Requiem II - Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem II
From life's dark, unwholesome cage
where love frets, siege raised in rage,
set free who sad lived, glad the page
turns uniting night to day.
Crave no rave elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here actor lies in heart arrest
retractions over his clay.
revised 25 December 2009
robi03_0796_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
for previous version see below
Requiem II
In a dark, unwholesome cage
let me fret and seethe in rage,
sadly I’ve lived and glad the page
turns uniting night and day.
Rave no crude elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here lies life’s actor under arrest
with a tractor over his clay.
Requiem I
Through the artificial flowers
let me slide when all my powers
have passed as pass man’s mortal hours,
and let me burn.
Spurn graven verses for my head,
spade not the body laid, instead,
as I’ll no longer look ahead
book me no urn.
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me
Here he lies where he long’d to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894
Requiem
Under the free and open sky,
There let me rest, nor breathe a sigh, -
Gladly I’ve lived, and gladly I’ll lie,
Content by night and day.
Grave no rude tombstone to mark my rest;
But deep in your soul may you say with zest;
“Here is the Seeker after his Quest,
And the Actor after the Play.”
Hamish Mann 1896 – 1917 A Subaltern’s Musings: 1918
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Related quotes
Requiem I - Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Through the artificial flowers
let me slide when all my powers
have passed as pass man’s mortal hours,
and let me burn.
Spurn graven verses for my head,
spade not the body laid, instead,
as I’ll no longer look ahead
book me no urn.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem for alternative version see below
robi03_0795_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
Requiem II
From life's dark, unwholesome cage
where love frets, siege raised in rage,
set free who sad lived, glad the page
turns uniting night to day.
Crave no rave elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here actor lies in heart arrest
retractions over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem revised 25 December 2009
robi03_0796_stev02_0001 PXX_DIZ
for previous version see below
Requiem II
In a dark, unwholesome cage
let me fret and seethe in rage,
sadly I’ve lived and glad the page
turns uniting night and day.
Rave no crude elegy to test
verse prowess, - without protest
here lies life’s actor under arrest
with a tractor over his clay.
© Jonathan Robin – Parody written 2 December 1995 Parody Robert Louis STEVENSON - Requiem
Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me
Here he lies where he long’d to be
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Robert Louis Stevenson 1850 - 1894
Requiem
Under the free and open sky,
There let me rest, nor breathe a sigh, -
Gladly I’ve lived, and gladly I’ll lie,
Content by night and day.
Grave no rude tombstone to mark my rest;
But deep in your soul may you say with zest;
“Here is the Seeker after his Quest,
And the Actor after the Play.”
Hamish Mann 1896 – 1917 A Subaltern’s Musings: 1918
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me lie:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you 'grave for me:
Here he lies where he long'd to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Requiem For Bartok
A Requiem for Bartok
Viola Concerto
which he never finished
poor and broke in New York
as so many were and still are
he died
there was no dirge
no elegy
no requiem
for a true artist
has no true friend
they called him a genius
a great artist
they even finished writing
his last testament
his Viola Concerto
but nobody knew him
he was alone
in his Hungarian solitude
nobody sang
a dirge
an elegy
not even a requiem
for him
one early spring night
in a Colorado town
far away from New York
I saw a woman on the stage
in the shadow of his light
let her viola sing
what cannot be sung
alone in the midst of the clamor
of symphonic chaos
people sat still
like silent tomb stones
just listened
vacant eyes
she was playing a loving requiem
for Bartok
Suchoon Mo
-Sage Of Consciousness, vol.2,2, May 2006-
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Love's Requiem
Confusion writhes around our hearts impatiently
It drains the faith that lights the dark and sets us free
From the chains of our war and the pain we once called love
The poison of doubt enslaves our minds and we bleed
We abandon the trust that kept us blind and disappear
Under the crimson wings of hate where the lost are safe
Until they love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
We pray to the serpent of delight desperately
The questions are answered and we try not to weep
Until we are sure we're suffering for love
In the dungeon of our dreams we're so weak
The promise made to be broken still haunts our sleep
We won't open our eyes afraid we would die for love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
The salvation we seek will be waiting us there
In the heart of darkness lonely and scared
With a promise of death for our love
And now that we're free from the chains of our dark love
I'm lost
And now that we're free from the chains of our dark love
I'm lost
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until we're one and sing me you're beautiful song
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our love's requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until we're one and sing me you're beautiful song...
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold Air Masses
Your requiem is rising
from a wailing sea.
It blends among inconsolable
gull cries, beyond
your hearing.
Every fluctuating wave
calls to mind your unexpectant
departure, and now there
is no unharboured bird
more destitute
than I.
Your requiem is rising
from a wailing sea,
about to abort your awayness
and skepticism with yet
more in the series
of I-love-you's.
I would make an effort
to summon by sea-bird
back from sunless soaring heights
for your requiem is rising
still from a wailing sea.
reposted 03/05/08
poem by Gregory Wm. Gunn
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Loves Requiem
Confusion writhes around our hearts impatiently
It drains the faith that lights the dark and sets us free
From the chains of our war and the pain we once called love
The poison of doubt enslaves our minds and we bleed
We abandon the trust that kept us blind and disappear
Under the crimson wings of hate where the lost are safe
Until they love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
We pray to the serpent of delight desperately
The questions are answered and we try not to weep
Until we are sure were suffering for love
In the dungeon of our dreams were so weak
The promise made to be broken still haunts our sleep
We wont open our eyes afraid we would die for love again
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
The salvation we seek will be waiting us there
In the heart of darkness lonely and scared
With a promise of death for our love
And now that were free from the chains of our dark love
Im lost
And now that were free from the chains of our dark love
Im lost
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until were one and sing me youre beautiful song
The heart of darkness is hope of finding you there
And that hope will be our loves requiem
Take me into your arms and sing me your beautiful song
Hold me until were one and sing me youre beautiful song...
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Requiem For Evita
(crowd:)
Requiem aeternum dona evita
Requiem aeternum dona evita
Requiem evita, requiem evita
Evita, evita, evita, evita
Grant eternal rest to evita
Grant eternal rest to evita
Rest to evita, rest to evita
Evita, evita, evita, evita
Requiem aeternum dona evita
Requiem aeternum dona evita
Requiem evita, requiem evita
Evita, evita, evita, evita
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Requiem
Requiem
By: Adam M. Snow
The darkness blooms on this cold still night,
Loneliness I wait; I wait for time to take flight,
But loneliness I wait; lost forevermore,
Bounded by fate of my tomorrow, dying for,
Lost forevermore like my burden upon dreams,
Like my past behind me, so it seems, so it seems.
Awaken now by agony and greed,
But still alone in this time of need,
Alone, with but one desire,
To fly free, not stoke the fire.
Requiem on this night upon dreams,
Like my past behind me, so it seems, so it seems.
A requiem like any other, sung upon dreams, so it seems.
Broken through turmoil and bliss,
I give my dying kiss to a broken reflection,
A reflection, shattered across time,
By my one tormented prime.
Like my woes overthrown by ageless affliction,
But my dying curse, my only addiction,
Lost forevermore like my burden upon dreams,
Like my past behind me, so it seems, so it seems.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Nobody's Home
It's empty now, no friendly face,
and nothing lives within.
I look around and I find no trace
To tell me what has been
So far I've come to find there's no one here, no life & fear
I came for nothing, they have gone
And Nobody's Home.
I came to learn, perhaps to teach
But I can tell somehow
The world that I was sent to reach
Has got no future now
Across the galaxy to spread the word, and no one heard
I came for nothing, I'm alone
And Nobody's Home
A requiem was never sung, no elegy was read
No monument was carved in stone in memory of the dead
For those who made this place do not remain, they feel no pain
A stranger fate was never known
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: CXIII
TO ONE WITH HIS SONNETS
This is the book. For evil and for good,
What my life was in it is written plain.
These are no dreams, but things of flesh and blood,
The past that lived and shall not live again.
This is the book. I dare not bid you read.
Too much of my poor soul you would unlock.
Your own soul, if it tender were, might bleed.
I could not bear that you should only mock.
My life lies here. And yet in vain, dear heart,
The tale is told. One page it yearns to see,
One play where one best actor should find part.
But that, alas for love! shall never be.
Yet, if a sign you seek between these lines,
One hidden lies for you, a sign of signs.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Priorities
PRIORITIES
Today’s priorities tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed one day before
turns sour before its zest to rest is laid,
incorporated into causal braid,
what’s left sewn through waft-weft of life’s rapports.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
Timed candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh thrilled head’s held high, yet soon
both silver spoon and slum lie dumb, stilled tune.
f[l]ame = flame fame lame l'âme aim am me
3 December 2001 revised 10 December 2008
robi03_0974_robi03_0000 SXX_CDJ
for previous version see below
Priorities
Priorities today, tomorrow fade,
dissolved, distorted by Time's tug of war.
What all important seemed the day before
turns sour before appointed hour, is laid
aside by patterns Cause, Effect may braid
into the waft and weft of their rapport.
It serves no sense to fear what lies in store
for others, for oneself, - life’s game is played
with Life itself, spurns Death's amoral spade.
The candle splutters, will f[l]ame rise once more,
or shroud itself in darkness, curtains draw,
veils pulled full frontal, cloaked black burka maid?
For passing sigh-space head’s held high, yet soon
all is dissolved for slum or silver spoon...
3 December 2001
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Upon A Maid
Here she lies, in bed of spice,
Fair as Eve in paradise;
For her beauty, it was such,
Poets could not praise too much.
Virgins come, and in a ring
Her supremest REQUIEM sing;
Then depart, but see ye tread
Lightly, lightly o'er the dead.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Knight of Oktober
Like a feral beast, claws at her cage,
sudden lightning illuminates her face,
half serene sadness replaces her rage;
facing up raindrops for a kiss to trace.
Thunder and flash, changeless scheme,
invariable dragging, cold down to bleak,
resolute severance, navigate in dream,
as will of escaping submits to mystique.
Occupied! Beholden to ancient whispers,
joy seems a waste, time near finished,
a cruel hope, and darkness of dreamers,
a billow of rain, her prowess diminished.
Ghosts invade her senses, a dark foray,
dreams to escape fade where whispers,
persuade her to alter, in dark outpray,
banish the spirits, soul's eulogy deeper.
And there she decides by sword to live,
a Corax of Apollonian oracles foretells,
'serenity comes as swords don't misgive,
reward of virtues tend warriors quells'.
'Voices', says, 'are secrets you choose,
to become your quilt of eternal burden;
onerous soul requiem of an elegian muse,
as quietness follows in non existent Eden'.
'This sword is heaven, a reason to wait.
those who valiant fight, caresses crave,
meritorius bestowing of Olympian gates,
and Universe becomes their final grave'.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Timely Open Book
An attractive pair of eyes
of almond aspect, startling size,
sparkle with suggestive look
to signal “I’m an open book”
to which all welcome are who, wise,
rise, meet sweet challenge, find replies
the overhasty overlook.
Moreover, who their minds mistook
face value take where their own lies
make mirror image, dark disguise,
soon blot their ego's copybook -
self image wage, page books may cook.
From downturned mouth to upturned nose
verse flows until this tale we close.
22 June 2005 revised 5 December 2008
robi03_1286_robi03_0000 SXX_JLX
for previous version entitled Open Book see below
Open Book
An attractive pair of eyes
of almond aspect, startling size,
sparkle with suggestive look
to signal “I’m an open book”
to which all welcome are who, wise,
rise, meet the challenge, find replies
that overhasty overlook,
while those face value take mistook
are where they make for their own lies
a mirror image, dark disguise –
and thus soon blot their copybook...
© Jonathan Robin – Sonnet written 22 June 2005
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Requiem for a rainy day
In stripes the drops splatter against the window
while others join them in a rainstorm,
the blue white of a thunder flash
that falls instantaneously
stays brightly caught on the inner eye
while some drops are still hanging.
On such a drizzly day,
it is said that my dad
was carried to his grave,
with the wind
drawing on mothers black veil
cypresses whipping to and thro
and tears were pouring down,
while the pastor read again
from the Bible and prayed,
people said their last words,
lying rose petals down during the rain,
but in my memory (that of a three year old child) ,
I remember it as a sunny day
on which black cars in a procession
parked just behind our house,
with people with shining shoes
walking on the dirt road
to where the cemetery
was situated across from the house.
With every rain shower
the one side of that grave
now wants to cave in still further
with the branches of the tree that was planted
thoughtlessly on mother’s place fluttering.
[Reference: Requiem vir ‘n reëndag (Requiem for a rainy day) by H.J. Pieterse.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Vale
So ends a life, lived to the full alway,
Thro' peace, thro' war, thro' honored peace again,
From youth unto the closing of his day
Lived simply. Yet a giant among men
Today steals quietly to seek his rest
As quietly he lived, yet none his peer.
In service of his land he gave his best
And, in simplicity, found greatness here.
Seeking no honour but his country's thanks,
No man among us won a place more high.
Comrade and leader where the myriad ranks
Stand now with bended heads as John goes by.
Ever a man, a soldier and a friend
In every heart some echo of the knell
That marks his passing throbs for this great end,
Saying in requiem, 'Pass, John, all is well.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Requiem
Our friendship needed tending
Like a garden kept weed free.
Watered and fed, protected.
Yet we starved it of affection
Let it die, turned it to a desert.
Too late for revival it lies as dust.
No requiem just a corpse unmourned.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Requiem
Well, I saw a bird today --- flying from a bush and the
Wind blew it away.
And the black-eyed mother sun scorched the butterfly
At play --- velvet veined.
I saw it burn.
With a wintry storm-blown sigh, a silver cloud blew
Right on by.
And, taking in the morning, I sang --- o requiem.
Well, my lady told me, ''stay.
I looked aside and walked away along the strand.
But I didnt say a word, as the train time-table blurred
Close behind the taxi stand.
Saw her face in the tear-drop black cab window.
Fading in the traffic; watched her go.
And taking in the morning, heard myself singing ---
O requiem.
Here I go again.
Its the same old story.
Well, I saw a bird today --- I looked aside and walked
Away along the strand.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Come From The Daisied Meadows
HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet -
Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set;
For the dews are falling fast
And the night has come at last.
Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest,
Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother's breast.
Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you;
she'll be your guardian and shield.
Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be
bright upon mountain and field.
Long, long the shadows fall.
All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid.
All round your head be angels.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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The War of the Ghosts
Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.
The first was a dark mountaineer,
Who hunted with arrow and knife,
To whom the turf was a bed,
And the wind of the moorland was life.
And the next was a mariner rude,
Whose home and whose grave was the sea,
For whom the land was a prison
And only the ocean was free.
And the last was a shrunken recluse,
Who lived with the dust and the gloom
And wrote of the Saints and of Him
Who went for us to His doom.
And all through the days and years
These ancient Ghosts contend,
And my soul is a battle-field
Of passions that pierce and rend.
And whenever a sunbeam alights
All gleaming and fresh on my page,
I am wild for the hills and the bush,
I am torn with the hunter's rage.
I am sick of the smell of a book,
I am off with the dogs or a gun,
Or I gallop my fifty miles
Before the set of the sun.
And yet from some loftier peak
When I look on the sea from afar,
I feel like one in a grave;
And I long for a ship full-sailed
And an ocean wide on the lee
I choke on the solid land
For the lift of the undulant sea.
Yet ever the battle goes on,
And ever there rises a day
When the Ghosts of the wave and the wood
To the Ghost of the cell give way.
Then the land is a wilderness drear,
And dismal and vast is the sea,
But cloistered in peace with my books
My soul is uplifted and free.
Three Ghosts that haunt me have I,
Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,
Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul,
That haunt me by day and by night.
Yet ofttimes there joins in the fray
One gross and sluggish of limb,
No spectre is he but a man,
Whose strokes are heavy and grim.
For a man is not nothing, I swear,
Nor a braggart am I when I boast
That though he be slothful or sleep,
A man is more than a ghost.
And my soul is my own, I aver,
The master and lord of it I,
And whenever I will to bestir,
All ghostly usurpers shall fly.
Then I what is mine will assume,
Nor diverge from the path of my will.
Though the Ghosts I have routed still call
From the desk and the sea and the hill.
poem by William Gay
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