What Poetry Moved You?

[lemon]

From hill to hill I roam, from thought to thought,

With Love my guide; the beaten path I fly,

For there in vain the tranquil life is sought:

If 'mid the waste well forth a lonely rill,

Or deep embosom'd a low valley lie,

In its calm shade my trembling heart's still;

And there, if Love so will,

I smile, or weep, or fondly hope, or fear.

While on my varying brow, that speaks the soul,

The wild emotions roll,

Now dark, now bright, as shifting skies appear;

That whosoe'er has proved the lover's state

Would say, He feels the flame, nor knows his future fate.

On mountains high, in forests drear and wide,

I find repose, and from the throng'd resort

Of man turn fearfully my eyes aside;

At each lone step thoughts ever new arise

Of her I love, who oft with cruel sport

Will mock the pangs I bear, the tears, the sighs;

Yet e'en these ills I prize,

Though bitter, sweet, nor would they were removed

For my heart whispers me, Love yet has power

To grant a happier hour:

Perchance, though self-despised, thou yet art loved:

E'en then my breast a passing sigh will heave,

Ah! when, or how, may I a hope so wild believe?

Where shadows of high rocking pines dark wave

I stay my footsteps, and on some rude stone

With thought intense her beauteous face engrave;

Roused from the trance, my bosom bathed I find

With tears, and cry, Ah! whither thus alone

Hast thou far wander'd, and whom left behind?

But as with fixed mind

On this fair image I impassion'd rest,

And, viewing her, forget awhile my ills,

Love my rapt fancy fills;

In its own error sweet the soul is blest,

While all around so bright the visions glide;

Oh! might the cheat endure, I ask not aught beside.

Her form portray'd within the lucid stream

Will oft appear, or on the verdant lawn,

Or glossy beech, or fleecy cloud, will gleam

So lovely fair, that Leda's self might say,

Her Helen sinks eclipsed, as at the dawn

A star when cover'd by the solar ray:

And, as o'er wilds I stray

Where the eye nought but savage nature meets,

There Fancy most her brightest tints employs;

But when rude truth destroys

The loved illusion of those dreamed sweets,

I sit me down on the cold rugged stone,

Less coid, less dead than I, and think, and weep alone.

Where the huge mountain rears his brow sublime,

On which no neighbouring height its shadow flings,

Led by desire intense the steep I climb;

And tracing in the boundless space each woe,

Whose sad remembrance my torn bosom wrings,

Tears, that bespeak the heart o'erfraught, will flow:

While, viewing all below,

From me, I cry, what worlds of air divide

The beauteous form, still absent and still near!

Then, chiding soft the tear,

I whisper low, haply she too has sigh'd

That thou art far away: a thought so sweet

Awhile my labouring soul will of its burthen cheat.

 

Go thou, my song, beyond that Alpine bound,

Where the pure smiling heavens are most serene,

There by a murmuring stream may I be found,

Whose gentle airs around

Waft grateful odours from the laurel green;

Nought but my empty form roams here unblest,

There dwells my heart with her who steals it from my breast.

 

 

Yup, Francesco, that's where we're headed... again.

[Alex_Corvis]

I watched a Vimeo vid last week about a modern age take on Nativity and the voice over poem is sooooo powerful.

I wrote it down pero I forgot where I put it.

 

Hanapin ko nga mamya.

[OMEGAnun]

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

 

last stanza reads...

 

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[lemon]

I have you and I have enough.
Even in those early days of witty bantering,
When the fireflies lurked to greet the morning.
And cherubs giggled at the passing breeze,
Thus, melted the day’s hurdle with even ease.

I have you and I have enough.
When dark clouds crept in to murky the skies,
And the flock repulsed with frowning eyes,
An obsessive longing of velvety haze,
So confused the world… empty and ablaze.

I have you and I have enough,
When birds scrupled through adieu impending.
Defying and denying the pains of anon yearning.
Wrong seemed right and right seemed wrong.
But love was as clear as a persisting song.

I have you and I have enough,
In the quiet sadness of dawn’s dampened mood,
And in the foggy uncertain of darkness brewed,
I held your hand and my glassy eyes would laugh,
For I know I have you and I have enough.

 

Just an old poem recalled.

[filibustero]

If—

BY RUDYARD KIPLING

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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe 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!

 

[Julianda]

 

YOU WERE MY FAIRY TALE PRINCESS,

SO MUCH LARGER THAN LIFE.

YOU WERE MY ANGEL AND MY WITNESS

THROUGH ALL MY PAIN AND STRIFE.

 

AT TIMES YOU MADE ME ANGRY,

GREAT WORDS I WOULD PROCLAIM

HOW SOMEDAY YOU;D BE SORRY.

YOU WERE THE ONE TO BLAME.

 

BUT WHEN I NEEDED COMFORTING

YOU ALWAYS FOUND THE TIME.

YOUR WORDS WERE MORE SOOTHING

THAN DAYS OF CHILDHOOD SUBLIME.

 

NOW THE DISTANCE HOLDS US APART,

THE BOUNDARIES HAVE NO END.

I'LL HOLD THE MEMORIES IN MY HEART

YOU'RE MY MOTHER, MY BEST FRIEND

 

by anonymous

[Guest KT3]

SONNET XVII by Pablo Neruda

 

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

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 blooms

but 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

 

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

[femcasanova]

Nabasa ko s isang magazine nung bata pa ako,

 

I'd like to say some words to you

Please listen to me for a while

It concerns about the boy i love

The one who made me smile

 

He loved me once, not long ago

But that was then before

Since you came into his life

He didn't love me anymore

 

..

..

..

 

(I forgot the rest, but the ending was)

 

 

 

Offer him the love i can no longer show

 

 

 

[seongbae]

woooow nice poem naked_angel!

[blacklantern]

The last lines of Ulysses by Lord Alfred Tennyson quoted by M in the movie Skyfall-- great on You tube

[buko21]

nice

[bods1000]

I was reminded of this poem when a certain lady said that "hindi sya nagsusuklay ng buhok", although it has no relation to this poem. Lol!

From Randall Mann.

 

The Fall of 1992

 

Love was a doorknob

statement, a breakneck goodbye --

and the walk of shame

without shame, the hair disheveled, curl

of Kools, and desolate birds like ampersands...

 

I re-did my face

in the bar bathroom, above

the urinal trough.

I liked it rough. From behind the stall,

Lady Pearl slurred the words: Don't hold out for love.

[Ricardio]

Do not go gentle into that good night

Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953

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.

[cumlaude]

i dont know if anyone here knows this tagalog poem, cant remember the entire script, pero eto simula nya

Ang luha ni ina
una kong nakita
nang ako'y tumanggap
ng aking diploma

[bods1000]

This was the poem I referred to in another room:

 

Billy Collins, "Statues in the Park"

 

I thought of you today

when I stopped before an equestrian statue

in the middle of a public square,

 

you who had once instructed me

in the code of these noble poses.

 

A horse rearing up with two legs raised,

you told me, meant the rider had died in battle.

 

If only one leg was lifted,

the man had elsewhere succumbed to his wounds;

 

And if four legs were touching the ground,

as they were in this case -

bronze hooves affixed to a stone base -

it meant that the man on the horse,

 

this one staring intently

over the closed movie theater across the street,

had died of a cause other than war.

 

In the shadow of the statue,

I wondered about the others

who had simply walked through life

without a horse, a saddle, or a sword -

 

pedestrians who could no longer

place one foot in front of the other.

 

I pictured statues of the sickly

recumbent on their cold stone beds,

the suicides toeing the marble edge,

 

statues of accident victims covering their eyes,

the murdered covering their wounds,

the drowned silently treading the air.

 

And there was I,

up on a rosy-gray block of granite

near a cluster of shade trees in the local park,

my name and dates pressed into a plaque,

 

Down on my knees, eyes lifted,

praying to the passing clouds,

forever begging for just one more day.