poetry

[Miranda]

Originally posted by Draken
Still digging around some old files and found my obligatory hometown poem...


Durham Sunset

Every hue of every flame
Brushstroke layers of orange fire,
All colours that can warm and kindle,
Candle glow and funeral pyre,
Gilded script
And Viking amber,
Norman torch
And bishops’ gold,
All the setting shades of sun,
Of embered hearth,
And furnace glow.
One thousand years
Of regal purple,
Of battle-red
And ochre rust,
All there,
Amid flat turquoise skies,
All there,
One February dusk.

My God that's so beautiful!

Okay here we go with one I threw together in classics.

Dancing across the waters,
Shining throughout the night,
Precious gems of glowing silver
Glittering out so bright.

An orb of celestial majesty,
A child sees a face in the dark,
High with the song of the nightingale,
Low with the cry of the lark.

The darkest velvet carresses the land,
Bright colours fade and silver reigns,
Rest and peace have come at last,
Breaking the day's chains.

Dreams dusted on sleepy eyes
The lullaby a mother sings,
Quiets the torments of the day
And sends them forth on fairy wings.

Blackness chased away at dawn,
The gems fade as the free birds soar,
The faces hides behind the light,
As day arrives once more.

Mx

[Hasty Ent]

I am truly impressed with all the talent here! I have none, I'm afraid.

Just bought a pocket size book of poems by Wordsworth -- any other fans here?

This is the ending of a favorite poem of mine by Matthew Arnold called Dover Beach. I memorized it years ago because I wanted to be able to 'hear' it any time I felt like it. Unfortunately, my memory is failing now, but here goes:

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

[Starr Polish]

I'm in a rather bitter and self-depreciating mood right now, but I'll try to curb my bad teen angst poetry from this thread. I'm sorry if it pops up.

[Belle]

'La Belle Dame sans Merci" by Keats is my all time favourite poem. And I know it's cheesey but 'If' by Kipling is another one of my favourites, it always inspires me. The Lady of Shalott is also beautiful.

[Hasty Ent]

a true masterpiece of the 20th century: Howl by Allen Ginsberg -- can't post it, unfortunately, since it's not PG-13...

[Coney]

Originally posted by Hasty Ent
a true masterpiece of the 20th century: Howl by Allen Ginsberg -- can't post it, unfortunately, since it's not PG-13...

Got a link? (if ya post it the 'moot filter's out the harsh language anyway)

*has been known to use the odd profanity occasionally*

[Hasty Ent]

Here's a link -- but all those youngsters out there -- check with your parents if it's OK for you to read this!

Howl by Allen Ginsberg

[Miranda]

Originally posted by Belle
'La Belle Dame sans Merci" by Keats is my all time favourite poem. And I know it's cheesey but 'If' by Kipling is another one of my favourites, it always inspires me. The Lady of Shalott is also beautiful.

A woman after my own heart- La Belle Dame Sans Merci is one of my favourites to- I love Keats! Do you remember writing essays on that poem in year nine and then having to write a ballad of our own about how the lady came to be there- I'll try a find mine and if its good enough I'll post it.
I have to say though, other than Keats, most of my favourite poets aren't famous or even published. My friends all right beautiful poetry and its lovely in the way that we only share it within our group. MxXx

[sun-star]

Originally posted by Belle
'La Belle Dame sans Merci" by Keats is my all time favourite poem. And I know it's cheesey but 'If' by Kipling is another one of my favourites, it always inspires me. The Lady of Shalott is also beautiful.

Keats is brilliant! "La Belle Dame sans Merci" is one of my favourite poems to memorise

Also, I've recently discovered John Donne's love poetry through studying it at school. I love it! Anyone else a fan?

[Gwaimir Windgem]

Another one from me. I threw this together at work today; it's the first draft. Be forewarned: it's a little...dark and gruesome, at least for me.

Ancient power, old as stone,
Rotted flesh and broken bone,
Olden master of the damned,
Molten eyes and twisted hand,
Thy smashed body, lack of breath,
Bring thy power, Bring thy Death.

[Ninquelote]

Here's a LoTR poem I wrote a while ago... It's titled 'Elves to Valinor'.

Through the vales of Anduin
And the mountains Hithaeglir
Eriador, you are in
As you leave all with a tear

Perhaps you’ll see Gondoran might
The Tower raised to scrape the sky
Banners tall, held high in flight
And so you’ll travel with a sigh

Rohan’s horses, strong and fair
Where mearas dwelled in times of old
They wander Eastmark with no care
But still you travel, your heart cold

Over forest, hill and fen
Mayhaps you’ll see Imladris
Where Elrond’s daughter stayed with men
Or maybe you too will do this

Prancing pony, tavern bold
Stay indoors and do not fight
The beds are warm and beer is cold
Maybe you will stay the night

Shire-bound you are now
Past green path and old woodland
Baranduin of Buckland loud
But you pass hobbit-folk for sand

Grey ships leaving, one last look
Over mountain, flat and bloom
Say goodbye to meadow’s brook
Leaving beauty all too soon

Perhaps you hail from Greenwood Great
Or the trees of Lorien
Valinor has sealed your fate
And this world you trust to men

[Ninquelote]

Here's another one of my poems, titled 'Onodrim'.

These strange shepherds used to keep
An uncommon bond with their sheep
So much so, one looked a tree
However, meeting one, I decree
Do not be hasty, they do say
This is lucky if you stay
For if you’re friend to Tree and Leaf
The Ents share that beleif

Ents who loved the trees they herd
Entwives following the hummingbirds
Sung at length by Elves and Men
The sorrow one couldn’t comprehend
They searched far for the Gardens fair
And Entwives, with flowers in hair
But all is lost, save in lore
The Ents will search forevermore

Their majesty differed as oak to pine
Their patience knew no boundary-line
Hasty folk this race was not
Speaking slowly, the whole lot!
A room ba doom away they went
While others waited, their patience spent
An Entmoot takes a length of days
Talking beneath the Sun’s bright rays
Circled by the Evergreen trees
Derndingle needs no keys

“To Isengard!” the Ents once cried
To avenge the souls of trees that died
Trolls were a mere shadow of their strength
Those who stayed knew at length
For Fangorn had its own fire
Meeting one could soon turn dire
Had you flame or axe to hewn
By She the sun or Him the moon
Be Orc, or Man, or creature alike
Should you see all Fangorn’s might
The strength of trees would surely show
And your life would end with a single blow

[Ninquelote]

Here's another, aptly title 'Lothlórien'.


Through Moria, where the Balrog waits
After passing through its cursèd gates
Sweet Nimrodel, the laughing stream,
Joins Celebrant and its watery reams
Into Lórien, it flows through
Known to many, yet seen by few
First to Cerin Amroth in its flight
Ringed with trees of snowy white,
Then encircled with Mallorn-trees,
‘round the mound where Amroth sleeps
hillside grown with Niphridel,
and the stars of Elanor,
in the domain of Galadriel
and the wise Lord Celeborn

Caras Galadhon, city of Elves
Their singing like the sound of bells
The forest floor lined with a silvery path
The Celebrant crossed with a white-rimmed lath
The gold-leaved trees like living towers
Bright lights dot the tiers like flowers
Lórien’s roots growing strong and deep
Forest blossoms cease their sleep
Soft grey trunks lined with steps
Their branches carrying many flets
The Galadhrim finding their homes
In the Mallorn’s mighty boughs

Protected naught by Elven arrow
But by ring forged long ago,
Nenya, on the hand of Galadriel
Who caught the light of Eärendil
From the fountain, where her mirror lies
Showing the past, present, and what may yet arise

In these lands time does not reap
Holding these woods not in its keep
Seasons but a ripple in age’s long stream
While Lothlórien is left to fade its gleam
When Nenya’s power begins to wane
The Elves’ ring became their bane

Going now to land of old
Where Mallorn-trees no longer grow
Their sadness deep as they leave the land
To build grey ships on gold-hued sands
Giving middle-earth to the race of men
To diminish their threat and remember when
The Elder days were at hand
And the Valley of Laurelindórenan

[Gwaimir Windgem]

Wow. Wow. Those are...spectacular. Now I feel like editting mine out...

[wahine]

I agree about "If", wonderful poem.

To be a loose cannon Beuwolf (how do you spell it) is one of my favorites.

I either like the really short 1-3 verse poems, or the epics.

One of my ALL time favorites.

An Angel robed in spotless white,
Came down to kiss the sleeping knight,
Night woke to blush, the sprite was gone,
Man saw the blush and called it dawn.

Can't remember who it's by...It's origin if African though.

[Ninquelote]

Stop embarassing me! Mine aren't that good.

[Gwaimir Windgem]

O, yes they are.

[Ninquelote]

Oh no they're not.

[wahine]

The Wreck of Hesperus By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

IT was the schooner Hesperus,
That sailed the wintry sea;
And the skipper had taken his little daughter,
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
His pipe was in his mouth,
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailòr,
Had sailed to the Spanish Main,
‘I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

‘Last night, the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!’
The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the Northeast,
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable’s length.

‘Come hither! come hither! my little daughtèr,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow.’

He wrapped her warm in his seaman’s coat
Against the stinging blast;
He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

‘O father! I hear the church-bells ring,
Oh say, what may it be?’
‘’Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!’—
And he steered for the open sea.

‘O father! I hear the sound of guns,
Oh say, what may it be?’
‘Some ship in distress, that cannot live
In such an angry sea!’

‘O father. I see a gleaming light,
Oh say, what may it be?’
But the father answered never a word,
A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,
With his face turned to the skies,
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow
On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed
That savèd she might be;
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave,
On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Tow’rds the reef of Norman’s Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew
Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves
Looked soft as carded wool,
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice,
With the masts went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank,
Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,
To see the form of a maiden fair,
Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;
And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed,
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight and the snow!
Christ save us all from a death like this,
On the reef of Norman’s Woe!

[Gwaimir Windgem]

Well, they're a lot better than mine, at any rate.