A crowd
Of daffodils
Sways in a bright meadow
Wordsworth paints a pretty picture
Poets
A crowd
Of daffodils
Sways in a bright meadow
Wordsworth paints a pretty picture
Poets
Last edited by _JadeRain_; 07-02-2007 at 01:56 PM.
FRANCISCO
For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
Hamlet Act I Scene I
Poets,
different children,
learned late to hide your heart,
found a strength in the tender ways
of love
of love
there is no end
like the circle of life
it goes on and on forever
turning
Turning over there
and coming back
this is love
always and forever
No end
No problem for me and I don't mean to be a stickler but maybe a review of the 'rules'.Originally Posted by Riesa
hmm a little deviation from the form but since there's still 2 syllables at the end i guess i can continue...
No end
to the rigors;
and still, down the deep bend
of duty, and forbearance, soars--
uproars.
.
...the smell of flowers through metal labyrinths.
Uproars,
Wild riotous
Assemblies, for a cause,
Or, the Masters say, malicious
Purpose.
Voices mysterious far and near,
Sound of the wind and sound of the sea,
Are calling and whispering in my ear,
Whifflingpin! Why stayest thou here?
purpose,
a weeping face
above the falling rain,
a sliding smile in granite skies
twinkling.
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
- John Berryman
twinkling
the dark night sees
across the midnight sky
peering through seeking direction
turning
Turning
The seasons change
Nature withers and dies
Spring comes and life starts anew
Rebirth
Last edited by _JadeRain_; 07-04-2007 at 03:01 PM.
FRANCISCO
For this relief much thanks: 'tis bitter cold,
And I am sick at heart.
Hamlet Act I Scene I
rebirth
it happens when
your inside earth grumbles
and your outer plates cause friction
pushing
pushing
the options out
and thereby welcoming
the agonies, doubting about
the doubts
.
...the smell of flowers through metal labyrinths.
the doubts
freeze me in place
I grow numb waiting now
for a smart man to thaw me out
hurry
hurry
this is not me
I stop to watch rain fall
and listen for the Monarchs wings
passing
passing
lone island fluff,
swaying spokelike tendrils
that leap sugared curves across the
salt sea.
(dandelions, the light kind)
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into the mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
- John Berryman
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