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Badmovies.org Forum  |  Other Topics  |  Off Topic Discussion  |  Poetry « previous next »
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Author Topic: Poetry  (Read 9709 times)
ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #30 on: November 27, 2017, 10:46:52 AM »

Mortality

Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust,
What of his loving, what of his lust?
What of his passion, what of his pain?
What of his poverty, what of his pride?
Earth, the great mother, has called him again:
Deeply he sleeps, the world's verdict defied.
Shall he be tried again? Shall he go free?
Who shall the court convene? Where shall it be?
No answer on the land, none from the sea.
Only we know that as he did, we must:
You with your theories, you with your trust,--
Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust!

--Paul Laurence Dunbar
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ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #31 on: February 01, 2018, 11:02:38 AM »

The Challenge of Thor.

I am the God Thor,
 I am the War God,
 I am the Thunderer!
 Here in my Northland,
 My fastness and fortress,
 Reign I forever!
Here amid icebergs
 Rule I the nations;
 This is my hammer,
 Miölner the mighty;
 Giants and sorcerers
 Cannot withstand it!

These are the gauntlets
 Wherewith I wield it,
 And hurl it afar off;
 This is my girdle;
 Whenever I brace it,
 Strength is redoubled!

The light thou beholdest
 Stream through the heavens,
 In flashes of crimson,
 Is but my red beard
 Blown by the night-wind,
 Affrighting the nations!
 Jove is my brother;
 Mine eyes are the lightning;
 The wheels of my chariot
 Roll in the thunder,
 The blows of my hammer
 Ring in the earthquake!

Force rules the world still,
 Has ruled it, shall rule it;
 Meekness is weakness,
 Strength is triumphant,
 Over the whole earth
 Still is it Thor's-Day!

Thou art a God too,
 O Galilean!
 And thus singled-handed
 Unto the combat,
 Gauntlet or Gospel,
 Here I defy thee!

---Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

(Thor lost, by the way.)
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ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #32 on: February 11, 2018, 04:28:30 PM »

In 1936 Mitja Nikisch, the thirty-seven-year-old German-born modern composer, died of lymphoma in Venice, where he had been living in self-imposed exile, a harsh critic of the National Socialist regime in his homeland. On his last day, Nikisch completed his three-movement magnum opus Andante et Remanza, Scherzo Fantasie Pathetique, and died later that evening. Some weeks after his funeral his wife Barbara discovered that on his deathbed he had also written a poem for her, and hid it so she would not immediately find it. In translation the poem reads:

Pause for a bit, wanderer,
I am home,
In my sphere,
The stars shine brightly.
Think of me,
You are only a guest
On this earth,
Where everything is in vain.
Rest yourself, pick a flower
And continue on your way.
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What does not kill me makes me stranger.
ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #33 on: February 19, 2018, 01:16:15 PM »

Anyone for 18th century verse?



For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry


For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

 
---Christopher Smart
« Last Edit: February 19, 2018, 01:42:05 PM by ER » Logged

What does not kill me makes me stranger.
Alex
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« Reply #34 on: February 21, 2018, 04:12:21 PM »

From Robert Burns, just because people will struggle a little to read it...

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave-we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that:
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that:
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's abon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that;
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's coming yet for a' that,
That Man to Man, the world o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.
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But do you understand That none of this will matter Nothing can take your pain away
Allhallowsday
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Either he's dead or my watch has stopped!


« Reply #35 on: February 21, 2018, 05:40:11 PM »

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens. 

- William Carlos Williams 
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If you want to view paradise . . . simply look around and view it!
Allhallowsday
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Either he's dead or my watch has stopped!


« Reply #36 on: February 21, 2018, 08:27:36 PM »


Spirits of the Dead

I

Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone—
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.


       II

Be silent in that solitude,
   Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
   In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.


       III

The night, tho’ clear, shall frown—
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.


       IV

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.


       V

The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

- EDGAR ALLAN POE 
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ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #37 on: February 21, 2018, 10:12:19 PM »


Sermon In Verse

My body is my prison,
And I would be so obedient to the Law,
As not to break prison;
I would not hasten my death by starving
Or macerating this body.
But if this prison be burnt down by continual fevers,
Or blown down with continual vapours,
Would any man be so in love
With the ground upon which that prison stood
As to desire rather to stay there,
Than to go home?

--John Donne
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indianasmith
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« Reply #38 on: February 21, 2018, 10:18:55 PM »

Free
Unfettered, shriven, free.
Dream that what is dreamed will be;
Hold eyes clasped shut until they see
And sing the silent prophecy.
And be free
Unfettered, shriven, free.

Lone -
Unfriended, bondless, lone.
Drink of loss until tis done.
Till silence is communion
And yet - 
Unfriended, bondless, lone.

Deep -
Unbottomed, endless, deep.
Touch the true mysterious Keep.
Where halls of fealty laugh and weep,
While  treachers through the dooming creep
In blood
Unbottomed, endless, deep.

Stephen R. Donaldson
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ER
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The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #39 on: March 07, 2018, 03:18:52 PM »

Verses From Part II of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner


The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.

And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.

And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
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What does not kill me makes me stranger.
indianasmith
Archeologist, Theologian, Elder Scrolls Addict, and a
B-Movie Kraken
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A good bad movie is like popcorn for the soul!


« Reply #40 on: March 07, 2018, 06:03:41 PM »

"Good morning, good morning!"
  the General said, when we met him last week on the way to the line.
Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of'em dead,
 and we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.
"He's a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack.
  as they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.
But he did for them both with his plan of attack.

- Siegfried Sassoon, "The General"  (1917)
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"I shall smite you in the nostrils with a rod of iron, and wax your spleen with Efferdent!!"
ER
B-Movie Kraken
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Karma: 1754
Posts: 13425


The sleep of reasoner breeds monsters. (sic)


« Reply #41 on: March 08, 2018, 09:03:44 AM »

This is how I feel today:

I account this world a tedious theater
For I must play a part against my will.

--John Webster

The Duchess of Malfi
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