Pure poetry...
- Username Taken
- Raven
- Posts: 13929
- Joined: Mon May 19, 2014 6:53 pm
- Reputation: 6003
Re: Pure poetry...
Do you accept poetry from the lavatory laureate?
Spoiler:
- Duncan
- Sir Duncan
- Posts: 8149
- Joined: Tue Jun 03, 2014 8:22 pm
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- Location: Wonder Why Central
Re: Pure poetry...
This aint poetry, but a part of a song I'm still working on.
Where the mighty Mekong river it does flow,
On the banks of the Tonlie Sap I go,
And all the people there gather round.
Walking up and down,
Love is in the air.
There is a reason,
Your still on my mind,
Whenever I go away,
I'm just longing for the day,
When I can return again,
Again, Again , Again .
..
Where the mighty Mekong river it does flow,
On the banks of the Tonlie Sap I go,
And all the people there gather round.
Walking up and down,
Love is in the air.
There is a reason,
Your still on my mind,
Whenever I go away,
I'm just longing for the day,
When I can return again,
Again, Again , Again .
..
Cambodia,,,, Don't fall in love with her.
Like the spoilt child she is, she will not be happy till she destroys herself from within and breaks your heart.
Like the spoilt child she is, she will not be happy till she destroys herself from within and breaks your heart.
Re: Pure poetry...
"La Belle Dame Sans Merci"
A tale very reminiscent of Andy's misadventure with his crap-shootin, card-sharkin ex-honey.
A tale very reminiscent of Andy's misadventure with his crap-shootin, card-sharkin ex-honey.
- vladimir
- The Pun-isher
- Posts: 6077
- Joined: Mon May 12, 2014 6:51 pm
- Reputation: 185
- Location: The Kremlin
Re: Pure poetry...
A dream within a dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe
Jesus loves you...Mexico is great, right?
Re: Pure poetry...
Apparently world's shortest poem (palindrome) by the Dutch poet Joost van den Vondel:
U
NU!
translated:
You
now!
U
NU!
translated:
You
now!
Re: Pure poetry...
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:
Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.
Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.
I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone, —
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet?
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.
Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.
I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone, —
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.
O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet?
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Taxi, we'd rather walk. Huddle a doorway with the rain dogs
The Rum pours strong and thin. Beat out the dustman with the Rain Dogs;
The Rum pours strong and thin. Beat out the dustman with the Rain Dogs;
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