Poem of the Day

[Taliesin]

We once posted this poem by Liselotte Raune in another topic, but since it is a good one, we will post it here too:

First in German:

Als mein Vater
mich zum erstenmal fragte,
was ich mal werden will,
sagte ich nach kurzer Denkpause
"Ich möchte mal glücklich werden."
Sa sah mein Vater sehr unglücklich aus
aber dann bin ich
doch was anderes geworden
und alle waren mit mit zufrieden.

To translate loosely:

When my father
asked me for the first time
what I once want to be(come),
said I after a small thinking-pause:
"I want to be happy"
Then my father looked very unhappy
but then I
still became something else
and everyone was very pleased with me

[Hyacinth Girl]

I think this is a very poignant poem. Thank you Tal. It seems a commentary on parents' expectations for their children, as well as the ability to obtain happiness as an adult.

[hitchhiker]

Oh to be love
One may say it to be bliss
And if this may be this
Thier bliss be but of one tree in my forest
-Clark

[romeo boy]

I heard somebody talking about love so I am here because Love is My Reiligion. More Love Poems Dear.

[Scheherazade]

When I Consider How My Light Is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state
Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

John Milton

[Janine]

Beautiful Pushkin poem. Love it!

[Sylph]

Fatima by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

O Love, Love, Love! O withering might!
O sun, that from thy noonday height
Shudderest when I strain my sight,
Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light,
Lo, falling from my constant mind,
Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind,
I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.

Last night I wasted hateful hours
Below the city's eastern towers:
I thirsted for the brooks, the showers:
I roll'd among the tender flowers:
I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth;
I look'd athwart the burning drouth
Of that long desert to the south.

Last night, when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.
O Love, O fire! once he drew
With one long kiss my whole soul thro'
My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew.

Before he mounts the hill, I know
He cometh quickly: from below
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
Before him, striking on my brow.
In my dry brain my spirit soon,
Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,
Faints like a daled morning moon.

The wind sounds like a silver wire,
And from beyond the noon a fire
Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher
The skies stoop down in their desire;
And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight,
Bursts into blossom in his sight.

My whole soul waiting silently,
All naked in a sultry sky,
Droops blinded with his shining eye:
I will possess him or will die.
I will grow round him in his place,
Grow, live, die looking on his face,
Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace.

[ShoutGrace]

Here's a double whammy, just because it has been so long.





April 18

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight


"Metaphors,"

I'm a riddle in nine syllables.
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.


--- Sylvia Plath

[ShoutGrace]

To Those Without Pity


Cruel of heart, lay down my song.
Your reading eyes have done me wrong.
Not for you was the pen bitten,
And the mind wrung, and the song written.


Evening on Lesbos

Twice having seen your shingled heads adorable
Side by side, the onyx and the gold,
I know that I have had what I could not hold.

Twice have I entered the room, not knowing she was here.
Two agate eyes, two eyes of malachite,
Twice have been turned upon me, hard and bright.

Whereby I know my loss.
Oh, not restorable
Sweet incense, mounting in the windless night!


Both by Edna Millay.

[ShoutGrace]

Willie Nelson


“This looks like a December day.
This looks like a time to remember day.
And I remember a spring - such a sweet tender thing,
And love's summer college, where the green leaves of knowledge
Were waiting to fall with the fall . . .
And where September wine numbed a measure of time
Through the tears of October
Now November's over; and this looks like . . . a December day . . .


This looks like a December day, it looks like we've come to the end of the way
And as my memories race back to love's eager beginning
Reluctant to play with the thoughts of the ending - the ending that won't go away . . .


And as my memories race back to love's eager beginning
Reluctant to play with the thoughts of the ending - the ending that won't go away.
Yes, this looks like . . . a December day . . .”

[BSturdy]

I hope it is not too presumptious to ask for comments on this poem I have written. Whilst it is critical I believe I have the creative right to express myself. I will not go into the personal reasons - that would be wrong.



The Bitterer the Better (for Lucien Freud).


Shuffling love rat,
Paints half naked.
Likes music hall,
And poetry.

Grand pup of
Psycho analysis:
Attention seeking,
Fleeting novelty.

Smears on canvas,
His mauve droppings.
Like make-up,
Applied badly.

Shuns publicity!?
Cards held close.
Wizened egomaniac,
Public laundry.

One trick vermin,
Boring clique:
Lucifer, fraud,
Have some warfarin with your tea.

[Adolescent09]

Willie Nelson


“This looks like a December day.
This looks like a time to remember day.
And I remember a spring - such a sweet tender thing,
And love's summer college, where the green leaves of knowledge
Were waiting to fall with the fall . . .
And where September wine numbed a measure of time
Through the tears of October
Now November's over; and this looks like . . . a December day . . .


This looks like a December day, it looks like we've come to the end of the way
And as my memories race back to love's eager beginning
Reluctant to play with the thoughts of the ending - the ending that won't go away . . .


And as my memories race back to love's eager beginning
Reluctant to play with the thoughts of the ending - the ending that won't go away.
Yes, this looks like . . . a December day . . .”

Brilliant, I read it three times in a row.

[white shadows]

cant get it out of my head...

imagine all the thought that flowed intot his poem.

a clear masterpiece

[white shadows]

The moon shone bright

Under a midnight sky
The moon shone bright.
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
No stars were out for a
Walk at night.
No clouds hung around to
Talk to the Earth
Nothing more,
Nothing less.
Than a bright moon at night.

[BSturdy]

The Maserati Hilton Continues On:

It almost got her again:

I call a spade a lodestar
Did you call it a day?
Tomorrow crawls into my dreams
Rome was built and remains

She was mesmerised by the horrible old hypnotysing guy - yuk!

Lucien get some style guy you is rancid