Poetry - Printable Version +- Scivillage.com Casual Discussion Science Forum (https://www.scivillage.com) +-- Forum: Culture (https://www.scivillage.com/forum-49.html) +--- Forum: Art & Music (https://www.scivillage.com/forum-50.html) +--- Thread: Poetry (/thread-2910.html) |
Poetry - Leigha - Oct 4, 2016 By request, a poetry thread for this science village. Post your favorite poetry here, as well as any of your own creations. A Dream Within A Dream by Edgar Allan Poe Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow -- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand -- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep -- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? RE: Poetry - Zinjanthropos - Oct 5, 2016 Sometimes it just comes to me and I can do these things in minutes, like this one, but most of the time I'm not able to. Poetry inspiration just suddenly hits me and it's there, can't explain it, everything seems so clear and concise in my mind. Time for a trip down memory lane Wegsy, from the dot.com poetry thread: Here's to you wegs: To the tune of Love and Marriage wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies Go together like two caged canaries If this, is not obsession Then it's borderline depression wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies Winged pixies that the wind just carries With wands, dispensing magic Don't swat that itch, it could be tragic Fly, fly, fly away to Neverland It's your destination Say hi, hi, hi to little Tinkerbell It's sweet, imagination wegs and fairies, wegs and fairies All the way from the star Antares And if, they're wearing green skirts Then one might be, She might just be, She might just be Julia Roberts. RE: Poetry - Leigha - Oct 5, 2016 (Oct 5, 2016 12:45 AM)Zinjanthropos Wrote: Sometimes it just comes to me and I can do these things in minutes, like this one, but most of the time I'm not able to. Poetry inspiration just suddenly hits me and it's there, can't explain it, everything seems so clear and concise in my mind. Time for a trip down memory lane Wegsy, from the dot.com poetry thread: lol Perfect ending to my day. RE: Poetry - Magical Realist - Oct 5, 2016 "Fern Hill" by Dylan Thomas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xg-_ah0JfhU RE: Poetry - Secular Sanity - Oct 6, 2016 Each in His Own Tongue A FIRE-MIST and a planet, A crystal and a cell, A jelly-fish and a saurian, And caves where the cave-men dwell; Then a sense of law and beauty And a face turned from the clod -- Some call it Evolution, And others call it God. A haze on the far horizon, The infinite, tender sky, The ripe rich tint of the cornfileds, And the wild geese sailing high -- And all over upland and lowland The charm of the golden-rod -- Some of us call it Autumn And others call it God. Like tides on a crescent sea-beach, When the moon is new and thin, Into our hearts high yearnings Come welling and surging in -- Come from the mystic ocean, Whose rim no foot has trod, -- Some of us call it Longing, And others call it God. A picket frozen on duty, A mother starved for her brood, Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood; And millions who, humble and nameless, The straight, hard pathway plod, -- Some call it Consecration, And others call it God. by William Herbert Carruth RE: Poetry - Magical Realist - Oct 6, 2016 The House by the Side of the Road by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911) "There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the peace of their self-content; There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart, In a fellowless firmament; There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where highways never ran;- But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by- The men who are good and the men who are bad, As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner’s seat, Or hurl the cynic’s ban;- Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who are faint with the strife. But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears- Both parts of an infinite plan;- Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead And mountains of wearisome height; That the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan, Nor live in my house by the side of the road Like a man who dwells alone. Let me live in my house by the side of the road Where the race of men go by- They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish- so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat Or hurl the cynic’s ban?- Let me live in my house by the side of the road And be a friend to man." RE: Poetry - Zinjanthropos - Oct 8, 2016 Having some fun with 'ump' words The salacious, lustful Mr. Trump Was heard to say he'd love to hump His favorite girl, though slightly plump Upon soft mounded English tump He cannot hide emerging lump Some say more likened to a stump Dreaming of her every bump Extracts the presidential pump This is no ordinary schlump Nor bad-tempered surly grump Just a somewhat silly chump Aroused by unattractive frump So loud I hear the crashing thump A crescendo ending with a crump Followed by such heavy whump Onto his chair, a gentle slump To conclusions we can jump Did Donald really overpump? A new Republican mugwump? Or crazy over Hilary's rump? RE: Poetry - cosmictraveler - Nov 15, 2016 The Giving Tree - Poem by Shel Silverstein Once there was a tree.... and she loved a little boy. And everyday the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest. He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples. And they would play hide-and-go-seek. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree.... very much. And the tree was happy. But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.' 'I am too big to climb and play' said the boy. 'I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money?' 'I'm sorry,' said the tree, 'but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy.' And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. And the tree was happy. But the boy stayed away for a long time.... and the tree was sad. And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy and she said, 'Come, Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy.' 'I am too busy to climb trees,' said the boy. 'I want a house to keep me warm,' he said. 'I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house ?' ' I have no house,' said the tree. 'The forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.' And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house. And the tree was happy. But the boy stayed away for a long time. And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak. 'Come, Boy,' she whispered, 'come and play.' 'I am too old and sad to play,' said the boy. 'I want a boat that will take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?' 'Cut down my trunk and make a boat,' said the tree. 'Then you can sail away... and be happy.' And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away. And the tree was happy ... but not really. And after a long time the boy came back again. 'I am sorry, Boy,' said the tree,' but I have nothing left to give you - My apples are gone.' 'My teeth are too weak for apples,' said the boy. 'My branches are gone,' said the tree. ' You cannot swing on them - ' 'I am too old to swing on branches,' said the boy. 'My trunk is gone, ' said the tree. 'You cannot climb - ' 'I am too tired to climb' said the boy. 'I am sorry,' sighed the tree. 'I wish that I could give you something.... but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry....' 'I don't need very much now,' said the boy. 'just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.' 'Well,' said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, 'well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.' And the boy did. And the tree was happy. Shel Silverstein RE: Poetry - Leigha - Dec 24, 2016 RE: Poetry - Zinjanthropos - Dec 24, 2016 Wegsy: Felt inspired for a few minutes and started typing. Leigha, Leigha, little bird Passion for the written word And in the morning light was heard The meaning not so quite absurd, Unassuming, nor inferred Was to the softening breeze that whirred Life's instincts being gently stirred. |