superseeker Posted April 10, 2011 Share Posted April 10, 2011 William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903 Invictus 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. Quote Link to comment
Guest FL Posted May 10, 2011 Share Posted May 10, 2011 I walked a mile with Pleasure;She chatted all the way;But left me none the wiserFor all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow,And ne'er a word said she;But, oh! The things I learned from her,When Sorrow walked with me. Robert Browning Hamilton Quote Link to comment
laging_nagmamahal Posted June 23, 2011 Share Posted June 23, 2011 Sa Dakong Hindi Ko Pa Nalalakbay(ang aking pagsasatagalog ng "somewhere i have never travelled" ni e.e. cummings) sa dakong hindi ko pa nalalakbay, may galak, sa kabilang anumang karanasan, may angking katahimikan ang iyong mga mata:sa iyong pinakabahagyang paramdam, naroon ang mga bagay na kumukupkop sa akin,o hindi ko masaling dahil napakalapit nila. ang pahapyaw mong sulyap ay madaling magpapalaya sa akinkahit pa ipinid ko ang sariling gaya ng mga daliri,lalagi mo akong pinamumukadkad ng talulot sa talulot, gaya ng pamumukadkad ng Tagsibol(sa pagdamping maparaan, mahiwaga) sa una niyang rosas. o kung ang hiling mo’y ipinid ako, ako atang buhay ko ay magpipinid ng buong kagandahan, daglian,tulad sa panginginita ng puso ng bulaklak na ito sa niyebengmaingat na nananaog sa lahat ng dako. walang masasaksihan sa mundong ito ang papantaysa kapangyarihan ng sukdol mong kahinaan: ang kakinisan mongnag-uudyok sa akin ng makulay niyang mga parang,naglalarawan ng kamatayan at kawalang-hanggan sa bawat paghinga. (hindi ko batid kung alin sa iyo ang nagpipinidat nagbubukas; taglay ko lamang ang saloobing nakauunawa,ang tinig ng iyong mga mata ay higit pang malagom sa lahat ng rosas)walang sinuman, kahit pa ang ulan, ang may ‘sing munting mga kamay. 1 Quote Link to comment
cuatro_ojos Posted June 23, 2011 Share Posted June 23, 2011 The Road Not Taken (Robert Frost) Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveler, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claimBecause it was grassy and wanted wear,Though as for that the passing thereHad worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally layIn leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I marked the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to wayI doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere 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. Quote Link to comment
Leyna Posted June 23, 2011 Share Posted June 23, 2011 A POEM FOR SWINGERS, A POEM FOR THE PLAYGIRLS OF THE UNIVERSEI like women who haven't lived with too many men.I don't expect virginity but I simply prefer womenwho haven't been rubbed raw by experience. There is a quality about women who choosemen sparingly;it appears in their walkin their eyesin their laughter and in theirgentle hearts. Women who have had too many menseem to choose the next oneout of revenge rather than withfeeling. When you play the field selfishly everythingworks against you:one can't insist on love ordemand affection.you're finally left with whateveryou have been willing to givewhich often is:nothing. Some women are delicate thingssome women are delicious andwondrous. If you want to piss on the sungo aheadbut please leave themalone. - Charles Bukowski Quote Link to comment
SaintPeter5858 Posted June 24, 2011 Share Posted June 24, 2011 Rizal's Mi Ultimo Adios Quote Link to comment
Leyna Posted July 1, 2011 Share Posted July 1, 2011 (edited) When You Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday —When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoonLooking off down the long streetTo nowhere,Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectationAnd nothing-I-have-to-do and I'm-happy-why?And if-Monday-never-had-to-come —When you have forgotten that, I say,And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest cornerTo Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodlesOr chicken and riceAnd salad and rye bread and teaAnd chocolate chip cookies —I say, when you have forgotten that,When you have forgotten my little presentimentThat the war would be over before they got to you;And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-endBright bedclothes,Then gently folded into each other —When you have, I say, forgotten all that,Then you may tell,Then I may believe You have forgotten me well.by Gwendolyn Brooks Edited July 1, 2011 by Leyna Quote Link to comment
Leyna Posted July 5, 2011 Share Posted July 5, 2011 For women who are 'difficult' to love you are a horse running aloneand he tries to tame youcompares you to an impossible highwayto a burning housesays you are blinding himthat he could never leave youforget youwant anything but youyou dizzy him, you are unbearableevery woman before or after youis doused in your nameyou fill his mouthhis teeth ache with memory of tastehis body just a long shadow seeking yoursbut you are always too intensefrightening in the way you want himunashamed and sacrificial he tells you that no man can live up to the one who lives in your headand you tried to change didn't you?closed your mouth moretried to be softerprettierless volatile, less awakebut even when sleeping you could feel him travelling away from you in his dreamsso what did you want to do lovesplit his head open?you can't make homes out of human beingssomeone should have already told you thatand if he wants to leavethen let him leaveyou are terrifyingand strange and beautifulsomething not everyone knows how to love ~ warsan shire, poem eleven Quote Link to comment
immatureandunstable Posted July 15, 2011 Share Posted July 15, 2011 I'm Explaining a Few ThingsPablo Neruda You are going to ask: and where are the lilacs?and the poppy-petalled metaphysics?and the rain repeatedly spatteringits words and drilling them fullof apertures and birds?I'll tell you all the news. I lived in a suburb,a suburb of Madrid, with bells,and clocks, and trees. From there you could look outover Castille's dry face:a leather ocean.My house was calledthe house of flowers, because in every crannygeraniums burst: it wasa good-looking housewith its dogs and children.Remember, Raul?Eh, Rafel? Federico, do you rememberfrom under the groundmy balconies on whichthe light of June drowned flowers in your mouth?Brother, my brother!Everythingloud with big voices, the salt of merchandises,pile-ups of palpitating bread,the stalls of my suburb of Arguelles with its statuelike a drained inkwell in a swirl of hake:oil flowed into spoons,a deep bayingof feet and hands swelled in the streets,metres, litres, the sharpmeasure of life,stacked-up fish,the texture of roofs with a cold sun in whichthe weather vane falters,the fine, frenzied ivory of potatoes,wave on wave of tomatoes rolling down the sea. And one morning all that was burning,one morning the bonfiresleapt out of the earthdevouring human beings—and from then on fire,gunpowder from then on,and from then on blood.Bandits with planes and Moors,bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,bandits with black friars spattering blessingscame through the sky to k*ll childrenand the blood of children ran through the streetswithout fuss, like children's blood. Jackals that the jackals would despise,stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,vipers that the vipers would abominate! Face to face with you I have seen the bloodof Spain tower like a tideto drown you in one waveof pride and knives! Treacherousgenerals:see my dead house,look at broken Spain:from every house burning metal flowsinstead of flowers,from every socket of SpainSpain emergesand from every dead child a rifle with eyes,and from every crime bullets are bornwhich will one day findthe bull's eye of your hearts. And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetryspeak of dreams and leavesand the great volcanoes of his native land? Come and see the blood in the streets.Come and seeThe blood in the streets.Come and see the bloodIn the streets! Quote Link to comment
quinlanvos Posted August 2, 2011 Share Posted August 2, 2011 One of my favorites: If you forget me - Pablo Neruda I want you to knowone 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, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But 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. Quote Link to comment
SaintPeter5858 Posted August 2, 2011 Share Posted August 2, 2011 Footprints in the Sand. The poem and its music Quote Link to comment
SaintPeter5858 Posted August 8, 2011 Share Posted August 8, 2011 Another touching poem for me is Rizal's "Mi Ultimo Adios" Quote Link to comment
girlspankee Posted August 20, 2011 Share Posted August 20, 2011 It has to be Invictus. Quote Link to comment
hornystudph Posted August 27, 2011 Share Posted August 27, 2011 Footprints in the SandDesideratapoems by e.e. cummings Quote Link to comment
pacey Posted October 16, 2011 Share Posted October 16, 2011 right now i am incredibly moved by pablo neruda's "sonnet xvii" here's most of it: 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 way Quote Link to comment
cocoy0 Posted October 24, 2011 Share Posted October 24, 2011 Lourd De Veyra and Jim Libiran are reading poetry on air sa Chillax Radio. Salitan with songs such as Sylvia La Torre's "Alembong" and TVJ's Tough Hits. Nangangalahati na yata sila sa Cirilo Bautista collection ni Lourd. Quote Link to comment
pacey Posted November 12, 2011 Share Posted November 12, 2011 pablo neruda's sonnet xvii remains my favorite, but today i can relate to this more: IF YOU FORGET ME I want you to knowone thing. You know how this is:if I lookat the crystal moon, at the red branchof the slow autumn at my window,if I touchnear the firethe impalpable ashor the wrinkled body of the log,everything carries me to you,as if everything that exists,aromas, light, metals,were little boatsthat sailtoward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now,if little by little you stop loving meI shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenlyyou forget medo not look for me,for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad,the wind of bannersthat passes through my life,and you decideto leave me at the shoreof the heart where I have roots,rememberthat on that day,at that hour,I shall lift my armsand my roots will set offto seek another land. Butif each day,each hour,you feel that you are destined for mewith implacable sweetness,if each day a flowerclimbs 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 armswithout leaving mine. Quote Link to comment
silvercross0816 Posted November 12, 2011 Share Posted November 12, 2011 the Prophet - Kahlil Gibran Quote Link to comment
Legato Bluesomers Posted December 26, 2011 Share Posted December 26, 2011 one century of verse Quote Link to comment
Julianda Posted December 27, 2011 Share Posted December 27, 2011 Mark Twain's "All right, then, I'll go to hell" Quote Link to comment
Guest nick fury Posted January 16, 2012 Share Posted January 16, 2012 The arrows turn, the swords repel, may nothing pierce this mortal shell. Quote Link to comment
Guest nick fury Posted January 16, 2012 Share Posted January 16, 2012 A whim, a thought and more is sought. Awake my mind, thy will be wrought. Quote Link to comment
Guest nick fury Posted January 16, 2012 Share Posted January 16, 2012 Sheath this feet in the driving gale, make swift these legs or land I sail. Quote Link to comment
Macdknife Posted February 3, 2012 Share Posted February 3, 2012 Somewhere I Have Never Travelled by ee cummings somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyondany experience, your eyes have their silence:in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose methough i have closed myself as fingers,you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i andmy life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imaginesthe snow carefully everywhere descending; nothing which we are to perceive in this world equalsthe power of your intense fragility: whose texturecompels me with the color of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing (i do not know what it is about you that closesand opens; only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands 1 Quote Link to comment
Leyna Posted February 9, 2012 Share Posted February 9, 2012 I have this heart andit is noisy and a little clumsyand it can no longer speak your name beyond the first letter,sounding like a hum, sounding likean admission, sounding like the electricityin the fence that I wish would keep mefrom missing you. 113 by Cassandra Quote Link to comment
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