Page 3 of 13 FirstFirst 1234567 ... LastLast
Results 21 to 30 of 130

Thread: Favorite Poems

  1. #21
    Banned
    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Last Online
    @
    Meta-Ethnicity
    .
    Ethnicity
    .
    Taxonomy
    .
    Gender
    Posts
    9,771
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 85
    Given: 0

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    The Stranger Within My Gate.

    The Stranger within my gate,
    He may be true or kind,
    But he does not talk my talk--
    I cannot feel his mind
    I see the face and the eyes and mouth
    But not the soul behind.

    The men of my own stock,
    They may do ill or well,
    But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
    They are used to the lies I tell;
    And we do not need interpreters
    When we go to buy and sell.


    The stranger within my gates
    He may be evil or good
    But I cannot tell what powers control,
    What reasons sway his mood;
    Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
    Shall repossess his blood.


    The men of my own stock,
    Bitter bad they may be,
    But at least they hear the things I hear
    And see the things I see;
    And whatever I think of them and their likes,
    They think of the likes of me.


    This was my father's belief,
    And this is also mine:
    Let all the corn be one sheaf
    And the grapes be all one vine
    Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
    By bitter bread and wine.



    Rudyard Kipling.


    The Wrath Of The Awakened Saxon.

    It was not part of their blood,
    It came to them very late,
    With long arrears to make good,
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    They were not easily moved,
    They were icy -- willing to wait
    Till every count should be proved,
    Ere the Saxon began to hate.

    Their voices were even and low.
    Their eyes were level and straight.
    There was neither sign nor show
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    It was not preached to the crowd.
    It was not taught by the state.
    No man spoke it aloud
    When the Saxon began to hate.

    It was not suddently bred.
    It will not swiftly abate.
    Through the chilled years ahead,
    When Time shall count from the date
    That the Saxon began to hate.

    Rudyard Kipling.

  2. #22
    Banned Apricity Funding Member
    "Friend of Apricity"


    Join Date
    Feb 2009
    Last Online
    @
    Meta-Ethnicity
    European-style American
    Ethnicity
    California dreaming
    Gender
    Posts
    2,585
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 28
    Given: 0

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    When Death Comes
    by Mary Oliver

    When death comes
    like the hungry bear in autumn;
    when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

    to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
    when death comes
    like the measle-pox

    when death comes
    like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

    I want to step through the door full of curiousity, wondering:
    what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

    And therefore I look upon everything
    as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
    and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
    and I consider eternity as another possiblity,

    and I think of each life as a flower; as common
    as a field daisy, and as singular;

    and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
    tending, as all music does, toward silence,

    and each body a lion of courage, and something
    precious to the earth.

    When it's over; I want to say; all my life
    I was a bride married to amazement.
    I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

    When it's over, I don't want to wonder
    if I have made of my life something particular and real.
    I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened.

    I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

  3. #23
    Man, husband, cat keeper, brewer, cook, writer... Apricity Funding Member
    "Friend of Apricity"

    Piparskeggr's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
    Last Online
    12-20-2023 @ 06:34 PM
    Location
    Lexington Park, MD
    Meta-Ethnicity
    Pan-European
    Ethnicity
    European American
    Ancestry
    US: Canada (Mohawk, Huron and Cree) Lithuania Belarus Ukraine Moldova Germany Denmark England Wales
    Country
    United States
    Region
    Maryland
    Y-DNA
    E1b1b1c1
    mtDNA
    H5
    Taxonomy
    Mediterranid between Atlantomediterranid and Gracilmediterranid with Cromagno-Alpinoid.
    Politics
    Now a center feather on the right shoulder, not on a wing, but being pushed there.
    Hero
    My Dad, Mom and Wife
    Religion
    American Heathen
    Relationship Status
    Married since June 1982
    Age
    66
    Gender
    Posts
    2,401
    Blog Entries
    2
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 250
    Given: 28

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    "TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE"

    I who am dead a thousand years,
    And wrote this sweet archaic song,
    Send you my words for messengers
    The way I shall not pass along.

    I care not if you bridge the seas,
    Or ride secure the cruel sky,
    Or build consummate palaces
    Of metal or of masonry.

    But have you wine and music still,
    And statues and a bright-eyed love,
    And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
    And prayers to them who sit above?

    How shall we conquer? Like a wind
    That falls at eve our fancies blow,
    And old Maeonides the blind
    Said it three thousand years ago.

    O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
    Student of our sweet English tongue,
    Read out my words at night, alone:
    I was a poet, I was young.

    Since I can never see your face,
    And never shake you by the hand,
    I send my soul through time and space
    To greet you. You will understand.

    By James Elroy Flecker (1884-1915).
    - Stefn Piparskeggr Ullarskjaldberi

    Dramedy occurs when serious and silly collide

    mDNA H5 - yDNA E1b1b1c
    97.9% European, 1.6% Mohawk, 0.4% Cree, 0.1% Malian
    (also, 2.4 % Neanderthal and .6% Denisovan in there)

  4. #24
    Veteran Member
    Join Date
    Dec 2008
    Last Online
    06-16-2019 @ 06:39 AM
    Location
    .
    Meta-Ethnicity
    .
    Ethnicity
    .
    Taxonomy
    .
    Religion
    .
    Gender
    Posts
    1,327
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 20
    Given: 20

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

    When the hours of day are numbered,
    And the voices of the night
    Wake the better soul that slumbered
    To a holy, calm delight,—

    Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
    And, like phantoms grim and tall,
    Shadows from the fitful firelight
    Dance upon the parlor wall;

    Then the forms of the departed
    Enter at the open door,—
    The beloved ones, the true-hearted,
    Come to visit me once more:

    He, the young and strong, who cherished
    Noble longings for the strife,
    By the roadside fell and perished,
    Weary with the march of life!

    They, the holy ones and weakly,
    Who the cross of suffering bore,
    Folded their pale hands so meekly,
    Spake with us on earth no more!

    And with them the being beauteous
    Who unto my youth was given,
    More than all things else to love me,
    And is now a saint in heaven.

    With a slow and noiseless footstep,
    Comes that messenger divine,
    Takes the vacant chair beside me,
    Lays her gentle hand in mine;

    And she sits and gazes at me
    With those deep and tender eyes,
    Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
    Looking downward from the skies.

    Uttered not, yet comprehended,
    Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
    Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
    Breathing from her lips of air.

    O, though oft depressed and lonely,
    All my fears are laid aside
    If I but remember only
    Such as these have lived and died!

    -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  5. #25
    Banned
    Join Date
    Nov 2008
    Last Online
    @
    Meta-Ethnicity
    Germanic
    Ethnicity
    Pennsylvania Dutch
    Region
    Pennsylvania
    Gender
    Posts
    1,897
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 24
    Given: 0

    0 Not allowed!

    Default If---

    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 imposters 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 wornout 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!

    Rudyard Kipling

  6. #26
    Me Ne Frego!
    Apricity Funding Member
    "Friend of Apricity"

    Manifest Destiny's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2009
    Last Online
    @
    Ethnicity
    German, Irish, Norman French
    Country
    United States
    Region
    Gadsden
    Politics
    Manifest Destiny/Radical Traditionalism
    Hero
    Mustang Wanted
    Religion
    Heathen
    Age
    38
    Gender
    Posts
    8,671
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 9,838
    Given: 9,881

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    There once was a man from Nantucket...

  7. #27
    same great taste! anonymaus's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2009
    Last Online
    04-14-2011 @ 09:57 PM
    Meta-Ethnicity
    Germanic
    Ethnicity
    Krauty
    Gender
    Posts
    2,366
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 12
    Given: 0

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    One of my all time favourite poems is actually Tom Bombadil's Song; his incessant merry blathering in Lord of the Rings is ridiculous and magical: not just care-free, but unaware of caring at all. I've loved it forever.

    Hey dol! merry dol! ring a dong dillo!
    Ring a dong! hop along! fal lal the willow!
    Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

    Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! My darling!
    Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling.
    Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,
    Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,
    There my pretty lady is, River-woman's daughter,
    Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water.
    Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing
    Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?
    Hey! Come merry dol! derry dol! and merry-o,
    Goldberry, Goldberry, merry yellow berry-o!
    Poor old Willow-man, you tuck your roots away!
    Tom's in a hurry now. Evening will follow day.
    Tom's going home again water-lilies bringing.
    Hey! Come derry dol! Can you hear me singing?

    it's pretty long

  8. #28
    Individualist Apricity Funding Member
    "Friend of Apricity"

    Svipdag's Avatar
    Join Date
    Oct 2009
    Last Online
    04-13-2019 @ 02:25 AM
    Location
    central Connecticut
    Meta-Ethnicity
    Germanic
    Ethnicity
    Norwegian & Yankee
    Ancestry
    Maternal: Norway Paternal: Massachusetts
    Country
    United States
    Region
    Connecticut
    Politics
    Conservative
    Hero
    Marcus Tullius Cicero and Nikola Tesla
    Religion
    agnostic
    Age
    87
    Gender
    Posts
    3,632
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 3,883
    Given: 1,005

    0 Not allowed!

    Default My Favourite Poem

    Invictus - William Ernest Henley

    Out of the night that covers me,
    Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
    I thank whatever gods there 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.

  9. #29
    Veteran Member The Lawspeaker's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2009
    Last Online
    11-05-2023 @ 04:45 AM
    Meta-Ethnicity
    Celto-Germanic
    Ethnicity
    Dutch
    Ancestry
    Brabant, Holland, Guelders and some Hainaut.
    Country
    Netherlands
    Politics
    Norway Deal-NEXIT, Dutch Realm Atlanticist, Habsburg Legitimist
    Religion
    Sedevacantist
    Relationship Status
    Engaged
    Age
    36
    Gender
    Posts
    70,133
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 34,728
    Given: 61,129

    0 Not allowed!

    Default Herinnering aan Holland




    Herinnering aan Holland
    Hendrik Marsman (1899-1940)

    Denkend aan Holland
    zie ik breede rivieren
    traag door oneindig
    laagland gaan,
    rijen ondenkbaar
    ijle populieren
    als hooge pluimen
    aan den einder staan;
    en in de geweldige
    ruimte verzonken
    de boerderijen
    verspreid door het land,
    boomgroepen, dorpen,
    geknotte torens,
    kerken en olmen
    in een grootsch verband.
    De lucht hangt er laag
    en de zon wordt er langzaam
    in grijze veelkleurige
    dampen gesmoord,
    en in alle gewesten
    wordt de stem van het water
    met zijn eeuwige rampen
    gevreesd en gehoord.



    In English:


    Memory of Holland

    Thinking of Holland
    I picture broad rivers
    meandering through
    unending lowland:
    rows of incredibly
    lanky poplars, huge
    plumes that linger
    at the edge of the world;
    in the astounding
    distance small-holdings
    that recede into space
    throughout the country;
    clumps of trees, town-lands,
    stumpy towers, churches
    and elms that contribute
    to the grand design;
    a low sky, and the sun
    smothering slowly in mists, pearl-gray,
    mother-of-pearl;
    and in every county
    the water 's warning
    of more catastrophes
    heard and heeded.


    Translated by Irish poet Michael Longley (* Belfast, 1939).



    Wake up and smell the coffee.


  10. #30
    Endure To Be Man Liffrea's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Last Online
    02-15-2011 @ 11:01 PM
    Location
    Derby, Deorbyscire, Mierce
    Meta-Ethnicity
    English
    Ethnicity
    English
    Ancestry
    England, mostly East Midlands.
    Country
    England
    Region
    Mercia
    Politics
    Life Affirmation
    Religion
    Life Affirmation
    Age
    29
    Gender
    Posts
    2,533
    Thumbs Up
    Received: 13
    Given: 0

    0 Not allowed!

    Default

    Tennyson-Ulysses:

    It little profits that an idle king,
    By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
    Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
    Unequal laws unto a savage race,
    That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

    I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
    Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy’d
    Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
    That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
    Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
    Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
    For always roaming with a hungry heart
    Much have I seen and known; cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments,
    Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
    And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
    Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
    I am a part of all that I have met;
    Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
    Gleams that untravell’d world whose margin fades
    For ever and forever when I move.
    How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
    To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
    As tho’ to breathe were life! Life piled on life
    Were all too little, and of one to me
    Little remains: but every hour is saved
    From that eternal silence, something more,
    A bringer of new things; and vile it were
    For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
    And this gray spirit yearning in desire
    To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
    Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

    This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
    To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—
    Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
    This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
    A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
    Subdue them to the useful and the good.
    Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
    Of common duties, decent not to fail
    In offices of tenderness, and pay
    Meet adoration to my household gods,
    When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

    There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
    There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
    Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me—
    That ever with a frolic welcome took
    The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
    Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
    Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
    Death closes all: but something ere the end,
    Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
    Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
    The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
    The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
    Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
    ’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
    It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
    I believe that legends and myth are largely made of
    “truth”, and indeed present aspects of it that can only be received in this mode; and long ago certain truths and modes of this kind were discovered and must always reappear.

    J.R.R. Tolkien

    Indeed it might be a basic characteristic of existence that those who would know it completely would perish, in which case the strength of a spirit should be measured according to how much of the “truth” one could still barely endure-or to put it more clearly, to what degree one would require it to be thinned down, shrouded, sweetened, blunted, falsified.
    Nietzsche

    To God everything is beautiful, good, and just; humans, however, think some things are unjust and others just.
    Heraclitus

Page 3 of 13 FirstFirst 1234567 ... LastLast

Thread Information

Users Browsing this Thread

There are currently 1 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 1 guests)

Bookmarks

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •