The poetry of earth is never dead: (original) (raw)

| | 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. ~ By: Alfred NoyesMood:contemplative "Canadian Boat Song"(Anonymous) Listen to me, as when ye heard our fatherSing long ago the song of other shores -Listen to me, and then in chorus gatherAll your deep voices as ye pull the oars; Fair these broad meads - these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers' land. From the lone shieling of the misty islandMountains divide us, and the waste of seas -Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,And we in dreams behold the Hebrides. Fair these broad meads - these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers' land. We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,Where 'tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,In arms around the patriarch banner rally,Nor see the moon on royal tombstone gleam. Fair these broad meads - these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers' land. When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanished,Conquered the soil and fortified the keep,No seer foretold the children would be banished,That a degenerate lord might boast his sheep. Fair these broad meads - these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers' land. Come foreigner rage - let Discord burst in slaughter!O then for clansmen true, and stern claymore --The hearts that would have given their blood like waterBeat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar. Fair these broad meads - these hoary woods are grand;But we are exiles from our fathers' land. Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente, y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca. Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca. Como todas las cosas están llenas de mi alma emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mía. Mariposa de sueño, te pareces a mi alma, y te pareces a la palabra melancolía. Me gustas cuando callas y estás como distante. Y estás como quejándote, mariposa en arrullo. Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza: Déjame que me calle con el silencio tuyo. Déjame que te hable también con tu silencio claro como una lámpara, simple como un anillo. Eres como la noche, callada y constelada. Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo. Me gustas cuando callas porque estás como ausente. Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto. Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan. Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto. There lay a dying sailor weepingSo far he'd wandered from the south,As he lay upon the burning sandThe children gather to watch his passing.He'd swum the seven seas before himAnd danced upon the stormy breakers.But now dying alone is all that's left for himAnd death a shining slowly beckons.And rolling in last veil of sunshineSheds light upon his dying hours.But still strong in his urgent will to liveFor he tries again to reach the water.And turning away still ring the voicesOf children laughing o'er the murky waters,And somewhere I hear the silent singingCalling on the wayward child....by Bert Jansch The worm drives helically through the woodAnd does not know the dust left in the boreOnce made the table integral and good;And suddenly the crystal hits the floor.Electrons find their paths in subtle ways,A massless eddy in a trail of smoke;The names of lovers, light of other days —Perhaps you will not miss them. That’s the joke.The universe winds down. That’s how it’s made.But memory is everything to lose;Although some of the colors have to fade,Do not believe you’ll get the chance to choose.Regret, by definition, comes too late;Say what you mean. Bear witness. Iterate.~ John M. FordMood:thoughtful She's a good girl, loves her mamaLoves Jesus and America tooShe's a good girl, crazy 'bout ElvisLoves horses, and her boyfriend tooIt's a long day living in ResedaThere's a freeway running through the yardAnd I'm a bad boy 'cause I don't even miss herI'm a bad boy for breakin' her heartAnd I'm free, free fallin'Yeah I'm free, free fallin'All the vampires walkin' through the valleyMove west down Ventura boulevardAnd all the bad boys are standing in the shadowsAll the good girls are home with broken heartsAnd I'm free, free fallin'Yeah I'm free, free fallin'Free fallin', now I'm free fallin', now I'mFree fallin', now I'm free fallin', now I'mI wanna glide down over MulhollandI wanna write her name in the skyGonna free fall out into nothin'Gonna leave this world for a whileAnd I'm free, free fallin'Yeah I'm free, free fallin'Tags:tom pettyMood:bored i love siegfried sassoon & his work, but the last stanza has stuck in my memory more than anything else.**siegfried sassoon - suicide in the trenches.**i knew a simple soldier boy who grinned at life in empty joy, slept soundly through the lonesome dark, and whistled early with the lark. in winter trenches, crowded and glum, with crumps and lice and lack of rum, he put a bullet through his brain. no one spoke of him again. you smug-faced crowds with killing eye who cheer when soldier lads march by, sneak home and pray you'll never know the hell where youth and laughter go.Tags:siegfried sassoonMood:tired WHITESILENCESHEATHESCOUNTRYCRADLESLIFTSLOOMSFROMSPIDERTREEAGAINSTSKYSEMITRANSLUCENTSMOKETOPAZGRAY - PANSYSAPHIRCRIMSONEMERALDLIGHTTRAINCLOGGSAWAYINTOSLATEVAPORMISTATOPAGOGARISTBALLOONSIZETOADSTOOLFOG SMOKE AMETYSTHUDSONDEEPASLEEPINICE.Tags:baroness elsa von freytag-loringhoven my best friend text me an extract from this sonnet one morning, then wrote another part of it in my birthday card. it's his favourite poem & i thought it was beautiful - enough to share.pablo neruda - sonnet XVIII do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.I love you as the plant that never bloomsbut carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;so I love you because I know no other waythan this: where I does not exist, nor you,so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.Tags:pablo neruda Previous 10 EntriesTop of Page | | 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