36 replies to this topic

[MrsBrisby]

One of my favorites is "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop


The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day.
Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel.
None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch.
And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love)
I shan’t have lied.
It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

[LISA]

a snipet of Shakespere.. O, What may man within him hide,though Angel on the outward side

[AxlsMainMan]

This would be ideal for Freedom' and TAP to give their students

But hee is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw
Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue,
As his owne things; 'and they are his owne, 'tis true,
For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne
The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne.

From "Satire 2" by John Donne

[LISA]

excellant AMM

[AxlsMainMan]

'Thought Lisa would like this one: Valediction: Of Weeping Let me pour forth My tears before thy face, whilst I stay here, For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear, And by this mintage they are something worth. For thus they be Pregnant of thee ; Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ; When a tear falls, that thou fall'st which it bore ; So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers shore. On a round ball A workman, that hath copies by, can lay An Europe, Afric, and an Asia, And quickly make that, which was nothing, all. So doth eachtear, Which thee dothwear, A globe, yea world, by that impression grow, Till thy tears mix'd with mine do overflow This world, by waters sent from thee, my heaven dissolvèd so. O ! more than moon, Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere ; Weep me not dead, in thine arms, but forbear To teach the sea, what it may do too soon ; Let not the wind Example find To do me more harm than it purposeth : Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, Whoe'er sighs most is cruellest, and hastes the other's death. - John Donne [1611].

[LISA]

excellant effing choice AMM and I adored it!!! love Donne

[AxlsMainMan]

This one is cool:

Time

Meeting with Time, slack thing, said I,
Thy sithe is dull; whet it for shame.
No marvell Sir, he did replie,
If it at length deserve some blame:
But where one man would have me grinde it,
Twentie for one too sharp do finde it.

Perhaps some such of old did passe,
Who above all things lov’d this life:
To whom thy sithe a hatchet was,
Which now is but a pruning knife.
Christs coming hath made man thy debter,
Since by thy cutting he grows better.

And in his blessing thou art blest:
For where thou onely wert before
An executioner at best;
Thou art a gard’ner now, and more,
An usher to convey our souls
Beyond the utmost starres and poles.

And this is that makes life so long,
While it detains us from our God.
Ev’n pleasures here increase the wrong,
And length of dayes lengthen the rod.
Who wants the place, where God doth dwell,
Partakes already half of hell.

Of what strange length must that needs be,
Which ev’n eternitie excludes!
Thus farre Time heard me patiently:
Then chafing said, This man deludes:
What do I here before his doore?
He doth not crave lesse time, but more.

By George Herbert - (1633).

[Abaddon]

I'll throw in a haiku by a poet from where I'm from, John Cooper Clarke.

To convey one's mood
In seventeen syllables
Is very diffic

[LISA]

HA!

[Abaddon]

Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Work by Mark Lamarr


I'm the James Dean of the dole queue

You've got to admire my cheek -

Trying to work out how to live fast and die young

On seventeen-fifty a week.

A legend in my own cubicle

All alone, never one of the mob

I'm the James Dean of the dole queue

A rebel without a job.

[Allard]

Wow...!!Nice poetry guys...!!!Here is one poetry from here Can You Feel Me When I Think About You With Every Breath I Take ... Every Minute No Matter What I Do My World Is An Empty Place Like I've Been Wonderin The Desert For A Thousand Days Don't Know If It's A Mirage But I Always See Your Face I'm Missing You So Much Can't Help It, I'm In Love A Day Without You Is Like A Year Without Rain I Need You By My Side Don't Know How I'll Survive A Day Without You Is Like A Year Without Rain..!!

[lynn]

A winter's day In a deep and dark December; I am alone, Gazing from my window to the streets below On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow. I am a rock, I am an island. I've built walls, A fortress deep and mighty, That none may penetrate. I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain. It's laughter and it's loving I disdain. I am a rock, I am an island. Don't talk of love, Well, I've heard the word before. It's sleeping in my memory. I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. If I never loved I never would have cried. I am a rock, I am an island. I have my books And my poetry to protect me; I am shielded in my armor, Hiding in my room, safe within my womb. I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island. And a rock feels no pain; And an island never cries.

[AxlsMainMan]

The Mower's Song

by Andrew Marvell



My Mind was once the true survey

Of all these Medows fresh and gay;

And in the greenness of the Grass

Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;

When Juliana came, and she

What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.



But these, while I with Sorrow pine,

Grew more luxuriant still and fine;

That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd,

But had a Flower on either side;

When Juliana came, and She

What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.



Unthankful Meadows, could you so

A fellowship so true forego,

And in your gawdy May-games meet,

While I lay trodden under feet?

When Juliana came , and She

What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.



But what you in Compassion ought,

Shall now by my Revenge be wrought:

And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all,

Will in one common Ruine fall.

For Juliana comes, and She

What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.



And thus, ye Meadows, which have been

Companions of my thoughts more green,

Shall now the Heraldry become

With which I shall adorn my Tomb;

For Juliana comes, and She

What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.



1650-2.

[Evenstar51]

Beauty There she was on Entertainment Tonight. Someone had caught a glimpse of Bardot after all these years. Brigitte Bardot running through the trees, across a meadow, a dog running with her. The hair still long. Then another part showing her on the patio, aged. (Sun-damaged, we say.) The violation of beauty never happens just once. When my father heard his beloved dog had chased and killed the rancher's sheep, he went right out and shot it. Because, he said, once they ran with the pack and tasted blood it would never stop. Linda Gregg

[freedom78]

Poetry set to music:

[url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9PiqCeLEmM[/url]