Posted 9/16/2008 6:59 AM (#10235 - in reply to #10228) Subject: RE: Go ...
Location: No I'm not impersonating a cat! I'm a laughing Owl
THOU hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou life this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there's a voice within
That weeps... as thou sing...alone, aloof.
I LIFE my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her supulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up,... those laurels on thine head
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.
Posted 9/17/2008 1:53 PM (#10278 - in reply to #10268) Subject: RE: Go ...
Location: United Kingdom
How about this one dear Rose et al? Not sure that we have yet had it, but may have and forgotten .. !
(I think it would have been better if he had stopped at the first stanza, but that may just be me; I have this copied down years ago in my 'common-place' book)
We Are the Music-Makers
We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
Posted 9/17/2008 5:11 PM (#10287 - in reply to #10228) Subject: RE: Go ...
Location: California, USA
While we are sharing poetry, I thought I'd share some of mine...
I haven't been feeling very inspired lately... but here goes nothin'!
The Mad Scientist stays up late Reconstructing the perfect mate If you believe in nurture His plot is in vain If you believe in nature He can play God just the same
The Mad Scientist stays up late Breaking down the laws of fate His whole world’s a contradiction to him And he fights to change the wind A skeptic, a doubter is all he’s been He lives to live his life in sin
The Mad Scientist stays up late Conversing with the devil snake He says my mind is yours to train And the snake answers, “Yes, of course” I, The Scientist want knowledge of the human brain And the snake fills him with remorse
The Mad Scientist stays up late Setting his traps with ideal bait For this creature honey For this creature power For some prefer money And others flowers
The Mad Scientist stays up late Mapping out the human traits Our continuous question “Why?” That always fills our heads Why do we live and why do we die? And what happens when we’re dead?
At last the Mad Scientist goes to bed Denying everything he’s said It’s a tedious way to spend his time He’s consumed with the human might He never regrets his crime He’ll start again tomorrow night