Poems- Not your own.

[xoxoxoBruce]

Danse Macabre

I love dispatch I strike at once
The wit, the wise, the fool, the dunce;
The steel-clad soldier, stout and bold,
The miser with his treasur'd gold;

The studious sage, and matron grave,
The haughty noble, and the slave,
I strip, with unrelenting paw,
The ermine from the man of law:
Disrobe the prelate of his his lawn;
And dim with clouds the op'ning dawn...

[DanaC]

I love Danse Macabre. A truly astonishing work. One of those almost timeless pieces of art. Nearly 500 years old and still speaks to us.

Nice thread

[DanaC]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening


Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.


The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

[glatt]

I like that one.

[Gravdigr]

Telefon!!

[xoxoxoBruce]

Tired - Fenton Johnson

[glatt]

That's sad.

[Lamplighter]

Yes, On the scale of greys, that's black.

[Gravdigr]

Could have been written by any modern tax-payer.

[infinite monkey]

Yes, it's time again for my annual posting of one of my favorite poems!

April

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots,
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

--Edna St. Vincent Millay

[henry quirk]

Very nice.

Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup

Yes...the job and joy, for each and every one, is to fill that cup.

[DanaC]

Is It Fair by JB Barrington

I live in a prosperous city
Rich in history and heritage and beauty that beguiles
But take a look past the wall and the shops that enthral
For somewhat contrasting lifestyles
If my eyes can see injustice
Surely your eyes can see it too
We’ve all got the wisdom and courage to oppose it
As a collective it’s not difficult to do
I want fair and square just and honest
I want them free from discrimination
I wanna snap and unwrap the reels of red tape
In the corridors of administration
Where the regulators regulate
In favour of the greedy
Where a wave of cuts make and create
More vulnerable and needy
For them it’s a buyer’s market
For I am of the plenty
I’m one big pound sign as they buy my time
Their purse gets fat mine stays empty
It’s the same old theme in the same grand scheme
In the same old day to day
It’s the same fat chance and the same old dance
To the same old tune they play
Now that my children have gone
My boxes and suitcase they wait in the hall
But it’s all about numbers cos memories don’t matter
As the last of the photos come down from the wall
Is it fair that I now have to leave
Just because I’ve grown old and alone
Is it fair that I’m forced to leave behind
My house that once was my family home
I have no family heirlooms
No crystal cut glass or antiques
When death does bereave all I’ll bequeath
Is some debt and more tears to soak cheeks
I wish i could just have that something
To pass down to my next of kin
Instead of sleeping pills and unpaid bills
In an empty biscuit tin
Centuries ago the people of York
Marched to London to have their say
They said they wouldn’t accept poverty
Or inequality
So why should we accept it today?

[xoxoxoBruce]

Teacher assigned a 16 line poem.

[Gravdigr]

Teach shoulda been more specific, I guess.