What Poetry Moved You?

[Guest Yavanna]

Make Poverty History

by Adrian Wait

 

 

Make Poverty History

 

Poverty, a word, A cause

A journey with no applause

 

Poverty

So many speak, too few listen

Pound in the tin, Conscience in pocket

 

Poverty

A cudgel taken up on my behalf

They take my voice, Ignore my words

 

Poverty

Level the scales balance the need

Enough for everyone No time for greed

 

Poverty

The latest dance, do you hear the rhythm?

Do you know the rhyme?

 

Poverty

Words that explode, none of them are mine

Poverty to History, Injustice will not confine

 

Poverty

Make poverty History’ sounds so divine

If it sooths your conscience, fine

 

Poverty

I should be grateful shouldn’t I?

Not raise questions, but learn to die

 

Poverty

Sweet charity, Blind Indifference

Do you know me, Can you see me

Will you hear me

Poverty.

[iwalkalone]

Renouncement

Alice Meynell

 

I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,

I shun the love that lurks in all delight—

The love of thee—and in the blue heaven's height,

And in the dearest passage of a song.

Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng

This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;

But it must never, never come in sight;

I must stop short of thee the whole day long.

But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,

When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,

And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,

Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—

With the first dream that comes with the first sleep

I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.

[poppinfresh2k5]

Invictus

William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

 

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.

[coffee_junkie]

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

By Pablo Neruda

 

 

Write, for example, "The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."

 

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

 

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

 

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

 

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

 

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

 

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

 

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

 

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

 

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

 

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

 

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

 

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

[popkern]

Someday

 

 

Love me

Hurt me

You say you love me

Yet you abuse me

How long must I endure the suffering

How long will the pain last

How long I wonder

From the bottom of my heart I truly do

Someday I'll leave

Someday I'll just go

On a boat

A jet or plane

Or maybe train

I'll be gone

For good

Forever

Such wonderful peace

That will be

But that is someday

That is not today

Again I'll take the pain

Mentally

Physically

And everything in btween

I'll take it all for you

Let go of your pain

And frustration

I am a shoulder to cry upon

I am a soul to warm your heart

I am a body to beat

For your agressions to let loose

Its ok

You hurt me

Everyday

But i'll live on

Life goes on

It doesnt matter about me

Everyone else matters

So I need to help them

Make them happy

One day I'll be free

I'll go away

Far, far away

To a beach maybe

Or a house in the country

Such a lovely dream

But soon I must wake

Again to go into my dismal world

One I wish to brighten

So I try and try everyday

Im not sure if im getting anywhere

But someday I will

Someday it'll happen

Someday I'll go

Someday my work shall be finished

Someday

Someday

Its always someday..

But someday it wont be someday

It will be today

But till then..

Someday it shall remain to be

 

-Janelle Morehart-

[popkern]

Have you ever

 

Have you ever truly loved someone

Who didnt love you back?

Have you ever wanted to die

In a quiet painless way

Just to escape it all?

Have you ever tried to speak

But no words came?

Have you ever tried to love

Someone you didnt love?

We all have done things

And wondered if anyone else

Has ever done the same

We have wondered if we would

Be better off dead

We need to think of those

Who have it worse

Who cant do the things

We can do

So next time wonder

Have you ever

Thought of another beside yourself?

Have you ever tried to help?

Have you ever been there?

Have you ever....

 

-Janelle Morehart-

[mamangkantutero]

THE EAGLE

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

FRAGMENT

 

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;

Close to the sun in lonely lands,

Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

He watches from his mountain walls,

And like a thunderbolt he falls.

1851

[blueSabine]

If You Forget Me

 

 

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,

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.

 

Pablo Neruda

[Leira]

Leaning Into The Afternoons

 

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets

towards your oceanic eyes.

 

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,

its arms turning like a drowning man's.

 

I send out red signals across your absent eyes

that smell like the sea or the beach by a lighthouse.

 

You keep only darkness, my distant female,

from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

 

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets

to that sea that is thrashed by your oceanic eyes.

 

The birds of night peck at the first stars

that flash like my soul when I love you.

 

The night gallops on its shadowy mare

shedding blue tassels over the land.

 

Pablo Neruda

 

words piercing deep......

[Missionary]

The Man Watching

 

I can tell by the way the trees beat, after

so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes

That a storm is coming

And I hear the far-off fields say things

I can't bear without a friend,

I cant love without a sister.

 

The storm, The shifter of shapes, drives on

Across the woods and across time,

And the world looks as if it has no age:

The landscape, like a line in the psalm book,

is seriousness and weight and eternity.

 

What we choose to fight is so tiny!

What fights with us is so great!

If only we could let ourselves be dominated

as things do by some immense storm,

we would become strong, too and not need names.

 

When we win it's with small things,

and the triumph itself makes us small

What is extraordinary and eternal

does not want to be bent by us.

I mean the Angel who appeared

to the wrestlers of the Old Testament:

when the wrestler's sinews

Grew long like metal strings,

he felt them under his fingers

like chords of deep music.

 

Whoever was beaten by this Angel

(who often simply declined to fight)

went away proud and strengthened

and great from that harsh hand,

that kneaded him as if to change his shape.

Winning does not tempt the man.

 

This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,

by constantly greater beaings.

 

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

 

[gonefishing]

MY candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends–

It gives a lovely light!

 

From Millay, Edna St. Vincent. A Few Figs From Thistles

Edited November 19, 2007 by gonefishing

[Missionary]

Some Excerpts from A Song of Myself

Walt Whitman

 

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,

And what I assume you shall assume,

For every atom belonging to me as well belongs to you

 

I am not an earth or an adjunct of earth,

I am the mate and companion of the people,

all just as immortal and fathomless as myself.

 

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess

the origin of all poems,

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun,

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand,

nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the specters in books,

You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.

 

Loafe with me in the grass,

Loose the stop from your throat,

Not words, not music or rhyme I want, nor custom or lecture, not even the best,

Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice.

 

I am a kosmos, son of my land,

Turbulent, fleshy, sensual, eating, drinking, and breeding,

I am around, tenacious, acquisitive, and cannot be shaken away.

 

Unscrew the locks from the doors!

Unsrew the doors themselves from the jambs!

I beleive in the flesh and the appetites,

Seeing, Hearing, and feeling are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle.

Divine I am inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touched from,

The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,

This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.

 

Translucent mould of me it shall be you!

Shaded ledges and rests it shall be you!

Whatever goes to the tilth of me it shall be you!

You my rich blood! Your milky stream pale strippings of my life!

My brain it shall be your occult convolutions!

Sun so generous it shall be you!

Hands I have taken, face I have kissed, mortal I have ever touched,

It shall be you!

[Missionary]

Isa pa hehe

Really cant get over the sense of liberation I felt

when I read this one...this made me feel ...well...free

 

Jabberwocki

by Lewis Carol

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

 

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

 

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

 

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

 

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

 

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

 

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

[LostCommand]

The gifts of the truly great come in many forms.

And so we shall know them.

 

 

Build Me a Son

General of the Army Douglas MacArthur

 

Build me a son, O Lord,

who will be strong enough to know when he is weak,

and brave enough to face him self when he is afraid;

one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat,

and humble and gentle in victory.

 

Build me a son whose wishes will not take the

place of deeds;

a son who will know Thee- and that

to know himself is the foundation stone of true knowledge.

 

Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort,

but under the stress and spur of difficulties and circumstance.

Here, let him learn to stand up in the storm;

here, let him learn compassion for those who fall.

 

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goals will be high;

a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men;

one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

 

And after all these things are his,

add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor,

so that he may always be serious,

yet never take himself too seriously.

 

Give him humility, so that he may always remember

the simplicity of true greatness,

the open mind of true wisdom,

and the meekness of true strength.

 

Then I, his father, will dare to whisper,

"I have not lived in vain."

 

-1945

Supreme Commander

Allied Forces in the Pacific

Edited November 20, 2007 by LostCommand

[Missionary]

high school memory... :goatee:

 

Look To This Day

by Kalidasa

 

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!

Look to this Day!

For it is Life, the very Life of Life.

In its brief course lie all the

Verities and Realities of your Existence.

The Bliss of Growth,

The Glory of Action,

The Splendor of Beauty;

For Yesterday is but a Dream,

And To-morrow is only a Vision;

But To-day well lived makes

Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,

And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.

Look well therefore to this Day!

Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!

[melancholic]

A Song of Melancholy

by Melancholic

 

Cries unheard, love untold

And all kept in

Pain so long, and ignored

A flame ablaze invisibly

 

Everything about this dream

Destined to fade in dim

All this hope shall remain

Mere fragments of a dream in vain

 

Forever, a dream

Forever, I dream

 

And now I ask, Why can fate be so cruel to me

Why did my heart choose you above all

And loved you, just to cast this pain in me

[naked_angel]

i like my body when it is with your

 

i like my body when it is with your

body. it is so quite new a thing.

muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh… and eyes big love-crumbs,

 

and possibly i like the thrill

 

of under me you so quite new

 

ee cummings

[naked_angel]

the quiet world

 

in an effort to get people to look

into each other's eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided

to allot each person exactly one hundred

and sixty-seven words, per day.

 

when the phone rings, i put it in to my ear

without saying hello. in the restaurant

i point at chicken noodle soup.

i am adjusting well to the new way.

 

late at night, i call my long distance lover,

proudly say i only used fifty-nine today.

i saved the rest for you.

 

when she doesn't respond,

i know she's used up all her words,

so i slowly whisper i love you

thirty-two and a third times.

after that, we just sit on the line

and listen to each other breathe.

 

-jeffrey mcdaniel

[iwalkalone]

Angel Face

M.C.

yea..my own...it moved me..so wut?! haha

 

Angel face...angel face...

beautiful and wide teary eyes

why do they seem so scared?

by them your atrocity is veiled

your eyes are like a black hole

they lead to the hades of your soul

where the beast is chained yet unmasked

with a pitchfork and a halo..chastised and mocked!

obscured behind your sweet lies and gentle smiles

under your cotton wings..are filthy flies!

Edited December 9, 2007 by iwalkalone

[iwalkalone]

A heart's funeral

(mine...boo hoo...Emo!)

 

Why? why does love exist?

in my heart...when my muse don't feel it?

Why? What for?

Why do i breathe?

when my love is nowhere to be found?

why do i whimper...if he no longer hears?..

I shall gladly die..

to continue this life will be a lie..

for he was the only light that burned in the dim

the only beauty..the only rhyme..that was him.

Woe is to me..i live yet i stand here shattered

It is my heart..yes..it is my heart ..he murdered!

by moments shared..of embraces that were lethal

forsaken! my heart is alone in its funeral...

[Missionary]

Do not go gentle into that Good Night

 

 

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.

 

 

 

~ Dylan Thomas ~

Edited December 12, 2007 by Missionary

[adikted]

http://opinion.inquirer.net/inquireropinio...rticle_id=99540

 

ang galing :cool:

[Missionary]

i carry your heart with me

 

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

------------------------------i fear

no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

~ ee cummings ~

Edited December 15, 2007 by Missionary

[wildsexyangel]

I like poetry by Miguel Hernandez or Pablo Neruda

 

Lullaby of the Onion is one touching poem.

[iwalkalone]

Peace

m.c.

 

It echoes in the dark, peace calls unto me

from the deep still waters beyond the sea

 

bathed in the soft beam of my hanging God

to the cold pavement of the onyx graveyard

 

my salvation beckons me

I am ready.

 

tis your name i shall take with thee...

 

(P.S. ALL your names! assholes and bitches!)