For The Love of Poetry

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sun Feb 17, 2008 6:09 pm

Going Away

Walking to-day on the Common,
I heard a stranger say
To a friend who was standing near him,
'Do you know I am going away? '
I had never seen their faces,
May never see them again;
Yet the words the stranger uttered,
Stirred me with nameless pain.

For I knew some heart would miss him,
Would ache at his going away!
And the earth would seem all cheerless
For many and many a day.
No matter how light my spirits,
No matter how glad my heart,
If I hear those two words spoken,
The teardrops always start.

They are so sad and solemn,
So full of a lonely sound;
Like dead leaves rustling downward,
And dropping upon the ground,
Oh, I pity the naked branches,
When the skies are dull and gray,
And the last leaf whispers softly,
'Good-bye, I am going away.'

In the dreary, dripping autumn,
The wings of the flying birds,
As they soar away to the south land,
Seem always to say those words.
Wherever they may be spoken,
They fall with a sob and a sigh;
And heartaches follow the sentence,
'I am going away, Good-bye.'

O God, in Thy blessed kingdom,
No lips shall ever say,
No ears shall ever harken
To the words 'I am going away.'
For no soul ever wearies
Of the dear, bright angel land,
And no saint ever wanders
From the sunny golden land.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox
_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Wed Feb 20, 2008 9:53 pm

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

_________________

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Wed Feb 20, 2008 11:46 pm

Oh I just know everyone will love this one. It's my favorite by Debby Boom. I used to sing it all the time the words are just the most.

So many nights I sit by my window
Waiting for someone to sing me his song
So many dreams I kept deep inside me
Alone in the dark but now
You've come along

You light up my life
You give me hope
To carry on
You light up my days
and fill my nights with song

Rollin' at sea, adrift on the water
Could it be finally I'm turning for home?
Finally, a chance to say hey,
I love You
Never again to be all alone

You light up my life
You give me hope
To carry on
You light up my days
and fill my nights with song

You light up my life
You give me hope
To carry on
You light up my days
and fill my nights with song

It can't be wrong
When it feels so right
'Cause You
You light up my life

aw love

_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Wed Feb 27, 2008 3:03 am

When I was at Viggo Ville I started a thread just like this one. And everyone posted the most wonderful poems. I miss that site and I miss that thread now lost to us all. Sad

But here we can begin anew I suppose.

Here's another of this lovely poet's poems - I wish I could remember the others I posted on the other site as I would post them again here - poems by Tagore.

The Gift

I want to give you something, my child, for we are drifting in the
stream of the world.
Our lives will be carried apart, and our love forgotten.
But I am not so foolish as to hope that I could buy your heart
with my gifts.
Young is your life, your path long, and you drink the love we
bring you at one draught and turn and run away from us.
You have your play and your playmates. What harm is there if
you have no time or thought for us!
We, indeed, have leisure enough in old age to count the days
that are past, to cherish in our hearts what our hands have lost
for ever.
The river runs swift with a song, breaking through all
barriers. But the mountain stays and remembers, and follows her
with his love.

Rabindranath Tagore

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Gardener XLVIII: Free Me

Free me from the bonds of your
sweetness, my love! Nor more of this
wine of kisses.
This mist of heavy incense stifles
my heart.
Open the doors, make room for the
morning light.
I am lost in you, wrapped in the
folds of your caresses.
Free me from your spells, and give
me back the manhood to offer you my
freed heart.

Rabindranath Tagore
_________________
Be Yourself. Everyone else is taken.

Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.
- Mark Twain

This is me for forever / One of the lost ones / The one without a name / Without an honest heart as compass

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Mar 01, 2008 2:03 am

Mirage

The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake,
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream's sake.

Christina Rossetti

_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Mar 01, 2008 2:06 am

Litanies of the Rose (18960

Rose with dark eyes,
mirror of your nothingness,
rose with dark eyes,
make us believe in the mystery,
hypocrite flower,
flower of silence.

Rose the colour of pure gold,
oh safe deposit of the ideal,
rose the colour of pure gold,
give us the key of your womb,
hypocrite flower,
flower of silence.

Rose the colour of silver,
censer of our dreams,
rose the colour of silver,
take our heart and turn it into smoke,
hypocrite flower,
flower of silence.

Remy de Gourmont

_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Mar 01, 2008 2:17 am

To the Muse

In your hidden memories
There are fatal tidings of doom
A curse on sacred traditions,
A desecration of happiness;

And a power so alluring
That I am ready to repeat the rumour
That you have brought angels down from heaven,
Enticing them with your beauty...

And when you mock at faith,
That pale, greyish-purple halo
Which I once saw before
Suddenly begins to shine above you.

Are you evil or good? You are altogether from another world
They say strange things about you
For some you are the Muse and a miracle.
For me you are torment and hell.

I do not know why in the hour of dawn,
When no strength was left to me,
I did not perish, but caught sight of your face
And begged you to comfort me.

I wanted us to be enemies;
Why then did you make me a present
Of a flowery meadow and of the starry firmament --
The whole curse of your beauty?

Your fearful caresses were more treacherous
Than the northern night,
More intoxicating than the golden champagne of Aï,
Briefer than a gypsy woman's love...

And there was a fatal pleasure
In trampling on cherished and holy things;
And this passion, bitter as wormwood,
Was a frenzied delight for the heart!

Aleksandr Blok

_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Mar 08, 2008 10:30 pm

Alone
by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were---I have not seen
As others saw---I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then---in my childhood---in the dawn
Of a most stormy life---was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold---
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by---
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
_________________

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Apr 19, 2008 12:29 am

Piano

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

D. H. Lawrence
_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sun May 18, 2008 5:47 pm

A Song of Enchantment

A song of Enchantment I sang me there,
In a green-green wood, by waters fair,
Just as the words came up to me
I sang it under the wild wood tree.

Widdershins turned I, singing it low,
Watching the wild birds come and go;
No cloud in the deep dark blue to be seen
Under the thick-thatched branches green.

Twilight came: silence came:
The planet of Evening's silver flame;
By darkening paths I wandered through
Thickets trembling with drops of dew.

But the music is lost and the words are gone
Of the song I sang as I sat alone,
Ages and ages have fallen on me -
On the wood and the pool and the elder tree.

Walter de la Mare

_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sun Jun 15, 2008 12:49 pm

Deer Dancer by

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Jul 19, 2008 2:27 am

This isn't poetry, but it is artistic writing and well worth reading and digesting.

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let us down probably will.

We will have our heart broken, probably more than once and it's harder every time.

We'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken.

We'll fight with our best friend.

We'll blame a new love for things an old one did.

We'll cry because time is passing too fast, and we'll eventually lose someone
we love. Perhaps more than once.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt, because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin.

_________________

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Jul 19, 2008 2:29 pm

Very nice, Phoenix. The part about broken hearts is so true. Sad

I received this one from my poem of the day site. I liked it yet I am not so sure why.

Waiting There

And you go down that street
Rainbows ahead bling you
like midnight never does
and I wonder where
evening will be tonight
My loved ones waiting there

I pretend my swagger
through debris
is the holy dance
of the many my days
On the remotest sidewalk
facing the moon
I cannot say
the orphan still lives
and you recognize
the battleground
You can hide her in
quadrangle dirt
The buildings are
old and half blind

With an enemy
like daylight who needs
the psychology dime
Hips do the work
and I cross the world

J. Godfrey
_________________

Despair has no wings... ~ Paul Eluard

Subject: Re: For The Love of Poetry Sat Jul 26, 2008 11:13 am

The Haunted Palace

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace–reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This–all this–was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!–for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh–but smile no more.

E.A. Poe