Voltie
— Princess
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/4 16:49:32 )
A poem for my dad whose birthday is coming soon. Happy Birthday Dad!
Only a Dad
Edgar Guest, 1881 - 1959
Only a dad with a tired face,
Coming home from the daily race,
Bringing little of gold or fame
To show how well he has played the game;
But glad in his heart that his own rejoice
To see him come and to hear his voice.
Only a dad with a brood of four,
One of ten million men or more
Plodding along in the daily strife,
Bearing the whips and the scorns of life,
With never a whimper of pain or hate,
For the sake of those who at home await.
Only a dad, neither rich nor proud,
Merely one of the surging crowd
Toiling, striving from day to day,
Facing whatever may come his way,
Silent whenever the harsh condemn,
And bearing it all for the love of them.
Only a dad but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing with courage stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the line that for him I pen:
Only a dad, but the best of men.
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/4 19:08:23 )
The following is only a portion of the poem. I don't know what I was originally searching for when I came across it, but now that I've found it again, I intend on reading the whole thing.
The Death of Icarus
by Arthur Knowles Sabin
O tune the shell, ye tritons quaint, to woe;
Lift now your voices, creatures of the deep;
All nereids of the sobbing sighing sea,
Wail softly, and your foamy locks unbind
In mourning for the death of Icarus.
But most of all, sweet sirens, from the shore
Nigh dreaded Scylla's cavern, come and raise
About this isle your doleful melody;
For never more like siren was a child
Of earthly parent born than Icarus:
Sing, sing, amid the dark your pitying hymn.
The silent stars have shrouded up their eyes
Compassionate; dim sorrow veils the moon;
Tears in the soft wind linger; Ocean stirs
And chaunts aloud his requiem of peace.
Voltie
— Princess
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/6 23:07:47 )
@Quoth the Raven: Thank you for that! It's a beautifully written poem.
One of my favorite poets and storytellers of all time. J.R.R. Tolkien.
All That is Gold Does Not Glitter
by J. R. R. Tolkien
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/6 23:51:15 )
@Saeyra: I was never aware that "Not all those who wander are lost" was from a poem. A quite excellent one, at that. You definitely learn something new every day. Thank you for sharing that.
(I always catch myself reciting the following poem from time to time, so I guess it's as good as any to share.)
Antigonish
by William Hughes Mearns
Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/7 23:31:52 )
@Saeyra: I read this while half asleep and as the last two lines were giving me grief, I decided to read an analysis of it (which I regret the more I think back on it).
Who in their right mind sees a mother caressing their child and suggest it is a "sexual indulgence"?
Before aforementioned analysis spoiled it, I enjoyed the imagery in the poem and could envision the softness of the child's skin. Now I just feel dirty.
I will be sharing a poem by Poe, to cleanse my mind.
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love--
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me--
Yes!--that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we--
Of many far wiser than we--
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling--my darling--my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Voltie
— Princess
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/8 01:24:28 )
@Quoth the Raven: Oh god my eyes! I was just imagining it was a really chubby baby leg or chubby baby arms that are so pinchable. Why would anyone analyse it that way...so wrong...whyyy..
Oh Annabel Lee!! Woo! I love this poem!! Thank you for adding it here!
@Anon: Thank you for posting your poem. I enjoyed reading it.
Its no secret I love my gramma dearly and this poem really touched my heart so I will share it with you all.
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/8 21:26:56 )
@Saeyra: It's just incredibly disturbing to think how your words can be so terribly misconstrued.
As for the poem you shared, it evoked such strong feelings of love in me.
My grandmother unfortunately died when I was young, so I don't I really remember her, but the stories my dad and cousins have told me paint a picture of a caring and loving woman.
Thank you for sharing it.
The following poem is from the book House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski.
You Shall Be My Roots
“You shall be my roots and
I will be your shade,
though the sun burns my leaves.
You shall quench my thirst and
I will feed you fruit,
though time takes my seed.
And when I'm lost and can tell nothing of this earth
you will give me hope.
And my voice you will always hear.
And my hand you will always have.
For I will shelter you.
And I will comfort you.
And even when we are nothing left,
not even in death,
I will remember you.”
Voltie
— Princess
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/9 18:19:15 )
@Quoth the Raven: That is really romantic. I guess that is how it feels to grow old with someone you love. Its not always sunshine and rainbows but it is still so beautiful. I love it so much. If I could do my wedding again I would wish to include that poem in it.
Edit: I just realized it could be interpreted as coming from a parent or a good friend as well. That's so awesome!
@sunny: oooh thats harsh, sounds like a curse. Thanks for dropping it off!
Ah remember those days when you tried everything you could to get out of going to school? Here is a cute and funny poem to brighten your day.
Sick
By Shel Silverstein
“I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more--that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/10/29 02:45:23 )
"Do not go gentle into that good night"
by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Voltie
— He/Him
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/11/2 07:42:24 )
What is 1000-7..? Does the circus know?
Why did it take me so long to find this thread, oof. Poetry is amazing, though I have no aptitude for writing it myself, though I have tried before. Some poems I like have already been posted XD
But I really like this one too:
E. E. Cummings : anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
745/750
Woah, look at those creeping centipede roller-coasters!
Donator — Whatever
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/11/18 00:33:21 )
@Saeyra: Its message is rather appealing; definitely one I'll want to look back on.
I recently purchased The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde and am looking forward to working my way through it. The following was the first poem of his that I read.
Wasted Days
by Oscar Wilde
A fair slim boy not made for this world's pain,
With hair of gold thick clustering round his ears,
And longing eyes half veiled by foolish tears
Like bluest water seen through mists of rain;
Pale cheeks whereon no kiss hath left its stain,
Red under-lip drawn in for fear of Love,
And white throat whiter than the breast of dove--
Alas! alas! if all should be in vain.
Corn-fields behind, and reapers all a-row
In weariest labour, toiling wearily,
To no sweet sound of laughter, or of lute;
And careless of the crimson sunset-glow,
The boy still dreams; nor knows that night is nigh,
And in the night-time no man gathers fruit.
Voltie
— Princess
Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/11/18 01:35:36 )
@Quoth the Raven: I love Oscar Wilde! The Picture of Dorian Gray changed my life!! He is so amazing, funny and at the same time deep. He has a knack of saying how things really are and insulting people while making them laugh at themselves. As the saying goes "If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they’ll kill you." I still have a book of his quotes in my car and read them while waiting for things.
I will now share this poem about the strangeness of love.
Love Is Not All
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain,
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
and rise and sink and rise and sink again.
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
pinned down by need and moaning for release
or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.