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  1. #81
    not to be trusted miss fortune's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2007
    827 sp/so


    The old dog barked without getting up
    I can remember when he was a pup ~ Robert Frost

    My candle burns at both ends;
    It will not last the night;
    But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
    It gives a lovely light! ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

    “71-hour Ahmed was not superstitious. He was substitious, which put him in a minority among humans. He didn't believe in the things everyone believed in but which nevertheless weren't true. He believed instead in the things that were true in which no one else believed.” -Terry Pratchett

  2. #82
    Senior Member bronte's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2008


    Quote Originally Posted by ragashree View Post
    Nice choice!

    But it should really contain the following explicatory subtitle below the main heading:

    To Christ out Lord

    Maybe that isn't in the 1918 version, but it is in all the others as far as I know, and it's much harder to follow without it!
    sorry yes i got it off the net and it wasnt on it - i know what you mean but i think it works without it too - whenever i see a Kestrel - i saw one today out walking my dog - i think of this

    i love Hopkins ( I studied him at A level and love his tortured soul and his beautiful imagery - my english teacher hated him ) this is my favourite

    As king fishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame

    As king fishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
    As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
    Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bells
    Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
    Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
    Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
    Selves - goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
    Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

    I say more: the just man justices;
    Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;
    Acts in Gods eye what in Gods eye he is
    Christ. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
    Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
    To the Father through the features of mens faces.

    -Gerard Manley Hopkins
    I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.
    Maya Angelou

  3. #83
    Senior Member Kora's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2008


    And alien tears will fill for him
    Pity's long-broken urn
    For his mourners will be outcast men
    And outcasts always mourn
    - Oscar Wilde
    5w4 - Idiosyncratic/Leisurely/Dramatic
    It's the devil's way now.

  4. #84
    Senior Member Anja's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2008


    There are several which touch me deeply. "Dover Beach" by Matthew Arnold and "To a Young Child" by Gerard Manley Hopkins are two.

    This one by Robinson Jeffers is about the mercy killing of a wounded hawk:

    Hurt Hawks by Robinson Jeffers

    Perhaps it expresses some thoughts and feelings I had when I killed a wounded blackbird as a young girl.
    "No ray of sunshine is ever lost, but the green which it awakes into existence needs time to sprout, and it is not always granted to the sower to see the harvest. All work that is worth anything is done in faith." - Albert Schweitzer

  5. #85
    nevermore lane777's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2008
    4w5 sp/sx


    Wisdom cries aloud in the street, she raises her voice in the markets;

    She cries at the head of the noisy intersections; at the entrance of the city gates she speaks:

    How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple? And the scoffers delight in scoffing and self-confident fools hate knowledge?

    If you will turn repent and give heed to my reproof, behold, I (Wisdom) will pour out my spirit upon you, I will make my words known to you.

    Because I have called and you have refused to answer, have stretched out my hand and no man has heeded it,

    And you treated as nothing all my counsel and would accept none of my reproof,

    I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when the thing comes that shall cause you terror and panic--

    When your panic comes as a storm and desolation and your calamity comes on as a whirlwind, when distress and anguish come upon you.

    Then will they call upon me but I will not answer; they will seek me early and diligently but they will not find me.

    Because they hated knowledge and did not choose the reverent and worshipful fear of the Lord,

    Would accept none of my counsel, and despised all my reproof,

    Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way and be satiated with their own devices.

    For the backsliding of the simple shall slay them, and the careless ease of self-confident fools shall destroy them.

    But whoso hearkens to me shall dwell securely and in confident trust and shall be quiet, without fear or dread of evil.

    Proverbs 1:20-33
    To die would be an awfully big adventure - Peter Pan

    INFJ ~ 4w5 sp/sx ~ RLOAI ~ Inclusion e/w=1/0 (Melancholy Compulsive) Control: e/w=0/6 (Supine) Affection: e/w=4/0 (Phlegmatic Melancholy)

  6. #86
    it's tea time! Walking Tourist's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2008


    The Raven

    Poem by Edgar Allen Poe (1845)

    Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
    Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
    As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
    "'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
    Only this, and nothing more."
    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
    And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
    From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
    For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Nameless here for evermore.
    And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
    Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
    "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
    Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
    This it is, and nothing more."
    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
    "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
    That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
    Darkness there, and nothing more.
    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
    This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
    Merely this, and nothing more.
    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
    Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
    "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
    Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
    'Tis the wind and nothing more."
    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
    In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
    Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
    Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
    Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
    "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
    Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
    Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
    Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
    Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
    With such name as "Nevermore."
    But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
    That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
    Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
    Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
    "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
    Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
    Of 'Never- nevermore'."
    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
    What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
    Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
    On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
    But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
    She shall press, ah, nevermore!
    Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
    Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
    hath sent thee
    Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
    Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
    Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
    On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
    Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
    "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
    By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
    Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
    "Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
    "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
    Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
    Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
    On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
    And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
    Shall be lifted- nevermore!

  7. #87
    wholly charmed Spartacuss's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    Yet another from Theodore Roethke

    I Knew a Woman
    I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
    When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
    Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
    The shapes a bright container can contain!
    Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
    Or English poets who grew up on Greek
    (I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
    How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
    She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
    She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
    I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
    She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
    Coming behind her for her pretty sake
    (But what prodigious mowing did we make.)
    Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
    Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
    She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
    My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
    Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
    Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
    (She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)
    Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
    I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
    What's freedom for? To know eternity.
    I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
    But who would count eternity in days?
    These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
    (I measure time by how a body sways.)
    Ti (43); Ne (41.8); Te (33.7); Fi (30.5); Ni (27.5); Se (24.7); Si (21.5); Fe (17.3)
    The More You Know the Less You Need. - Aboriginal Saying

  8. #88
    nevermore lane777's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2008
    4w5 sp/sx


    Quote Originally Posted by Walking Tourist View Post
    The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe (1845)
    One of my favourite's.
    To die would be an awfully big adventure - Peter Pan

    INFJ ~ 4w5 sp/sx ~ RLOAI ~ Inclusion e/w=1/0 (Melancholy Compulsive) Control: e/w=0/6 (Supine) Affection: e/w=4/0 (Phlegmatic Melancholy)

  9. #89
    Tenured roisterer SolitaryWalker's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2007
    5w6 so/sx


    I am uncomfortable reading poetry because the thinking of the poet gives me a headache because it is often very disorganized and amorphous in itself. Though after multiple readings and hours of careful analysis, I found this one to be portentous.

    Sylvia Plath--A birthday present.

    What is this, behind this veil, is it ugly, is it beautiful?
    It is shimmering, has it breasts, has it edges?

    I am sure it is unique, I am sure it is what I want.
    When I am quiet at my cooking I feel it looking, I feel it thinking

    'Is this the one I am too appear for,
    Is this the elect one, the one with black eye-pits and a scar?

    Measuring the flour, cutting off the surplus,
    Adhering to rules, to rules, to rules.

    Is this the one for the annunciation?
    My god, what a laugh!'

    But it shimmers, it does not stop, and I think it wants me.
    I would not mind if it were bones, or a pearl button.

    I do not want much of a present, anyway, this year.
    After all I am alive only by accident.

    I would have killed myself gladly that time any possible way.
    Now there are these veils, shimmering like curtains,

    The diaphanous satins of a January window
    White as babies' bedding and glittering with dead breath. O ivory!

    It must be a tusk there, a ghost column.
    Can you not see I do not mind what it is.

    Can you not give it to me?
    Do not be ashamed--I do not mind if it is small.

    Do not be mean, I am ready for enormity.
    Let us sit down to it, one on either side, admiring the gleam,

    The glaze, the mirrory variety of it.
    Let us eat our last supper at it, like a hospital plate.

    I know why you will not give it to me,
    You are terrified

    The world will go up in a shriek, and your head with it,
    Bossed, brazen, an antique shield,

    A marvel to your great-grandchildren.
    Do not be afraid, it is not so.

    I will only take it and go aside quietly.
    You will not even hear me opening it, no paper crackle,

    No falling ribbons, no scream at the end.
    I do not think you credit me with this discretion.

    If you only knew how the veils were killing my days.
    To you they are only transparencies, clear air.

    But my god, the clouds are like cotton.
    Armies of them. They are carbon monoxide.

    Sweetly, sweetly I breathe in,
    Filling my veins with invisibles, with the million

    Probable motes that tick the years off my life.
    You are silver-suited for the occasion. O adding machine-----

    Is it impossible for you to let something go and have it go whole?
    Must you stamp each piece purple,

    Must you kill what you can?
    There is one thing I want today, and only you can give it to me.

    It stands at my window, big as the sky.
    It breathes from my sheets, the cold dead center

    Where split lives congeal and stiffen to history.
    Let it not come by the mail, finger by finger.

    Let it not come by word of mouth, I should be sixty
    By the time the whole of it was delivered, and to numb to use it.

    Only let down the veil, the veil, the veil.
    If it were death

    I would admire the deep gravity of it, its timeless eyes.
    I would know you were serious.

    There would be a nobility then, there would be a birthday.
    And the knife not carve, but enter

    Pure and clean as the cry of a baby,
    And the universe slide from my side.
    "Do not argue with an idiot. They drag you down to their level and beat you with experience." -- Mark Twain

    “No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.”---Samuel Johnson

    My blog:

  10. #90
    wholly charmed Spartacuss's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2008


    Mad girl's love song
    -A villanelle

    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
    I lift my lids and all is born again.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
    And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
    And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
    Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

    I fancied you'd return the way you said,
    But I grow old and I forget your name.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
    At least when spring comes they roar back again.
    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    The Rival

    If the moon smiled, she would resemble you.
    You leave the same impression
    Of something beautiful, but annihilating.
    Both of you are great light borrowers.
    Her O-mouth grieves at the world; yours is unaffected,

    And your first gift is making stone out of everything.
    I wake to a mausoleum; you are here,
    Ticking your fingers on the marble table, looking for cigarettes,
    Spiteful as a woman, but not so nervous,
    And dying to say something unanswerable.

    The moon, too, abases her subjects,
    But in the daytime she is ridiculous.
    Your dissatisfactions, on the other hand,
    Arrive through the mailslot with loving regularity,
    White and blank, expansive as carbon monoxide.

    No day is safe from news of you,
    Walking about in Africa maybe, but thinking of me.
    Last edited by Ivy; 12-03-2008 at 09:16 AM.
    Ti (43); Ne (41.8); Te (33.7); Fi (30.5); Ni (27.5); Se (24.7); Si (21.5); Fe (17.3)
    The More You Know the Less You Need. - Aboriginal Saying

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