Poetry

Elspode · 07-30-2003, 12:58 AM

Existentialism must be easy for those who have the presence of mind to ponder their own insignificance...

But what of those of us who lack the insight to know that the river flows by us without so much as dampening our sneakers with an errant splash?

Yet do we sit upon the bank of the river, waiting for a ripple to wet our feet, or perhaps to pull us asunder...

warch · 07-30-2003, 03:20 PM

well...I dunno about you but I got the insight to know when my sneakers are damp. They squeek, and my feet get wrinkled and stinky. Therefore I am.

Elspode · 07-30-2003, 04:07 PM

Well, I probably should have put *Bad* Poetry on the subject line...

warch · 07-30-2003, 04:51 PM

I'm way bad poetry.

headsplice · 07-31-2003, 10:16 AM

I
THOU still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
II
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
III
Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d,
For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
IV
Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
Why thou art desolate, can e’er return.
V
O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
When old age shall this generation waste,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st,
«Beauty is truth, truth beauty,»- that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

-His Name is Writ on Water

any guesses?

Elspode · 07-31-2003, 06:48 PM

Googling says Keats...I sure as hell should have known that, but I didn't. Further evidence of my recent intellectual decline.

warch · 07-31-2003, 07:09 PM

What is...a Grecian Urn?

xoxoxoBruce · 07-31-2003, 09:15 PM

About 3 bucks an hour plus goat cheese.:p

07-30-2003, 12:58 AM	#1
Elspode When Do I Get Virtual Unreality? Join Date: Dec 2002 Location: Raytown, Missouri Posts: 12,719	Poetry Existentialism must be easy for those who have the presence of mind to ponder their own insignificance... But what of those of us who lack the insight to know that the river flows by us without so much as dampening our sneakers with an errant splash? Yet do we sit upon the bank of the river, waiting for a ripple to wet our feet, or perhaps to pull us asunder... __________________ "To those of you who are wearing ties, I think my dad would appreciate it if you took them off." - Robert Moog

07-30-2003, 04:07 PM	#3
Elspode When Do I Get Virtual Unreality? Join Date: Dec 2002 Location: Raytown, Missouri Posts: 12,719	Well, I probably should have put Bad Poetry on the subject line... __________________ "To those of you who are wearing ties, I think my dad would appreciate it if you took them off." - Robert Moog

07-31-2003, 10:16 AM	#5
headsplice Relaxed Join Date: Jul 2002 Location: Minneapolis Posts: 676	Guessing game.... I THOU still unravish’d bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? II Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! III Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, For ever piping songs for ever new; More happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy’d, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy’d, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. IV Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e’er return. V O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, «Beauty is truth, truth beauty,»- that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. -His Name is Writ on Water any guesses? __________________ Don't Panic

07-31-2003, 06:48 PM	#6
Elspode When Do I Get Virtual Unreality? Join Date: Dec 2002 Location: Raytown, Missouri Posts: 12,719	Googling says Keats...I sure as hell should have known that, but I didn't. Further evidence of my recent intellectual decline. __________________ "To those of you who are wearing ties, I think my dad would appreciate it if you took them off." - Robert Moog

07-31-2003, 09:15 PM	#8
xoxoxoBruce The future is unwritten Join Date: Oct 2002 Posts: 71,105	About 3 bucks an hour plus goat cheese.:p __________________ The descent of man ~ Nixon, Friedman, Reagan, Trump.

07-30-2003, 03:20 PM	#2
warch lurkin old school Join Date: Oct 2001 Location: Minnesota Posts: 2,796	well...I dunno about you but I got the insight to know when my sneakers are damp. They squeek, and my feet get wrinkled and stinky. Therefore I am.

07-30-2003, 04:51 PM	#4
warch lurkin old school Join Date: Oct 2001 Location: Minnesota Posts: 2,796	I'm way bad poetry.

07-31-2003, 07:09 PM	#7
warch lurkin old school Join Date: Oct 2001 Location: Minnesota Posts: 2,796	What is...a Grecian Urn?

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