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Benway

Poetry Thread

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Saharah Blue

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

by Pablo Neruda

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Saharah Blue

What if you slept ...

What if you slept

And what if

In your sleep

You dreamed

And what if

In your dream

You went to heaven

And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower

And what if

When you awoke

You had that flower in you hand

Ah, what then?

by Samuel Coleridge

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Pye Dog

Sonnet

Lift not the painted veil which those who live

Call Life; though unreal shapes be pictured there

And it but mimic all we would believe

With colours idly spread, - behind, lurk Fear

And Hope, twin Destinies, who ever weave

Their shadows o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.

I knew one who had lifted it .... he sought,

For his lost heart was tender, things to love

But found them not alas; nor was there aught

The world contains, the which he could approve.

Through the unheeding many he did move,

A splendour among shadows - a bright blot

Upon this gloomy scene - a Spirit that strove

For truth, and like the Preacher , found it not.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Saharah Blue

Ice

The wave, over the wave, a weird thing I saw,

through-wrought, and wonderfully ornate:

a wonder on the wave --- water become bone.

- Anonymous -

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Saharah Blue

Poem

As the cat

climbed over

the top of

the jam closet

first the right

forefoot

carefully

then the hind

stepped down

into the pit of

the empty

flowerpot.

by William Carlos Williams

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Saharah Blue

First Fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

by Edna St Vincent Millay

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Saharah Blue

SONG

There stands a lonely pine-tree

In the north, on a barren height;

He sleeps while the ice and snow flakes

Swathe him in folds of white.

He dreameth of a palm-tree

Far in the sunrise-land,

Lonely and silent longing

On her burning bank of sand.

by Heinrich Heine

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moonbeam beth

I love this thread and wanted to share, the first Poem that I ever read, therefore learned...

not the internals..poetry is a former way of life for moon...

If this is mis-quoted in some way, my memory sometimes adds or takes away for preference!! This is how I remember the work...

Emily Dickinson

I died for Beauty... but I was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room...

He questioned forth softly "Why I failed"?
"For Beauty", I replied...
"And I... for Truth"..

Themself, are One...
"We Brethren, are", He said..

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night...
We talked between the Rooms...
Until the Moss had reached our lips...
And covered up our names....

Edited to acknowledge I may have remembered this wrong!

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moonbeam beth

I just read this today, made me giggle, hope someone else too...

I cannot go to school today"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.

My mouth is wet, my throat is dry.
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox.

And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue,
It might be the instamatic flu.

I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke.
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in.

My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My toes are cold, my toes are numb,

I have a sliver in my thumb.

My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,

I think my hair is falling out.

My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,

There's a hole inside my ear.

I have a hangnail, and my heart is ...
What? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is .............. Saturday?

G'bye, I'm going out to play!”
Shel Silverstein

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moonbeam beth

sorry the one above was not for here...didn't realise at the time..

today I am with....Niamh...will stick to more 'classical' in future if the thread prefers...

The Longing by Nimah Nawwab
Freedom.
How her spirit
Haunts,
Hooks,
Entices us all!

Freedom,
Will the time come
For my ideas to roam
Across this vast land’s deserts,
Through the caverns of the Empty Quarter?


For my voice to be sent forth,
Crying out in the stillness of a quiet people,
A voice among the voiceless?

For my thoughts, that hurl around
In a never-ending spiral,
To settle
Mature, grow and flourish
In a barren wasteland of shackled minds?

Will my spirit be set free—
To soar above the undulating palm fronds?
Will my essence and heart be unfettered,
Forever
Freed,
Of man-made Thou Shall Nots?

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Saharah Blue

Alone

Lying, thinking

Last night

How to find my soul a home

Where water is not thirsty

And bread loaf is not stone

I came up with one thing

And I don't believe I'm wrong

That nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires

With money they can't use

Their wives run round like banshees

Their children sing the blues

They've got expensive doctors

To cure their hearts of stone.

But nobody

No, nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely

I'll tell you what I know

Storm clouds are gathering

The wind is gonna blow

The race of man is suffering

And I can hear the moan,

'Cause nobody,

But nobody

Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone

Nobody, but nobody

Can make it out here alone.

by Maya Angelou

*May you rest in peace your words will forever touch the hearts of others 1928-2014

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Saharah Blue

Beth Shel Silverstein is definitely considered a classic contemporary poet, thanks for contributing to the thread. :)

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Saharah Blue

“Inside this pencil

crouch words that have never been written

never been spoken

never been taught

they’re hiding

they’re awake in there

dark in the dark

hearing us

but they won’t come out

not for love not for time not for fire

even when the dark has worn away

they’ll still be there

hiding in the air

multitudes in days to come may walk through them

breathe them

be none the wiser

what script can it be

that they won’t unroll

in what language

would I recognize it

would I be able to follow it

to make out the real names

of everything

maybe there aren’t

many

it could be that there’s only one word

and it’s all we need

it’s here in this pencil

every pencil in the world

is like this”

by W.S. Merwin

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Saharah Blue

Ireland, Ireland

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,

Down thy valleys green and sad,

Still thy spirit wanders wailing,

Wanders wailing, wanders mad.

Long ago that anguish took thee,

Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,

Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,

Broke thy heart and left thee there.

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,

Still thy spirit wanders mad;

All too late they love that wronged thee,

Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.

by Sir Henry Newbolt

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Saharah Blue

“How clear, how lovely bright,

How beautiful to sight

Those beams of morning play;

How heaven laughs out with glee

Where, like a bird set free,

Up from the eastern sea

Soars the delightful day.

To-day I shall be strong,

No more shall yield to wrong,

Shall squander life no more;

Days lost, I know not how,

I shall retrieve them now;

Now I shall keep the vow

I never kept before.

Ensanguining the skies

How heavily it dies

Into the west away;

Past touch and sight and sound

Not further to be found,

How hopeless under ground

Falls the remorseful day.”

by A.E. Housman from A Shropshire Lad

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Saharah Blue

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****s and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do?

by Charles Bukowski

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Saharah Blue

In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself

 The buzzard never says it is to blame.
 The panther wouldn't know what scruples mean.
 When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame.
 If snakes had hands, they'd claim their hands were clean.

 A jackal doesn't understand remorse.
 Lions and lice don't waver in their course.
 Why should they, when they know they're right?

 Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,
 in every other way they're light.

 On this third planet of the sun
 among the signs of bestiality
 a clear conscience is Number One.

by Wislawa Szymborska

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Saharah Blue

Curfew

Solemnly, mournfully,
  Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
  Is beginning to toll.
Cover the embers,
  And put out the light;
Toil comes with the morning,
  And rest with the night.
Dark grow the windows,
  And quenched is the fire;
Sound fades into silence,--
  All footsteps retire.
No voice in the chambers,
  No sound in the hall!
Sleep and oblivion
  Reign over all!

II.
The book is completed,
  And closed, like the day;
And the hand that has written it
  Lays it away.
Dim grow its fancies;
  Forgotten they lie;
Like coals in the ashes,
  They darken and die.
Song sinks into silence,
  The story is told,
The windows are darkened,
  The hearth-stone is cold.
Darker and darker
  The black shadows fall;
Sleep and oblivion
  Reign over all.

 

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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