Poetry

#1
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?
Reply
#2
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.
Reply
#3
(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:

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.

lol  Perfect ending to my day.  Heart
Reply
Reply
#5
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
Reply
#6
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."


[Image: House-by-the-Road-13-16original-140.jpg]
Reply
#7
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?
Reply
#8
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
Reply
#9

[Image: evening-star.jpg]
Reply
#10
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.
Reply




Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)