got.
Got as he is our guide.
Guide for our guidance.
Guidance required to help us.
Help us through rocky patches.
Patches patch as it is life.
Life being a blessing.
Of one who blessed us.
To live and survive.
As we are needed to learn from life.
Which is a blessing.
Given to us by the one known as creator.
Creator of creations.
Which surround me.

Books and Thoughts - By Aldous Huxley

Old ghosts that death forgot to ferry
Across the Lethe of the years-
These are my friends, and at their tears
I weep and with their mirth am merry.
On a high tower, whose mattlements
Give me all heaven at a glance,
I lie long summer nights in trance,
Drowsed by the murmurs and the scents
That rise from the earth, while the sky above me
Merges its peace with my soul's peace,
Deep meeting deep. No stir can move me,
Nought break the quiet of my release:

In vain the windy sunlight raves
At the hush and gloom of polar caves.

*battlements*....... my bad :)

"There be none of Beauty's daughters
with a Magic like thee.
And like Music on the water
is thy sweet voice to me."
Lord Byron

Love

Love is like a lump of gold,
Hard to get, and hard to hold.
Of all the girls I've ever met,
You're the one I can't forget.
I do believe that God above,
Created you for me to love.
He chose you from all the rest,
Because he knew I would love you best.

Have You?
Have You ever loved someone
But knew they didn't care?
Have You ever felt like crying
But Knew you'd get no where?

Have you ever looked into their eyes
And said a little prayer?
Have you ever looked into their hearts
And wished that you were there?

Have you ever felt their heartbeat,
When the lights were turned down low?
Have you ever whispered "God, I love You"
But you'll never let me show?

Love is grand, yet it hurts so much.
The price you pay is high.
If I could choose between Love and Death,
I'd rather choose to die.

So do not fall in love, my friend,
It doesn't pay a dime.
It only causes broken hearts,
Yet it happens all the time.

So do not fall in love, my friend,
You'll hurt before it's through.
I ought to know, my friend -
I fell in love with you.

Pablo Neruda... "Ode With a Lament"

If.. you ever need me...
If ever you need me,
I'll be right here,
To chase away the sadness,
And wipe away a tear.

If ever you need me,
I'll be two steps behind,
To follow in your footsteps,
And hear what's on your mind.

If ever you need me,
You'll never have to fear,
That your presence isn't important,
And your love isn't dear.

If ever you need me,
I'll always be around,
To bring back the laughter,
Where deep in your heart it's found.

You'll never have to worry,
For I'll always be here,
To chase away the sadness,
And wipe away a tear

longfellows "the tide rises the tide falls"
thats why im an english
he painted a picture in words as music can paint pictures

Zone
by Guillaume Apollinaire
Translated by Donald Revell


At last you're tired of this elderly world

Shepherdess O Eiffel Tower this morning the bridges are bleating

You're fed up living with antiquity

Even the automobiles are antiques
Religion alone remains entirely new religion
Remains as simple as an airport hangar

In all Europe only you O Christianism are not old
The most modem European Pope Pius X it's you
The windows watch and shame has sealed
The confessionals against you this morning
Flyers catalogs hoardings sing aloud
Here's poetry this morning and for prose you're reading the tabloids
Disposable paperbacks filled with crimes and police
Biographies of great men a thousand various titles

I saw a pretty street this morning I forgot the name
New and cleanly it was the sun's clarion
Executives laborers exquisite stenographers
Criss-cross Monday through Saturday four times daily
Three times every morning sirens groan
At the lunch hour a rabid bell barks
The lettering on the walls and billboards
the doorplates and posters twitters parakeet-style
I love the swank of that street
Situated in Paris between the rue Aumont-Thieville and the avenue des Ternes

Here's the young street and you're still a baby
Dressed by your mother in blue and white only
You're very pious and with your oldest friend Rene Dalize
Nothing is more fun than Masses and Litanies


It's nine o'clock the gaslight is low you leave your bed
You pray all night in the school chapel
Meanwhile an eternal adorable amethyst depth
Christ's flamboyant halo spins forever
Behold the beautiful lily of worship
Behold the red-haired torch inextinguishable
Behold the pale son and scarlet of the dolorous Mother
Behold the tree forever tufted with prayer
Behold the double gallows honor and eternity
Behold the six-pointed star
Behold the God who dies on Friday and rises on Sunday
Behold the Christ who flies higher than aviators
He holds the world's record for altitude

Christ pupil of the eye
Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff
And bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky
Devils in the abyss look up to watch
They say this century mimics Simon Magus in Judea
It takes a thief to catch a thief they cry
Angels flutter around the pretty trapeze act
Icarus Enoch Elijah Apollonius of Tyana
Hover as close to the airplane as they can
Sometimes they give way to other men hauling the Eucharist
Priests eternally climbing the elevating Host
The plane descends at last its wings unfolded
bursts into a million swallows
Full speed come the crows the owls and falcons
From Africa ibis storks flamingoes
The Roc-bird famous with writers and poets
Glides Adam's skull the original head in its talons
The horizon screams an eagle pouncing
And from America there comes a hummingbird
From China sinuous peehees
Who have only one wing and who fly in couples
And here's a dove immaculate spirit
Escorted by lyre-bird and shimmery peacock

Phoenix the pyre the self-resurrected
Obscures everything ardently briefly with ash
The sirens abandon their perilous channels
Each one singing more beautifully arrives
Everyone eagle Phoenix Chinese peehees
Eager to befriend a machine that flies

You are walking in Paris alone inside a crowd
Herds of buses bellow and come too close
Love-anguish clutches your throat
You must never again be loved
In the Dark Ages you would have entered a monastery
You are ashamed to overhear yourself praying
You laugh at yourself and the laughter crackles like hellfire
The sparks gild the ground and background of your life
Your life is a painting in a dark museum
And sometimes you examine it closely

You are walking in Paris the women are bloodsoaked
It was and I have no wish to remember it was the end of beauty

In Chartres from her entourage of flames Our Lady beamed at me
The blood of your Sacred Heart drenched me in Montmartre
I'm sick of hearing blissful promises
The love I feel is a venereal disease
And the image possessing you in your pain your insomnia
Vanishes and it is always near you

And now you are on the Riviera
Under lemon trees that never stop blooming
You are boating with friends
One is from Nice one is from Menton two from La Turbie
We are staring terrified at giant squid
At fish the symbols of Jesus swimming through seaweed

You are in the garden at an inn outside of Prague
You are completely happy a rose is on the table
And instead of getting on with your short-story
You watch the rosebug sleeping in the rose's heart

Appalled you see yourself reproduced in the agates of Saint Vitus
You were sad near to death to see yourself there
You looked as bewildered as Lazarus
In the Jewish ghetto the clock runs backwards
And you go backwards also through a slow life
Climbing the Hradchen listening at nightfall
To Bohemian songs in the singing taverns

You in Marseilles among the watermelons

Yu in Coblenz at the Hotel Gigantic

You in Rome beneath a Japanese tree

You in Amsterdam with a girl you find pretty who is ugly
She's engaged to marry a student from Leyden
Where you can rent rooms in Latin Cubicula locanda
I remember spending three days there and three in Gouda

You are in Paris hauled before the magistrate
You are under arrest you are a criminal now

You went on sorrowful and giddy travels
Ignorant still of dishonesty and old age
Love afflicted you at twenty and again at thirty
I've lived like a fool and I've wasted my time
You dare not look at your hands I want to weep all the time
On you on the one I love on everything that frightened you

And now you are crying at the sight of refugees
Who believe in God who pray whose women nurse babies
The hall of the train station is filled with the refugee-smell
Like the Magi refugees believe in their star
They expect to find silver mines in the Argentine
And to return like kings to their abandoned countries
One family carries a red eiderdown you carry your heart
Eiderdown and dreams are equally fantastic

Some of the refugees stay on in Paris settling
Into slums on the rue des Rosiers or the rue des Ecouffes
I have seen them often at dusk they breathe at their doorways
They budge from home as reluctantly as chessmen
They are chiefly Jewish the women wear wigs
And haunt backrooms of little shops in little chairs

You're standing at the metal counter of some dive
Drinking wretched coffee where the wretched live

You are in a cavernous restaurant at night

These women are not evil they are used-up regretful
Each has tormented someone even the ugliest

She is the daughter of a police sergeant from Jersey

Her hands I'd never noticed are hard and cracked

My pity aches along the seams of her belly

I humble my mouth to her grotesque laughter

You're alone when morning comes
The milkmen jingle bottles in the street

Night beautiful courtesan the night withdraws
Fraudulent Ferdine or careful Leah

And you drink an alcohol as caustic as your life
Your life you drink as alcohol

You walk to Auteuil you want to go on foot to sleep
At home among your South Sea and Guinean fetishes
Christs of another shape another faith
Subordinate Christs of uncertain hopes

Goodbye Goodbye

Sun cut throated

The Darkling Thrush - Thomas Hardy

I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.

If I had to pick one I would probably go with Keats' "To Autumn".

Paradise Lost By John Milton :yawnb:

Dedication to M.


Swing of the heart. O firmly hung, fastened on what
invisible branch. Who, who gave you the push,
that you swung with me into the leaves?
How near I was to the exquisite fruits. But not-staying
is the essence of this motion. Only the nearness, only
toward the forever-too-high, all at once the possible
nearness. Vicinities, then
from an irresistibly swung-up-to place
-already, once again, lost-the new sight, the outlook.
And now: the commanded return
back and across and into equilbrium's arms.
Below, in between, hesitation, the pull of earth, the passage
through the turning-point of the heavy-, past it: and the
catapult stretches,
weighted with the heart's curiosity,
to the other side, opposite, upward.
Again how different, how new! How they envy each other
at the ends of the rope, these opposite halves of pleasure.


{first stanza}