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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.
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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.

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Voltie — Princess Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/4 19:29:57 )
For all those who have loved and lost. This one is for you.

So We'll Go No More a Roving
By Lord Byron


So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
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Donator — Whatever Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/6 01:33:46 )

As it's extremely long, I'll be putting most of this in a spoiler.

Canto I of The Inferno by Dante Alighieri
Translation by John Ciardi

Midway in our life's journey, I went astray
from the straight road and woke to find myself
alone in a dark wood. How shall I say

what wood that was! I never saw so drear,
so rank, so arduous a wilderness!
Its very memory gives a shape to fear.

Death could scarce be more bitter than that place!
But since it came to good, I will recount
all that I found revealed there by God's grace.

How I came to it I cannot rightly say,
so drugged and loose with sleep had I become
when I first wandered there from the True Way.

But at the far end of that valley of evil
whose maze had sapped my very heart with fear!
I found myself before a little hill

and lifted up my eyes. Its shoulders glowed
already with the sweet rays of that planet
whose virtue leads men straight on every road,

and the shining strengthened me against the fright
whose agony had wracked the lake of my heart
through all the terrors of that piteous night.

Just as a swimmer, who with his last breath
flounders ashore from perilous seas, might turn
to memorize the wide water of his death —

so did I turn, my soul still fugitive
from death's surviving image, to stare down
that pass that none had ever left alive.

And there I lay to rest from my heart's race
till calm and breath returned to me. Then rose
and pushed up that dead slope at such a pace

each footfall rose above the last. And lo!
almost at the beginning of the rise
I faced a spotted Leopard, all tremor and flow

and gaudy pelt. And it would not pass, but stood
so blocking my every turn that time and again
I was on the verge of turning back to the wood.

This fell at the first widening of the dawn
as the sun was climbing Aries with those stars
that rode with him to light the new creation.

Thus the holy hour and the sweet season
of commemoration did much to arm my fear
of that bright murderous beast with their good omen.

Yet not so much but what I shook with dread
at sight of a great Lion that broke upon me
raging with hunger, its enormous head

held high as if to strike a mortal terror
into the very air. And down his track,
a She- Wolf drove upon me, a starved horror

ravening and wasted beyond all belief.
She seemed a rack for avarice, gaunt and craving.
Oh many the souls she has brought to endless grief!

She brought such heaviness upon my spirit
at sight of her savagery and desperation,
I died from every hope of that high summit.

And like a miser — eager in acquisition
but desperate in self-reproach when Fortune's wheel
turns to the hour of his loss — all tears and attrition

I wavered back; and still the beast pursued,
forcing herself against me bit by bit
till I slid back into the sunless wood.

And as I fell to my soul's ruin, a presence
gathered before me on the discolored air,
the figure of one who seemed hoarse from long silence.

At sight of him in that friendless waste I cried:
"Have pity on me, whatever thing you are,
whether shade or living man." And it replied:

"Not man, though man I once was, and my blood
was Lombard, both my parents Mantuan.
I was born, though late, sub Julio, and bred

in Rome under Augustus in the noon
of the false and lying gods. I was a poet
and sang of old Anchises' noble son

who came to Rome after the burning of Troy.
But you — why do you return to these distresses
instead of climbing that shining Mount of Joy

which is the seat and first cause of man's bliss?"
"And are you then that Virgil and that fountain
of purest speech?" My voice grew tremulous:

"Glory and light of poets! now may that zeal
and love's apprenticeship that I poured out
on your heroic verses serve me well!

For you are my true master and first author,
the sole maker from whom I drew the breath
of that sweet style whose measures have brought me honor.

See there, immortal sage, the beast I flee.
For my soul's salvation, I beg you, guard me from her,
for she has struck a mortal tremor through me."

And he replied, seeing my soul in tears:
"He must go by another way who would escape
this wilderness, for that mad beast that fleers

before you there, suffers no man to pass.
She tracks down all, kills all, and knows no glut,
but, feeding, she grows hungrier than she was.

She mates with any beast, and will mate with more
before the Greyhound comes to hunt her down.
He will not feed on lands nor loot, but honor

and love and wisdom will make straight his way.
He will rise between Feltro and Feltro, and in him
shall be the resurrection and new day

of that sad Italy for which Nisus died,
and Turnus, and Euryalus, and the maid Camilla.
He shall hunt her through every nation of sick pride

till she is driven back forever to Hell
whence Envy first released her on the world.
Therefore, for your own good, I think it well

you follow me and I will be your guide
and lead you forth through an eternal place.
There you shall see the ancient spirits tried

in endless pain, and hear their lamentation
as each bemoans the second death of souls.
Next you shall see upon a burning mountain

souls in fire and yet content in fire,
knowing that whensoever it may be
they yet will mount into the blessed choir.

To which, if it is still your wish to climb,
a worthier spirit shall be sent to guide you.
With her shall I leave you, for the King of Time,

who reigns on high, forbids me to come there
since, living, I rebelled against his law.
He rules the waters and the land and air

and there holds court, his city and his throne.
Oh blessed are they he chooses!" And I to him:
"Poet, by that God to you unknown,

lead me this way. Beyond this present ill
and worse to dread, lead me to Peter's gate
and be my guide through the sad halls of Hell."

And he then: "Follow." And he moved ahead
in silence, and I followed where he led.


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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.
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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

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Voltie — Princess Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/7 01:37:55 )
@Quoth the Raven: ooooh a creeepy one! I love it!

Here is a poem that I translated to "Aaaaw the baby is so cute when it is sleeping, but oh god please don't wake it up!"

Sleep! Sleep! Beauty Bright
by William Blake

Sleep! sleep! beauty bright,
Dreaming o'er the joys of night;
Sleep! sleep! in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet Babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel,
Smiles as of the morning steal
O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart does rest.

O! the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep.
When thy little heart does wake
Then the dreadful lightnings break,

From thy cheek and from thy eye,
O'er the youthful harvests nigh.
Infant wiles and infant smiles
Heaven and Earth of peace beguiles.
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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.

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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.

Growing Up With Grandma
© Candy Canan
Published: February 2006

I don't know when it happened.
I don't know when she came,
But she's the one I always knew.
Grandma was her name.

She taught me how to tie my shoes.
She taught me how to talk,
And though I can't remember,
I think she taught me how to walk.

When all the other kids in school
Would talk about Mom and Dad,
I wondered where my parents were;
That made me kinda sad.

And sometimes there were days I'd cry
Or hide my head in shame.
But Grandma took it all in stride
And loved me all the same.

She'd wrap her arms around me
And kiss me on the head.
She'd tell me that she loved me
When she tucked me into bed.

Being a teen, I remember the days
When being with friends was more fun.
And I wondered what it would have been like
To actually be someone's son,

To have a regular family,
Some siblings, a mom, and a dad.
What had I done to deserve less than others?
Sometimes I felt so mad.

"It's alright, it's okay," Grandma would say.
"One day you'll understand why.
Life just isn't fair to everyone, you see.
It's always okay to cry."

And when I went off to college,
I met the love of my life.
It was Grandma who was the first I told
That I planned to make her my wife.

Soon after I'd become a father,
For that I could hardly wait.
To have a child of my very own,
And to make my Grandma a "Great."

A little girl to share her name,
For all that she'd given me.
So much I owed to Grandma.
That was plain to see.

As time passed and life grew short
I hoped my Grandma knew
That it was her love and her support
That always got me through.

If I could tell her one more thing,
"Thanks Grandma," is what I 'd say,
"For loving me and making me
The man I am today."

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/growing-up-with-grandma
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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.”

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Donator Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/8 22:32:59 )
This is one of my ultimate favourite poems I've read:
What The Oracle Said
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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!”
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Donator Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/9 20:19:39 )
@Saeyra: Very harsh, the poet wrote about afro-American experiences through the lense of Greek Mythology :)
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currently: new novel who dis?

q u e s t i n g :
beanie doll! thank u cookie

Voltie — Princess Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/09/9 21:40:50 )

@sunny: Wow, that gave the poem a whole new meaning.. It makes so much more sense now! Thanks for telling me.
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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.

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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!
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"I'm the loser of the game you didn't know you were playing."

Ping me for a response.

"Someday, somewhere, somehow..."

Voltie — Princess Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/11/6 13:07:37 )
@Dipper: Thank you for sharing that! Never seen it before and its so good!
@quoth the raven: A very much loved poem! Thank you!

Here is my hubby's favorite poem:

Invictus
by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

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Donator — Female Posted 6 years ago ( 2018/11/7 04:09:25 )

@Saeyra: I can see why! ~<3
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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.

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Nevermore

Looking for RP Partners

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.
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Always ping me please.

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Having you as a Voltie would be awesome.