Poetry anyone?

[silvergirl]

And the unknown one:
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there;, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not died

This struck me as very similar in sentiments to this one I read last week

Those who are dead have never gone away.
They are in the shadows darkening around,
They are in the shadows fading into day,
The dead are not under the ground.
They are in the trees that quiver,
They are in the woods that weep,
They are in the waters of the rivers,
They are in the waters that sleep.
They are in the crowds, they are in the homestead.
The dead are never dead.

Those who are dead are never gone away
They are at the breast of the wife.
They are in the child’s cry of dismay
And the firebrand bursting into life.
The dead are not under the ground
They are in the fire that burns low,
They are in the grass with tears to shed,
In the rock where winds blow.
They are in the forest, they are in the homestead.
The dead are never dead.

Again I don't know the author.

I like bleak poems too,
But the one that has stayed with me is Edwin Morgan's The Horses.
I guess it suited my mood when I first read it, and now it it gives me hope in the determination of the human spirit and the connection we have with other creatures and nature.
Bit long to quote though?

 

[Ozhaggishead]

I like this one from that Shakespeare guy .....


What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how
infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and
admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like
a god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals—and yet,
to me, what is this quintessence of dust?

 

[gregorach]

Some good stuff here. Personally, I'm becoming more and more appreciative of Burns...

A Man's A Man For A' That

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.

 

[Ozhaggishead]

I love burns too this one of his I like a lot..........

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer -
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

 

[durulz]

Here's a nice short one. The Modernist writers of the early 20th century experimented with literary forms, and one such movement was known as Imagism. The name rather gives it all away - it was all about the image created. Anyway, I won't bore with the literature lecture, here's a damn fine example by Ezra Pound:

In A Station Of The Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough

 

[Tengu]

Khublai Khan by Coleridge

(Ancient Mariner is good too)

High Flight (cant recall the author)

Gunga Din by Kipling

Beowulf (of course)

Many of Bashos haiku (such a great poetry form)

I hated what was forced upon us at school

 

[troy ap De skog]

went searching through my old pc, and found loads of stuff from last year, ca be a bit dark hope you guys enjoy it...

Lusting down upon a,
world, twisted
and in pain only knowing,
what is there,
lurking amongst the Hemlock and reeds.

Now waiting a new,
dawn of a ghostly red,
moon.
Howling into the stars,
a song of hate,
wishing a dream,
for those whom,
hold no heart.

Hunting back through time,
dredging within the souls
of the damned.
we are left to a waste,
a home of haunted black spires
and a realm of nightmares.

A whisper in the birch leaves,
a kiss amongst the pine needles,
a touch from within the tundra,
the breath of the moon,
a beckoning back to the place
of the birth of chaos,
and hate will be born again.
In the hearts of men.

For we are the lords of night,
the children of cursed soil,
the damned and,
the feeble,
whom are left to rot amongst you...