Hi everyone! :)

Does anyone have insightful poems to share?

My contribuition:

What Do I Want?

I want to be a mystery, yet be known
I want to be together, yet alone
Is it too much to ask, To be famous yet unknown?
To be a wanderer, yet have a home?
My insecurity makes me sick,
Yet my confidence makes me thick
Can I be harmless, yet grip the stick,
Be completely smooth yet have a nick?
Can I live in a lie, yet be true
Can I be unique, yet so like you?
Have no control, yet know what to do?
Can I be ugly, yet beautiful too?
Answer me, I need your help,
Can you help me or someone else?
I need your help, can't you see,
Are you even listening to me?

by: Kara Douglas


Around the Corner

Around the corner I have a friend,
in this great city that has no end.
Yet the days go by and weeks rush on,
and before I know it, a year is gone.

And I never see my old friends face,
for life is swift and a terrible race.
He knows I like him just as well,
as in the days when I rang his bell.

And he rang mine, if we were younger then,
and now we are busy, tired men.
Tired of playing a foolish game,
Tired of trying to make a name.

"Tomorrow" I say," I will call on Jim"... "
Just to show that I'm thinking of him".
But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes,
and distance between us grows.

Around the corner!- yet miles away,
"here's a telegram sir" "Jim died today".
And thats what we get and deserve in the end.
Around the corner, a vanished friend.

by: Henson Towne


Bullshit

I look into your face
And wonder what you want with me
‘cause everyone wants something
no one hangs around for free

Your eyes are so sincere
And in your lovely smile I bask
As I wonder all the while
What’s behind your pretty mask?

What underneath do you conceal
Devil, demon, angel, sprite
Are you needy, angry, vicious, lost,
Apathetic, filled with fright?

There’s so many ways to suffer now
And life is so confused
Its no wonder that the bulk of us
are sure we’ve been abused

So why don’t you just spit it out
And lay it on the line?
Take off the guise that hides the truth
Be honest just one time

But the world revolves on bullshit
We all balance on the fence
To risk a fall with honesty
I guess just makes no sense.

by: Amneris


I Give to You

I GIVE TO YOU
A fire to light inside your heart,
to feel the warm embers glow.
A piece of the sun's warm rays,
to bask in it's firery show.

I GIVE TO YOU
A piece of a rainbow to color your world,
when all seems totally grey.
Some roses for the sweet perfume,
to kiss your senses with its bouquet.

I GIVE TO YOU
A sprinkling of some twinkling stars,
to wish upon at night.
The morning dew to kiss the day.
To bask in it's delight.

I GIVE TO YOU
A summer's breeze to caress your face,
to show that someone cares.
The sweet song of the nightingale,
to remind you that they're always there.

I GIVE TO YOU
My lasting friendship, always true.
A gift of love to hold inside,
whenever you feel blue,
or just because you need a friend.
This friend... that will always be there for you!!

- Katie Klopfer (c)1997


An Excerpt form Alone

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it here alone.

by Maya Angelou

Love,
Nelson

Somone recommended this recently - I like it very much:


I'M a lean dog, a keen dog, a wild dog, and lone;
I'm a rough dog, a tough dog, hunting on my own;
I'm a bad dog, a mad dog, teasing silly sheep;
I love to sit and bay the moon, to keep fat souls from sleep.
I'll never be a lap dog, licking dirty feet,
A sleek dog, a meek dog, cringing for my meat,
Not for me the fireside, the well-filled plate,
But shut door, and sharp stone, and cuff and kick, and hate.
Not for me the other dogs, running by my side,
Some have run a short while, but none of them would bide.
O mine is still the lone trail, the hard trail, the best,
Wide wind, and wild stars, and hunger of the quest!

Irene Rutherford Mcleod


Du Fu,
Slender grasses,
A breeze on the riverbank,
The tall mast
Of my boat alone in the night.

Stars hang
All across a vast plain.
The moon leaps
In the Great River's flow

My writing
Has not made a name for me,
And now, due to age and illness,
I must quit my official post.

Floating on the wind,
What do I resemble?
A solitary gull
Between the heavens and the earth



More than knowing, I want to learn
For is this not where true meaning lies?
To struggle against an indifferent God
And having failed, to die?

In this there is a consolation
In this, a savage joy
In this, a petty meaning
Of dignity impossible to destroy

For the road ahead is long;
And who knows where it may lead
I want to travel, to discover
I want to swim in alien seas


Human reason is beautiful and invincible.
No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books,
No sentence of banishment can prevail against it.
It establishes the universal ideas in language,
And guides our hand so we write Truth and Justice
With capital letters, lie and oppression with small.
It puts what should be above things as they are,
It is an enemy of despair and a friend of hope.
It does not know Jew from Greek or slave from master,
Giving us the estate of the world to manage. I
t saves austere and transparent phrases
From the filthy discord of tortured words.
It says that everything is new under the sun,
Opens the congealed fist of the past.
Beautiful and very young are Philo-Sophia
And poetry, her ally in the service of the good.
As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth,
The news was brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo,
Their friendship will be glorious, their time has no limit,
Their enemies have delivered themselves to destruction

Czeslaw Milosz, "Incantation"

Erthè toc of erthe erthè wyth woh,
erthe other erthè to the earthè droh,
erthè leyde erthe in erthenè throh,
tho haevede erthe of erthe erthe ynoh

-Anon., ca 13th century

Translation of the above

Earth took of earth earth with ill;
Earth other earth gave earth with a will.
Earth laid earth in the earth stock-still:
Then earth in earth had of earth its fill.

• • • • •

You take my hand and

You take my hand and
I'm suddenly in a bad movie,
it goes on and on and
why am I fascinated

We waltz in slow motion
through an air stale with aphorisms
we meet behind endless potted palms
you climb through the wrong windows

Other people are leaving
but I always stay till the end
I paid my money, I
want to see what happens.

In chance bathtubs I have to
peel you off me
in the form of smoke and melted
celluloid

Have to face it I'm
finally an addict,
the smell of popcorn and worn plush
lingers for weeks.

-Margaret Atwood, 1971

•*•*•*•*•

Psalm 5: The Battle of the Ants

That is not which is.
The only Word is Silence.
The only Meaning of that Word is not.
Thoughts are false.
Fatherhood is unity disguised as duality.
Peace implies war.
Harmony implies war.
Victory implies war.
Glory implies war.
Foundation implies war.
Alas! for the Kingdom wherein all these are at war.

-Frater Perdurabo, 1913

•*•*•*•*•

This Bridge

This bridge will only take you halfway there
To those mysterious lands you want to see:
Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fairs
And moonlit woods where unicorns run free.
So come and walk awhile with me and share
The twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known.
But this bridge will only take you halfway there--
The last few steps you'll have to take alone.

I Won't Hatch!

Oh I am a chickie who lives in an egg,
But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.
The hens they all cackle, the roosters all beg,
But I will not hatch, I will not hatch.
For I hear all the talk of pollution and war
As the people all shout and the airplanes roar,
So I'm staying in here where it's safe and warm,
And I WILL NOT HATCH!

Forgotten Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers ....
How did it go?
How did it go?

-Shel Silverstein

•*•*•*•*•

I am not inclined to reproduce here for length a couple of Gibran poems, nor Silverstein's Clooney the Clown, nor the Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, though it is worth noting:

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach,
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing for me.

-TS Eliot

thanx,
Tiassa :cool:

This poem by Billy Collins, Poet Laureate of the United States (February 2002 issue of Poetry), is based on a poem by Jacques Crickillon (poor fellow). Collins is simply having some fun with outrageous metaphor, still... :)

LITANY

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
Or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

I just had a poem published in a book by the |Liverpool university (An anthology of local writers).

Anyhoo
I don't have a copy to hand so I'll post the name of the author in an edit later but I do remember this one.


AMBITION

One Day

Do you know anything about Jacques Crickillon's poem? I'm doing an English paper on Billy Collins and would like to inclue background on Crickillon's poem. Thanks.




Originally posted by orthogonal
This poem by Billy Collins, Poet Laureate of the United States (February 2002 issue of Poetry), is based on a poem by Jacques Crickillon (poor fellow). Collins is simply having some fun with outrageous metaphor, still... :)

LITANY

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
Or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Train to Thereisenstadt

Don't be late for the train to Thereisenstadt.
The ticket was cheap, but the ride was not.
The travler was innocent but history forgot.

Conviction came without even a trial.
The whole world was saddened--not even one smile.
The train kept on rolling down every deadly mile.

The cattle cars were full--not even one stall
As the train pulled into the town of Baunatal
They threw the dead ones out by a light on the wall.

I arose the next morning in a field painted green
Among the reddest poppies that I'd ever seen.
I looked down at my body like this was a dream.

So was the fate of young Nijla Roos.
It was only her body that she had to lose.
Her soul keeps on writing for the world to peruse.

In Baunatal you'll leave no wreath
On the field of poppies where she took her last breath
For she knew at that moment, there is no death.

~ by Kristin Kerley, American Poet

What could this be
That sailed the sea?
A pirate ship of infamy?
Or, maybe not, this wood of rot.
A Viking's fate concealed his lot.

A Phoenician warship's rower's oars,
Now silent sounds of ocean roars.
A whaling schooner North Sea bound--
Into icy waters sailors drowned
from mighty waves they understood?

What could this be
Floating near to me?
In my mind I see a vessel's rood,
Bringing sailors good,
But in my hands it's understood
To be just a piece of old driftwood.

~ by Kristin Kerley, American Poet

Where am I going?
Have I been here before?
Is this tomorrow, or today once more?
Has yesterday gone?

Don't lose today,
it doesn't last long.
You must remember,
We may be strangers,

But we have been here before.
So, act like you know me
With a wave or a smile.
You may never know

Who'll you'll walk with this mile,
Or how long you'll stay,
Or whom you'll meet on the way,
Of if you'll come back

Some other day.
Just remember the reason,
We came here this season,
Because it was all pre-arranged.

Our Earth suits are different
For the time they were meant for,
But the spirit inside us
Has never changed.

~ by Kristin Kerley, American Poet

Poppie in green fields
Are all that I see.

I even see poppies.
Growing over me.

Poppies in morning,
Poppies at night.

Where poppies grow,
There is no light.

Flower of the wicked,
Flower of the dead.

Poppy, my poppy,
Growing over my head.

I can see all the poppies
From where I lie,

But I can be sure,
Poppies also die.

~ by Kristin Kerley, American Poet

My Son


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

--Rudyard Kipling

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

~Willian Carlos Williams