posted May 09, 2003 04:06 PM         

---------------------------------

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
what ever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them
men are old
may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right
they are not young
and may my self do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there's never been
quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile
-e.e. cummings

(Work through, read thoroughly, repeat if necessary)...I double dog dare you to read it aloud.

P.S. It took real restraint not to post Housman's "When I Was One- and- Twenty"

posted May 09, 2003 05:12 PM         

I will post this, though
(thanks given to 2 most excellent professors):

Drive a nail home and clinch it so faithfully that you can wake up in the night and think of your work with satisfaction, a work at which you would not be ashamed to invoke the Muse.
- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

posted May 09, 2003 05:46 PM         

juniperb

posted May 09, 2003 05:58 PM         

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I Was One- and- Twenty

WHEN I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;

Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.’
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
‘The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
’Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.’
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ’tis true, ’tis true.

- A.E. Housman
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And another by e.e. (the dashes and such are to keep the spacing), for me, honoring Spring:

O sweet spontaneous
earth how often have
the doting
-
-
______fingers of
prurient philosophies pinched
and poked
-
-
thee
has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
-
-
______beauty_______how
often have religions taken
thee upon their scraggy
knees squeezing and
-
-
buffeting thee that thou mightest conceive
gods
______but
true
-
-
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic
lover
-
-
______thou answerest
-
-
them only with
-
-
______spring

posted May 09, 2003 06:05 PM         

I couldn`t resist & posted Poe on 'For Yellow Wax and the Ants'

posted May 09, 2003 07:12 PM         

PITY THIS BUSY MONSTER, MANUNKIND

pity this busy monster, man unkind
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
-electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on itself.

A world of made
is not a world of born-pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
find specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if--listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

e.e. cummings

That was kinda heavy, so I'll leave you with one more:

THE OCTOPUS

Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,
Is those things arms, or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I'd call me Us.

--Ogden Nash

Funny, I was thinking about a favorite poem yesterday, "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden, but it's kind of a downer, so unless y'all really want to read it I won't post it!

posted May 09, 2003 09:04 PM           

And fighting time so hard I pray
that this moment lasts forever.
And will the world stay standing still at least for me.
Through my eyes stare into me.
I bear my heart for all to see.
With my face turned to the sun there ever standing still.

It wasn't you it wasn't me it wasn't anyone.
It was a day so long awaited and a chance to be as me.
I let the wind run through my hands
as I turned to walk away.
In distant days I long to sense it all so clear.

And fighting time so hard I pray
that this moment lasts forever.
And will the world stay standing still at least for me.
Through my eyes stare into me.
I bear my heart for all to see.
With my face turned to the sun there ever standing still.
And fighting time so much I ask.
I will this morning last forever.
Though seasons change and things come to pass
remain inside of me.
And fighting time so hard I pray
that this moment lasts forever.
and will the world stay standing still at least for me.

I had no faith before that day in any vow or deed.
Days followed days and years were meaningless.
Despite the wisdom of defeat
I bore my heart for all to see the wonders I'd seen.

posted May 10, 2003 12:28 AM         

Tril - that funny that you should mention "Funeral Blues" - I was just reading that today. God, what mighty words - I imagine them being yelled from a true-love's funeral pulpit.
Post it, though - as I said, it's powerful.
You should prolly put a wee "this is not a happy poem" disclaimer b/f it, though

posted May 10, 2003 01:23 AM         

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Like musical instruments
Abandoned in a field
The parts of your feelings

Are starting to know a quiet
The pure conversion of your
Life into art seems destined

Never to occur
You don't mind
You feel spiritual and alert

As the air must feel
Turning into sky aloft and blue
You feel like

You'll never feel like touching anything or anyone
Again
And then you do

posted May 10, 2003 11:08 AM         

OK, here goes, gonna post this amazing poem, but .....

*WARNING*WARNING*WARNING*WARNING*
The following is a beautiful heartfelt poem, but it is NOT uplifting...please skip it if you're feeling a little blue yourself.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W. H. Auden

posted May 10, 2003 01:58 PM         

I for one don't mind if it's moved,it's really proxieme's thread... but I guess I haven't found the forum yet...I'll be in search!