General/Off-topic |
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MY LYRICS - POEMS - PASSAGES
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| 430. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 12:57 am |
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Love Song: I and Thou
Nothing is plumb, level or square:
the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
Oh I spat rage´s nails
into the frame-up of my work:
It held. It settled plumb.
level, solid, square and true
for that one great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
but I planned it I sawed it
I nailed it and I
will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
to the left-hand cross-piece but
I can´t do everything myself.
I need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.
------------------- Alan Dugan
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| 431. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 01:05 am |
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Us from the second half of XX century
Splitting atoms
The conquerors of the moon
Being ashamed of
Soft gestures
Delicate sights
Warm smiles
...........when we suffer
we twist our lips disrespectfully
when love comes
we shrug our arms disrespectfully as well
strong cynically
with ironically squinting eyes
but late at night
with tightly closed blinds
we bite our hands
dying for love
Małgorzata Hillar 1926-1995 contemporary Polish female poet
translated by adana
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| 432. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 01:07 am |
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Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae Sub Regno Cynarae
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
Ernest Dowson
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| 433. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 01:17 am |
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For a wish to just come true is a foolish man’s dream
With no action on the part of the dreamer, little can be accomplished
One might as well spend every penny they earn on the lottery
No one can hope to win race they do not enter
Yet so often, the poor and the sad
Will wish and not act, not believing they can help
Not believing in one’s self, but believing in luck
Or believing in the ability AND desire of another, be it human or inhuman, to save you
Such a savior is quite rare, it often seems too rare
Much too rare to accommodate for every wisher
Even too rare to yield any significant results overall
To the individual, it’s amazing, yet to the majority, it doesn’t exist outside of the mind
For these reasons, though they’re just one man’s experience
I believe any action, anything is better than nothing
To wish and never act is the foolish man’s dream
And every action makes him more the genius
For every action yields results
Knowledge, happiness, or success
There’s always at least knowledge
And, hopefully, determination too
With no determination, nothing will happen
With infinite determination, anything and everything you want can happen
But, then again, to want too much can just as well be one’s downfall
More desire does not always lead to more
Desire can be a bottomless pit
This pit has a ladder on the side
And all the riches in the world at the bottom
If you fall in, it’s always possible to get out
Gripping on the ladder is the hardest part
They say it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s hitting the ground
Time alone can kill a man just as surely, often more so
So, it seems, time is always of the essence
To delay a plan forever is to never carry it out
And to wait for wishes is to wait forever
For the majority, acting is the only way to succeed
And we’re all in the majority
Marcus Aurelius
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Edited (3/7/2009) by adana
[cannot modify layout...]
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| 434. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 11:41 am |
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beautiful! latins... are latins... aren´t they?
Edited (3/7/2009) by portokal
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| 435. |
07 Mar 2009 Sat 12:33 pm |
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Drinking Alone Under the Moon
Among the flowers, with a whole pot of wine,
- A solitary drinker with no companions -
I raise my cup to invite the bright moon:
It throws my shadow
and makes us a party of three
But moon
understands nothing of drinking,
And shadow
only follows me aimlessly.
For the time
shadow and moon are my fellows,
Seizing happiness
while the spring lasts.
I sing:
the moon sails lingeringly,
I dance:
my shadow twirls and bobs about.
As long as I´m sober, we all frolic together;
When I´m drunk, we scatter and part.
Let us seal for ever
this passionless friendship-
Meet again
by the far-off River of Stars!
Li-Bai (701-62)
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Cutting branches from a Wu-T´ung tree*, then gazing at Yung Lake
The green wu-t´ung´s branches down,
we can sit looking out at Yung Lake.
Autumn mountains bathed pure in rain,
forests radiant, soaked in emerald quiet,
its bright mirror of water turns lazily
in a painted screen of changing cloud.
A thousand eras lost to wind, and still
the great sages all share this moment.
*"The only tree on which the phoenix would alight, is an ornamental species, which grows to great height very rapidly, and has a bell-shaped flower, white without and reddish-brown within. The leaves are very large; they open early and commence to fall at the beginning of autumn. The seeds enter into the composition of the moon-cakes eaten by the Chinese at the autumnal festival of the eighth month." (from http://www.phoenixmoon.org/thephoenixbackground.html)
Edited (3/7/2009) by portokal
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| 436. |
09 Mar 2009 Mon 01:55 am |
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Were I to meet you again for the first time,
But in a different orchard, in a different wood—
Perhaps for us the trees would sigh differently,
Extended into infinity under a misty hood...
Perhaps among the furrowed green you´d reach your hands
For other flowers, trembling as they were birds—
Perhaps from your undiscerning, unknowing lips
Would fall some other words—some other words...
Perhaps into a cascade of flaming roses
The sun would force our souls to burst for good,
Were I to meet you again for the first time,
But in a different orchard, in a different wood...”
by Bolesław Leśmian
Edited (3/9/2009) by adana
Edited (3/9/2009) by adana
[3rd attemp to post a poem]
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| 437. |
09 Mar 2009 Mon 02:00 am |
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Pontiff
He lowers his blessing
mushroom-capped glistening
& traces the trinity
Axilla (overturned skullcap)
Areola (fisherman´s ring, still warm)
Perineum (the grating whispered through)
Even this his infallible arc
drawn in clear finish can´t enter
the scuffed depths of heaven
Greg Wrenn
Edited (3/9/2009) by portokal
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| 438. |
09 Mar 2009 Mon 10:29 am |
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New one for today ;
Birkaç Satýr
Hep kalbimi dinlerim, geçmiþten bugüne
Hep gösterdiði yoldan giderim, sonunu düþünmeden
Hislerim beni yanýltmaz hiçbir zaman
Güvenirim hep , hiç korku duymadan
Bazen duvarlara çarparým, bazen de düþerim
Ama her defasýnda toparlarým,
Güvenmek bir þeylere sert bir kaya gibi
Düþerken tutabildiðim bir aðacýn dalý gibi
Duygular götürür beni açýk denizlere,
Oralarda yalnýz olmaktan korkarým
Eðer birþeyler seni benden alýrsa
Bilemem tek baþýma ne yaparým
Bir kaç satýr, bir kaç kelime yazdýðým
Beni bir tek sen anlarsýn
Eksilmez gözlerimdeki iki damla yaþ
Lütfen artýk Cenk korkmasýn...
Cenk...
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| 439. |
10 Mar 2009 Tue 03:07 am |
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Glowing
Some seem to hide their face
As if concealed by a mirror —
Disguising their true intentions —
Replaced with those unreal to see.
But look within my glowing eyes —
Do not be fooled by their quiet stare —
For all you will find is truth and serenity,
And the clear reflection of my enchanted soul
marc duggan
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| 440. |
11 Mar 2009 Wed 01:18 am |
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Forget last night
Trying to forget the pains I cause
If he only knew
About the secrets I keep
Drowning, trapped
In my own mistakes
I can’t get out
Trying to feel
Looking in all the wrong places
To fulfil some need
Loosing myself all the time
To momentary highs
Always followed by a crash
Falling
Falling like I’m in some kind of horrible wonderland
Searching for a way out of this hole
Finding solace in different arms
Unsatisfied by the love I have
Wandering and searching
For something to fulfil the emptiness I feel deep inside
Samira
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