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By: goldendancer@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
10:00 am Yahoo! Profile:
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connected in isolation
the body says
I am a fiesta
without restraints
or worldly rules
gently benevolent
indifferent to pleasure or pain
I choose acceptance
over rejection
connected in separation
closer yet always so far away
alone close together
touching inner voices
just slipping away
gently benevolent
indifferent to pleasure or pain
I choose compassion
over dejection |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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A Poison Tree - a poem by William Blake
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree. |
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By: goldendancer@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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From the mist I see you
From my heart I feel you
From my soul I am you |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Afternoon in School - The Last Lesson
a poem by D.H.Lawrence
Afternoon in School
The Last Lesson
When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart
My pack of unruly hounds: I cannot start
Them again on a quarry of knowledge they hate to hunt,
I can haul them and urge them no more.
No more can I endure to bear the brunt
Of the books that lie out on the desks: a full three score
Of several insults of blotted pages and scrawl
Of slovenly work that they have offered me.
I am sick, and tired more than any thrall
Upon the woodstacks working weariedly.
And shall I take
The last dear fuel and heap it on my soul
Till I rouse my will like a fire to consume
Their dross of indifference, and burn the scroll
Of their insults in punishment? - I will not!
I will not waste myself to embers for them,
Not all for them shall the fires of my life be hot,
For myself a heap of ashes of weariness, till sleep
Shall have raked the embers clear: I will keep
Some of my strength for myself, for if I should sell
It all for them, I should hate them -
- I will sit and wait for the bell.
D. H. Lawrence |
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By: bill.osullivan@xtra.co.nz
23/06/2009
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| Lovely stuff to consume with my ham/avacado sandwich in the sun Lots.More power to your arm. |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Need a Chivas Sully but will keep punching above my weight...
Cheers Buddy...:) |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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poem by Alfred Noyes
A Prayer in Time of War
Thou, whose deep ways are in the sea,
Whose footsteps are not known,
To-night a world that turned from Thee
Is waiting at Thy Throne.
The towering Babels that we raised
Where scoffing sophists brawl,
The little Antichrists we praised
The night is on them all.
The fool hath said . . . The fool hath said.
And we, who deemed him wise,
We who believed that Thou wast dead,
How should we seek Thine eyes?
How should we seek to Thee for power
Who scorned Thee yesterday?
How should we kneel, in this dread hour?
Lord, teach us how to pray!
Grant us the single heart, once more,
That mocks no sacred thing,
The Sword of Truth our fathers wore
When Thou wast Lord and King.
Let darkness unto darkness tell
Our deep unspoken prayer,
For, while our souls in darkness dwell,
We know that Thou art there.
Alfred Noyes |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Fire and Ice - a poem by Robert Frost
FIRE AND ICE
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice. |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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A noiseless Patient Spider
a poem by Walt Whitman
A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul. |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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A Red Red Rose - a poem by Robert Burns
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry:
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it ware ten thousand mile. |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Page Back
Poetry Index
Beautiful Soup - a poem by Lewis Carroll
Beautiful Soup
BEAUTIFUL Soup, so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,
Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,
Game, or any other dish?
Who would not give all else for two
Pennyworth only of Beautiful Soup?
Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Beau--ootiful Soo-oop!
Soo--oop of the e--e--evening,
Beautiful, beauti--FUL SOUP! |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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From 'The Wife of Bath's Prologue'
Experience, though noon auctoritee
Were in this world, is right ynough for me
To speke of wo that is in mariage:
For lordinges, sith I twelf yeer was of age—
Thanked be God that is eterne on live—
Housbondes at chirche dore I have had five
(If I so ofte mighte han wedded be),
And alle were worthy men in hir degree.
But me was told, certain, nat longe agoon is,
That sith that Crist ne wente nevere but ones
To wedding in the Cane of Galilee,
That by the same ensample taughte he me
That I ne sholde wedded be but ones.
Herke eek, lo, which a sharp word for the nones,
Biside a well, Jesus, God and man,
Spak in repreve of the Samaritan:
"Thou hast yhad five housbondes," quod he,
"And that ilke man that now hath thee
Is nat thyn housbonde." Thus saide he certain.
What that he mente therby I can nat sayn,
But that I axe why the fifthe man
Was noon housbonde to the Samaritan?
How manye mighte she han in mariage?
Yit herde I nevere tellen in myn age
Upon this nombre diffinicioun.
Men may divine and glosen up and down,
But wel I woot, expres, withouten lie,
God bad us for to wexe and multiplye:
That gentil text can I wel understonde
The Canterbury Tales
Geoffrey Chaucer
The Canterbury Tales
poem by Geoffrey Chaucer |
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By: goldendancer@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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The life that's lived
Is like a mine
Whose hallowed depths
With gold are lined;
Not seen-
While we're alive-
Only by those
We've left behind.
Oh, Storied lives!
It's when it's darkest
That you shine!
Like buried treasure
They refine
While 'round my
Slumbered eyes
They gather to
Remember mine |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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A Song from the Suds
a poem by Louisa May Alcott
A Song from the Suds
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.
I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!
Along the path of a useful life
Will heart's-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.
I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
"Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!"
Louisa May Alcott |
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By: hanging_judge@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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| G'Day Loto......hows it going buddy ? |
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By: goldendancer@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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Cradle me into the pulp of your matter
Embrace me with words flying from your chest
Strangle my thoughts with your godly laughter
Resuscitate me with your passionate kiss
Hold me close and then send me away
Not before you dream me a dream of spirited lands
Mould me a vision of unbridled light
Radiating from the palms of your angelic hands
Lift me up and then set me down
Refuse me not from your soil of hope
Help me listen to inaudible sounds
Releasing fruit growing into your scope |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Yahona.. Good to hear from you...
Your not here to commit me are ya...:) |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Daddy Fell into the Pond
a poem by Alfred Noyes
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!
And everyone's face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
"Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He's crawling out of the duckweed!" Click!
Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn't a thing that didn't respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!
Alfred Noyes |
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By: goldendancer@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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Never approach a poem
like searching for the ghost of a best friend,
haunting the mansion of innermost dreams,
lost, transparent, and visibly shaken
Never set eyes on elusive horizons
stumbling upon unforeseeable conclusions
in the rumble of thunderclouds,
or the majesty of twilight,
or in constellation's shifting memory
Never second guess conclusions
or become preoccupied
with critique and misunderstanding
Look forward to allowing thoughts,
emotions and perceptions
to express creative skills,
simply by sanctioning the pleasure of doing so |
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By: hanging_judge@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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No such luck....I fear that you'll be with us for a while lol
a skivin day perhaps ? |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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| A skivin we will go me O' Mate...:) |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Faithless Sally Brown
a poem by Thomas Hood
Young Ben he was a nice young man,
A carpenter by trade;
And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.
But as they fetch'd a walk one day,
They met a press-gang crew;
And Sally she did faint away,
Whilst Ben he was brought to.
The Boatswain swore with wicked words,
Enough to shock a saint,
That though she did seem in a fit,
'Twas nothing but a feint.
"Come, girl," said he, "hold up your head,
He'll be as good as me;
For when your swain is in our boat,
A boatswain he will be."
So when they'd made their game of her,
And taken off her elf,
She roused, and found she only was
A coming to herself.
"And is he gone, and is he gone?"
She cried, and wept outright:
"Then I will to the water side,
And see him out of sight."
A waterman came up to her,
"Now, young woman," said he,
"If you weep on so, you will make
Eye-water in the sea."
"Alas! they've taken my beau Ben
To sail with old Benbow;"
And her woe began to run afresh,
As if she'd said Gee woe!.
Says he, "They've only taken him
To the Tender ship, you see";
"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown
"What a hard-ship that must be!".
"O! would I were a mermaid now,
For then I'd follow him;
But Oh!--I'm not a fish-woman,
And so I cannot swim.
"Alas! I was not born beneath
The virgin and the scales,
So I must curse my cruel stars,
And walk about in Wales."
Now Ben had sail'd to many a place
That's underneath the world;
But in two years the ship came home,
And all her sails were furl'd.
But when he call'd on Sally Brown,
To see how she went on,
He found she'd got another Ben,
Whose Christian-name was John.
"O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,
How could you serve me so?
I've met with many a breeze before,
But never such a blow":
Then reading on his 'bacco box
He heaved a bitter sigh,
And then began to eye his pipe,
And then to pipe his eye.
And then he tried to sing ... |
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By: hanging_judge@rocketmail.com
23/06/2009
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Aftermath
We overplayed and underplayed our parts
And paid the price; we went our separate ways
For me to think of you, and you of me
Some part of all our long and restless days.
For what advantage? We may never know,
We cloud each other's vision at the hearth,
I loved you well, but love was not enough
We neither paused to give the other breath.
Like people trapped behind the moving screen
We both replay our scenes, we freeze each frame
Of shrugs, of nuance, words of lost intent
We blurted out in anger all the same.
But anger rests, and now there's only loss
As keen for me as you, I must confess
If I could still regain the way I came -
But mist and chill obscure our waywardness.
We charmed and chafed each other in our turn,
We stormed and raged, and whispered words of love,
And tried to use the magic we had known
To lighten hearts that long had ceased to move.
But at the end you left me in your pain
And I was too resigned to turn your head,
I'd fought and loved, and fought and loved in vain
'Til love was some black season I had bled.
What now for us, the doors are shut and barred,
The shutters strain at every passing gust,
And winter freezes over at the heart
To chill the brief young season of our lust.
We may yet meet at some pre-destined time
When life has buried both beneath its dross,
And I may look at you, and you at me
Without this deep and dreadful sense of loss.
David Lewis Paget |
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By: lotoyespls
23/06/2009
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Farewell to False Love
a poem by Sir Walter Raleigh
A Farewell to False Love
Farewell false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,
A dev vile, a beast with rage possessed,
A way of error, a temple full of treason,
In all effects contrary unto reason.
A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers,
Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose,
A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poisoned bait.
A fortress foiled, which reason did defend,
A siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind,
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.
A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
A path that leads to peril and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap,
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems,
A hope of that which reason doubtful deems.
Sith* then thy trains my younger years betrayed,[since]
And for my faith ingratitude I find;
And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed*,[revealed]
Whose course was ever contrary to kind*:[nature]
False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu.
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.
Sir Walter Raleigh |
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Surreality Gold |
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