Your Favorite Poetry

by compound complex 23 Replies latest jw friends

  • Wasanelder Once
    Wasanelder Once

    "The Strain of Mercy" by Fred Chappell from Family Gathering


    The Strain of Mercy

    Aunt Agnes takes it all in stride:
    Uncle Einar's boorishness,
    Cousin Lilia's need to hide,
    Cousin Willoughby's sordid mess
    He thinks is a "bohemian life,"
    Aunt Alicia's wandering wits,
    What Uncle Lewis did to his wife,
    The way that Uncle Nahum sits
    In his creepy corner and calculates,
    Aunt Wilma's plans for sweet revenge,
    Cousin Hubert in dire straits,
    The inevitable and dreaded change
    Coming to young Elizabeth,
    Cousin Ellie's hordes of mates,
    Uncle Ozzie's fear of death.

    She recognizes what we are,
    Yet holds us in affection
    As steadfast as the morning star,
    As if our faults had no connection
    With the persons we are within.
    She doesn't pretend an ignorance
    Of our dark collective sin;
    She only believes that circumstance
    Has gone against us every one,
    That by blind forces we were driven.

    We make a painful silent moan
    At being so horribly forgiven.

  • rebelfighter
    rebelfighter

    Sowhatnow,

    That is beautiful.

  • nicolaou
    nicolaou

    The More Loving One

    Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
    That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
    But on earth indifference is the least
    We have to dread from man or beast.

    How should we like it were stars to burn
    With a passion for us we could not return?
    If equal affection cannot be,
    Let the more loving one be me.

    Admirer as I think I am
    Of stars that do not give a damn,
    I cannot, now I see them, say
    I missed one terribly all day.

    Were all stars to disappear or die,
    I should learn to look at an empty sky
    And feel its total dark sublime,
    Though this might take me a little time.”

    WH Auden

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

    I heard Hitchens quote a piece of this and loved it. He made the point that it could form the basis of a rudimentary 'religion'.

  • slimboyfat
    slimboyfat

    Thanks Xan I love that poem. Oops Anders yeah I mixed up Robert Frost and Robert Graves.

    About religion I really like Philip Larkin, the poem about water is great: "if I were called upon to construct a religion I'd make good use of water."

  • Xanthippe
    Xanthippe

    Kubla Khan

    BY SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

    Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.

    In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
    Through caverns measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.
    So twice five miles of fertile ground
    With walls and towers were girdled round;
    And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
    Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
    And here were forests ancient as the hills,
    Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

    But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
    Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
    A savage place! as holy and enchanted
    As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
    As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
    A mighty fountain momently was forced:
    Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
    Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
    Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
    And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
    It flung up momently the sacred river.
    Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
    Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
    Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
    And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
    And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
    Ancestral voices prophesying war!
    The shadow of the dome of pleasure
    Floated midway on the waves;
    Where was heard the mingled measure
    From the fountain and the caves.
    It was a miracle of rare device,
    A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

    A damsel with a dulcimer
    In a vision once I saw:
    It was an Abyssinian maid
    And on her dulcimer she played,
    Singing of Mount Abora.
    Could I revive within me
    Her symphony and song,
    To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
    That with music loud and long,
    I would build that dome in air,
    That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
    And all who heard should see them there,
    And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
    His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
    Weave a circle round him thrice,
    And close your eyes with holy dread
    For he on honey-dew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.


    BTW Coleridge had an opium addiction. Can you tell?

  • ihunt
    ihunt

    "Love, now a universal birth, 
    From heart to heart is stealing,
    From earth to man, from man to earth,
    It is the hour of feeling."
    Wordsworth, To My Sister
  • Saintbertholdt
    Saintbertholdt

    How calmly does the olive branch
    Observe the sky begin to blanch
    Without a cry, without a prayer
    With no betrayal of despair

    Some time while light obscures the tree
    The zenith of its life will be
    Gone past forever
    And from thence
    A second history will commence

    A chronicle no longer gold
    A bargaining with mist and mold
    And finally the broken stem
    The plummeting to earth, and then

    And still the ripe fruit and the branch
    Observe the sky begin to blanch
    Without a cry, without a prayer
    With no betrayal of despair

    Oh courage! Could you not as well
    Select a second place to dwell
    Not only in that golden tree
    But in the frightened heart of me

  • Mephis
    Mephis

    Couple of snippets I love.

    From Bukowski's How Is Your Heart?

    to awaken in a cheap room
    in a strange city and
    pull up the shade-
    this was the craziest kind of
    contentment

    and to walk across the floor
    to an old dresser with a
    cracked mirror-
    see myself, ugly,
    grinning at it all.
    what matters most is
    how well you
    walk through the
    fire.


    From Eliot's Little Gidding

    With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

    We shall not cease from exploration
    And the end of all our exploring
    Will be to arrive where we started
    And know the place for the first time.
    Through the unknown, unremembered gate
    When the last of earth left to discover
    Is that which was the beginning;

    At the source of the longest river
    The voice of the hidden waterfall
    And the children in the apple-tree

    Not known, because not looked for
    But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
    Between two waves of the sea.
    Quick now, here, now, always--
    A condition of complete simplicity
    (Costing not less than everything)
    And all shall be well and
    All manner of thing shall be well
    When the tongues of flames are in-folded
    Into the crowned knot of fire
    And the fire and the rose are one.

  • LoveUniHateExams
    LoveUniHateExams

    I'm not one for poetry but here's Japanese Maple by Clive James, written two years ago:

    Your death, near now, is of an easy sort.
    So slow a fading out brings no real pain.
    Breath growing short
    Is just uncomfortable. You feel the drain
    Of energy, but thought and sight remain:

    Enhanced, in fact. When did you ever see
    So much sweet beauty as when fine rain falls
    On that small tree
    And saturates your brick back garden walls,
    So many Amber Rooms and mirror halls?

    Ever more lavish as the dusk descends
    This glistening illuminates the air.
    It never ends.
    Whenever the rain comes it will be there,
    Beyond my time, but now I take my share.

    My daughter’s choice, the maple tree is new.
    Come autumn and its leaves will turn to flame.
    What I must do
    Is live to see that. That will end the game
    For me, though life continues all the same:

    Filling the double doors to bathe my eyes,
    A final flood of colors will live on
    As my mind dies,
    Burned by my vision of a world that shone
    So brightly at the last, and then was gone.


  • ttdtt
    ttdtt

    My Favorite:

    There Will Come Soft Rain - Poem by Sara Teasdale


    There will come soft rain and the smell of the ground,

    And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;


    And frogs in the pools singing at night,

    And wild plum trees in tremulous white;


    Robins will wear their feathery fire,

    Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;


    And not one will know of the war, not one

    Will care at last when it is done.


    Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

    If mankind perished utterly;


    And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn

    Would scarcely know that we were gone.


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