Author Topic: Post Your Favourite Poems  (Read 17455 times)

Offline Trinketbell  16739

  • Uploader
  • Posts: 1903
  • Global Rep: 14836
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #75 on: December 15, 2016, 09:18:09 pm »
Alone With Everybody by Charles Bukowski

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
and nobody finds the
but keep
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else

Offline Trinketbell  16739

  • Uploader
  • Posts: 1903
  • Global Rep: 14836
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #76 on: December 21, 2016, 04:06:20 pm »
Romance by Edgar Allan Poe

Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—a most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say—
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings—
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #77 on: January 29, 2017, 02:43:11 am »
If You Forget Me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Edit : Didn't realize the original poem I posted was a repost so I replaced it
« Last Edit: January 29, 2017, 02:46:42 am by greenconverse »

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #78 on: January 29, 2017, 03:12:29 am »
Do It Anyway[/u]

People are often unreasonable,
Illogical and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind,
people may accuse you of selfish
ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful,
you will win some false friends
and true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you;
Be honest anyway.

What you spend years building,
someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,
they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough;
Give the world your best anyway.

You see, in the final analysis,
it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

-   Mother Theresa

I love this!

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #79 on: January 29, 2017, 03:14:34 am »
Leonard Cohen - I Wonder How Many People In This City

I wonder how many people in this city
live in furnished rooms.
Late at night when i look out at the buildings
I swear I see a face in every window
looking back at me
and when I turn away
I wonder how many go back to their desks
and write this down.

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #80 on: January 30, 2017, 12:40:41 am »
Another personal favorite!

Lady Lazarus
Sylvia Plath, 1932 - 1963

 I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it—

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?—

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot—
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart—
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
23-29 October 1962

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #81 on: January 30, 2017, 05:55:32 am »
I love Coleridge, so here ya go

Kubla Khan

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
   Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
   The shadow of the dome of pleasure
   Floated midway on the waves;
   Where was heard the mingled measure
   From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer
   In a vision once I saw:
   It was an Abyssinian maid
   And on her dulcimer she played,
   Singing of Mount Abora.
   Could I revive within me
   Her symphony and song,
   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Offline Trinketbell  16739

  • Uploader
  • Posts: 1903
  • Global Rep: 14836
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #82 on: January 30, 2017, 08:19:19 am »
Thank you greenconverse for posting so many beautiful poems so consistently in this thread. Love rereading them.   :love:

Offline Philidor  12572

  • Former Mod
  • Posts: 1754
  • Global Rep: 10818
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #83 on: January 30, 2017, 08:48:42 am »
I think I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
And all my pretty follies flung aside
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
I, that had been to you, had you remained,
But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
And walk your memory’s halls, austere, supreme,
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.

-Edna St Vincent Millay

Offline Jim_Hawkins  7978

  • Former Translator
  • Posts: 831
  • Global Rep: 7147
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #84 on: January 30, 2017, 11:19:30 am »
My favorite one :

The Journey (I, III, IV, V, VI, VII) by Charles Baudelaire, translated by Lola Haskins

The Journey - For Maxime du Camp
When we were children, in love with maps
 and stamps, the universe seemed enough.
 Ah! how clear and large the lamp-lit world
 that in memory’s eyes was small.
 One morning we set out, our minds aflame,
 our hearts rancorous and bitter,
 to follow the rhythm of the waves
 that rock our infinities on finite seas.
Some, happily escaping their infamous country;
 others, the horrors of the crib, and a few,
 Astrologers, death by drowning in a woman’s
 eyes, some Circe of dangerous perfumes.
So as not to turn into beasts, they drink–
 space and light and fiery skies–
 as the stinging cold and bronzing suns
 erase, slowly, the kisses from their skins.
But the true voyagers are the ones who leave
 for its own sake; their hearts light as balloons,
 these never force their fates, and, without
 knowing why, say always: Allons y!
The desires of these are like clouds,
 and they dream, the way a conscript dreams
 of guns, of sensualities, vast and shifting,
 that no man has ever named.
Astonishing travelers! What noble histories
 we read in your eyes, as deep as the sea!
 Show us the case of your rich memories,
 those wonderful jewels, made of air and stars.
We’re yearning to travel without steam or sail!
 To illumine the ennui of our prisons,
 Show us, as if stretched across canvas,
 your recollections in their horizons’ frames.
Tell us, What have you seen?
We have seen stars
 and waves, we have also seen sand;
 and, despite shocks and unforeseen disasters,
 we were often bored, as we are here.
 The glory of sunlight on a violet sea,
 the glory of cities in the setting sun,
 lit a restless impulse in our hearts
 to dive into the alluringly-reflected sky.
The richest cities, the grandest landscapes,
 will never have the mysterious allure
that chance makes from clouds.
And always, desire renders us uneasy!
—Yet enjoyment fortifies desire.
Desire, old tree whom pleasure fertilizes,
however hard and thick your swollen bark,
your branches will still reach for light.
Will you grow forever, great tree more vital
than cypress? No matter; we have carefully
chosen some sketches for your album, voracious
brothers, who find beauty in all from afar!
We have kowtowed to fraudulent idols;
to thrones studded with glittering gems;
to palaces awash in fantastic pomp
that would be for you bankers a ruined dream;
to costumes that are rapture for the eyes;
to women who paint their teeth and fingernails,
to knowing jugglers, caressing snakes.


 And then? And then?
What children!
Not forgetting the main thing,
 we’ve seen, everywhere, without effort,
 up and down the fatal ladder,
 the dull spectacle of immortal sin.
Woman, low servant, proud and stupid,
 self-adoring without humor or disgust;
 Man, grasping tyrant, bawdy, hard and greedy,
 slaves to slavery, rivulets in the sewer;
 The hangman who loves his work, the sobbing martyr,
 the fête that flavors and perfumes the blood,
 the poison of the power that saps a despot’s strength,
 the amorous users of the brutalizing whip.
So many religions similar to our own,
 climbing towards sainthood and heaven,
 the way the sybarite wallowing in her feather-bed
 takes pleasure from horsehair and nails.
Babbling Mankind, drunk on his own genius,
 as stupid now as he was jaded before,
 cries out in fierce agony to God,
 Oh my likeness, my master, be damned!
Meanwhile, the less dim, bold lovers of insanity,
 flee the milling herd hemmed in by fate
 to take their ease in clouds of opium!
 —So reads the eternal dispatch from the world!
It’s the bitter savant, who goes traveling!
 The world, so monotonous and small today,
 yesterday, tomorrow, forever, forced to see itself:
 an oasis of horror in a desert of ennui.
Must he leave? Stay? Stay if you can;
 leave if you must. The short, and otherwise,
 crouch to fool the vigilant, always fatal enemy.
 Time! Alas! Some flee him without stopping,
like apostles or wandering Jews,
 for whom no wagon or ship will suffice
 to escape the infamous net; others know
 how to kill him without leaving their cribs.
And when, finally, his foot’s on our necks,
 we can still hope, shout Onward!
 and, as we once set out for China, our eyes wide,
 our hair blowing in the wind,
we embark on the darkening sea
 with the joyful hearts of the young.
 Do you hear those charming funereal voices
 singing Here, come here if you’d try
the fragrant lotus! And here we offer
 miracle fruits for your hungry hearts;
 come here, drink in the strange sweetness
 of this afternoon that never ends.
From his familiar accent, we recognize the spectre,
 our Pylades, who is stretching out his arms;
 To refresh your heart, swim towards your Electra!
 says the one whose knees we kissed long ago

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #85 on: January 31, 2017, 04:50:06 am »
And now, some totally historically accurate poetry from the son of the founding father Alexander Hamilton, Philip Hamilton.

My name is Philip.
I am a poet.
I wrote this poem just to show it
And I, I just turned nine
You can write rhymes
But you can't write mine

An earlier draft of this begins with the lines:

My name is poet,
I am a Philip

And the revised draft (post-mortem) goes:

My name is Philip.
I am a poet.
And I, I just fuckin' died
Cuz George fuckin Eacker can't count to nine!

Offline Philidor  12572

  • Former Mod
  • Posts: 1754
  • Global Rep: 10818
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #86 on: February 06, 2017, 07:25:52 am »
And Death Shall Have No Dominion --Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #87 on: February 07, 2017, 04:36:24 am »
Charles Bukowski - ashes (1977)
I got his ashes, she said, and I took them
out to sea and I scattered his ashes and
they didn't even look like ashes
the urn was weighted with
 green and blue pebbles ... 
he didn't leave you any of his
nothing, she said. 
after having to eat all those breakfasts
and lunches and dinners with him? after
listening to all his bullshit? 
he was a brilliant man. 
you know what I mean. 
anyhow, I got the ashes. and you fucked
my sisters. 
I never fucked your sisters. 

yes, you did. 
I fucked one of them. 
which one? 
the lesbian, I said, she bought me dinner and drinks,
I had very little choice. 
I'm going, she said. 
don't forget your bottle. 
she went in and got it. 
there's so little to you, she said, that when you die and
they burn you they'll have to add almost all green and
blue pebbles. 
all right, I said. 
I'll see you in 6 months! she screamed and slammed the door. 
well, I thought, I guess in order to get rid of her I'll have
to fuck her other sister. I walked into the bedroom and started
looking for phone numbers. all I remembered was that she
lived in San Mateo and had a very good

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #88 on: February 07, 2017, 07:31:20 pm »
Lord Byron - She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Offline Stargazer101  69

  • Former Mod
  • Posts: 35
  • Global Rep: 34
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #89 on: March 13, 2017, 05:08:01 am »
My Wage - Jessie B. Rittenhouse

“I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store.

For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial’s hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have willingly paid.”

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #90 on: May 06, 2017, 07:56:38 pm »
Sailing to Byzantium

William Butler Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Offline greenconverse  84

  • Member
  • Posts: 57
  • Global Rep: 27
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #91 on: May 06, 2017, 08:07:46 pm »
Somewhere In America

Get Lit

Here in America, in every single state, they have a set of standards for every subject
A collection of lessons that the teacher's required to teach by the end of the term
But the greatest lessons you'll ever teach us will not come from your syllabus
The greatest lessons you will ever teach us, you will not even remember

You never told us what we weren't allowed to say
We just learned how to hold our tongues
Now somewhere in America, there is s a child holding a copy of "Catcher in the Rye" and there is a child holding a gun
But only one of these things have been banned by their state government
And it's not the one that can rip through flesh
It's the one that says "fuck you" on more pages than one

Because we must control what the people say, and how they think
And if they want to become the overseer of their own selves, then we'll show them a real one
And somewhere in America, there's a child sitting at his mother's computer, reading the homepage of the KKK's website, and that's open to the public
But that child will never have read "To Kill a Mockingbird" because the school has banned it for it's use of the "N" word

Maya Angelou is prohibited because we're not allowed to talk about rape in school
We were taught that 'just because something happens, doesn't mean you are to talk about it'
They built us brand new shopping malls so that we'll forget where we're really standing
On the bones of the Hispanics, on the bones of the slaves, on the bones of the Native Americans, on the bones of those who fought just to speak!

Transcontinental Railroad to Japanese Internment Camps
There are things missing from our history books
But we were taught that it is better to be silent, than to make them uncomfortable
Somewhere in America, private school girls search for hours through boutiques, trying to find the prom dress of their dreams
While kids on the south side spending hours searching through the 'lost and found' 'cause winter's coming soon and that's the only jacket they have

Kids are late to class for working the midnight shift
They give awards for best attendance, but not for keeping your family off the streets
These kids will call your music ghetto, they will tell you you don’t talk right
Then they’ll get in the backseat of a car with all their friends singing ‘ bout how “They’re ‘bout that life” and “we can’t stop”
Somewhere in America, schools are promoting self confidence
While they whip out their scales and shout out your body fat percentage in class

While heftier girls are hiding away, and the slim fit beauties can’t help but giggle with pride
The preppy kids go thrift shopping ‘cause they think it sounds real fun
But we don’t ‘cause that’s all we got money for
‘Cause momma works for the city, momma only gets paid once a month
Somewhere in America, a girl is getting felt up by a grown man on the subway
She’s still in her school uniform and that’s part of the appeal
It’s hard to run in knee socks and Mary Jane’s, and all her male teachers know it too

Coaches cover up the star players raping freshmen after the dance
Women are killed for rejecting dates, but God forbid I bring my girlfriend to prom
Girls black out drunk at the after party, take a picture before her wounds wake her
How many pixels is your sanity worth? What’s a 4.0 to a cold jury?
What’d you learn in class today?
Don’t walk fast, don’t speak loud, keep your hands to yourself, keep your head down
Keep your eyes on your own paper, if you don’t know the answer, fill in “C”
Always wear earbuds when you ride the bus alone
If you feel like someone’s following you, pretend you’re on the phone

A teacher never fails, only you do

Every state in America, the greatest lessons, are the ones you don’t remember learning

Online Mafketel  9094

  • Former Translator
  • Posts: 3787
  • Global Rep: 5307
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #92 on: May 09, 2017, 05:59:33 pm »
Thank you all for sharing these poems.

If you have any work of your own feel free to share those aswell.

Offline Jim_Hawkins  7978

  • Former Translator
  • Posts: 831
  • Global Rep: 7147
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #93 on: May 09, 2017, 08:56:02 pm »
The Sleeper in the Valley

The Sleeper of the Vale

It’s a gully of green where sings a river
Desperately hanging on the grass its rags
Of silver; where the sun, from the proud mount
Shines: it’s a little vale that foams with rays.

A young soldier, mouth open, head bare,
And his neck bathing in the cool blue cress,
Sleeps; he is stretched out in the grass, ‘neath the sky,
Pale on his green bed where the light rains.

His feet in the gladiolas, he sleeps. Smiling like
A sick child smiles, he takes a snooze:
Nature, cradle him warmly: he is cold.

The scents do not make his nostrils quiver;
He sleeps in the sun, one hand on his peaceful
Chest. He has two red holes in his right side.

tr. by Alex Rodallec

Le Dormeur du val

C’est un trou de verdure où chante une rivière
Accrochant follement aux herbes des haillons
D’argent ; où le soleil, de la montagne fière,
Luit : c’est un petit val qui mousse de rayons.

Un soldat jeune, bouche ouverte, tête nue,
Et la nuque baignant dans le frais cresson bleu,
Dort ; il est étendu dans l’herbe, sous la nue,
Pâle dans son lit vert où la lumière pleut.

Les pieds dans les glaïeuls, il dort. Souriant comme
Sourirait un enfant malade, il fait un somme :
Nature, berce-le chaudement : il a froid.

Les parfums ne font pas frissonner sa narine ;
Il dort dans le soleil, la main sur sa poitrine,
Tranquille. Il a deux trous rouges au côté droit.

Arthur Rimbaud
October 1870

« Last Edit: May 09, 2017, 09:04:58 pm by Jim_Hawkins »

Offline Jim_Hawkins  7978

  • Former Translator
  • Posts: 831
  • Global Rep: 7147
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #94 on: May 13, 2017, 02:45:20 pm »
Lamartine - Thoughts of the deaths

See yonder the sapless leaves
Which fall on the grass beneath;
See too how the wind is rising
And whines soft in the valley;
See yonder the stray swallow
Which skims with its wingtip
The still water of the marshes;
See there the cottagers’ child
Who gathers up off the heath
Fallen wood from the forests.

It’s the season when all things fall
To winds gusting twice as strong;
There’s a wind comes from the tomb
That harvests the living too.
They fall then in their thousands
Just like the useless feather
Which the eagle sheds into the air
When its new-grown feathers
Come bring warmth to its wings
At the approach of winters.

It was at this time that my eyes
Watched as you grew pale and died
Tender fruits, which in the daylight
God did not leave to ripen!
Though I am young on this earth
I am already alone
Among my generation
And when I say to myself:
« Where are those whom your heart loves »
It’s to the grass that I look.

He was a friend from my childhood
Whom providence lent to us
For dark days  of misfortune
To give a lift to our hearts;
He’s no more : our souls are bereft
He follows us in our trial
And says to us with pity:
“My friend, if your soul is so filled
With your joy and with your pain
Who will be there to bear one half ?”

She was young, newly betrothed
Who, a bandage round her brow
Bore off just a thought of
Her youthfulness to the grave;
Sad alas! In heaven itself,
Again to see him she loves,
She traces back her steps
And tells him: «Green is my tomb!
What on this bleak land
Do you wait for?  I am not here! »

It’s the pale shade of a father
Who died, our names on his lips;
It’s a sister, it’s a brother
Who precedes us one brief while.
All those, at the last, whose life,
Snatched one day or another,
Takes a part of us away.
They seem to say ‘neath the stone
« You who can see the light of day
Do you remember us still ? »

See yonder the sapless leaves
Which fall on the grass beneath;
See too how the wind is rising
And whines soft in the valley;
See yonder the stray swallow
Which skims with its wingtip
The still water of the marshes;
See there the cottagers’ child
Who gathers up off the heath
Fallen wood from the forests.

Offline tonowando  8283

  • Forum Moderator
  • Posts: 5176
  • Global Rep: 3107
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #95 on: October 14, 2017, 07:01:19 am »

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead: Short days ago,
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved: and now we lie
In Flanders fields!

Take up our quarrel with the foe
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch: be yours to hold it high
If ye break faith with us who die,
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields

those few and simple words were put to paper as one solider laid his dear comrade to final rest .
just one of millions who ended life's journey in " the War to End all Wars "

sadly just one generation later those same fields flowed
RED again .
Victory is not won on the battlefield but in building the peace after .

care not for the children of those defeated .
and you have sowed the seeds of your next War in their hearts .

Online XpoZ  10230

  • Verified Uploader
  • Posts: 2628
  • Global Rep: 7602
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #96 on: January 06, 2018, 12:25:40 am »
The Road Not Taken


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Offline hakimpac  17302

  • Super User
  • Posts: 11742
  • Global Rep: 5560
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #97 on: February 17, 2018, 01:22:18 pm »

Offline Sir.Wolf  15796

  • Forum Moderator
  • Posts: 4515
  • Global Rep: 11281
Re: Post Your Favourite Poems
« Reply #98 on: February 17, 2018, 03:41:32 pm »
Darkness breaks,
Moon awakes,
Night now brings the stars it makes.

Moon beams fall,
Light up all,
From silvery woods there comes a call.

Grayish blur,
Shaggy fur,
Food is this night creatures lure.

Brown deer,
Very near,
It is brought down full of fear.

Deadly bite,
Very tight,
Every wolf will feast tonight.