Michael Robartes and the Dancer
He. Opinion is not worth a rush;
In this altar-piece the knight,
Who grips his long spear so to push
That dragon through the fading light,
Loved the lady; and it's plain
The half-dead dragon was her thought,
That every morning rose again
And dug its claws and shrieked and fought.
Could the impossible come to pass
She would have time to turn her eyes,
Her lover thought, upon the glass
And on the instant would grow wise.
She. You mean they argued.
He. Put it so;
But bear in mind your lover's wage
Is what your looking-glass can show,
And that he will turn green with rage
At all that is not pictured there.
She. May I not put myself to college?
He. Go pluck Athena by the hair;
For what mere book can grant a knowledge
With an impassioned gravity
Appropriate to that beating breast,
That vigorous thigh, that dreaming eye?
And may the devil take the rest.
She. And must no beautiful woman be
Learned like a man?
He. Paul Veronese
And all his sacred company
Imagined bodies all their days
By the lagoon you love so much,
For proud, soft, ceremonious proof
That all must come to sight and touch;
While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof
His 'Morning' and his 'Night' disclose
How sinew that has been pulled tight,
Or it may be loosened in repose,
Can rule by supernatural right
Yet be but sinew.
She. I have heard said
There is great danger in the body.
He. Did God in portioning wine and bread
Give man His thought or His mere body?
She. My wretched dragon is perplexed.
He. I have principles to prove me right.
It follows from this Latin text
That blest souls are not composite,
And that all beautiful women may
Live in uncomposite blessedness,
And lead us to the like -- if they
Will banish every thought, unless
The lineaments that please their view
When the long looking-glass is full,
Even from the foot-sole think it too.
She. They say such different things at school.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Related quotes
The Double Vision Of Michael Robartes
I
ON the grey rock of Cashel the mind's eye
Has called up the cold spirits that are born
When the old moon is vanished from the sky
And the new still hides her horn.
Under blank eyes and fingers never still
The particular is pounded till it is man.
When had I my own will?
O not since life began.
Constrained, arraigned, baffled, bent and unbent
By these wire-jointed jaws and limbs of wood,
Themselves obedient,
Knowing not evil and good;
Obedient to some hidden magical breath.
They do not even feel, so abstract are they.
So dead beyond our death,
Triumph that we obey.
On the grey rock of Cashel I suddenly saw
A Sphinx with woman breast and lion paw.
A Buddha, hand at rest,
Hand lifted up that blest;
And right between these two a girl at play
That, it may be, had danced her life away,
For now being dead it seemed
That she of dancing dreamed.
Although I saw it all in the mind's eye
There can be nothing solider till I die;
I saw by the moon's light
Now at its fifteenth night.
One lashed her tail; her eyes lit by the moon
Gazed upon all things known, all things unknown,
In triumph of intellect
With motionless head erect.
That other's moonlit eyeballs never moved,
Being fixed on all things loved, all things unloved.
Yet little peace he had,
For those that love are sad.
Little did they care who danced between,
And little she by whom her dance was seen
So she had outdanced thought.
Body perfection brought,
For what but eye and ear silence the mind
With the minute particulars of mankind?
Mind moved yet seemed to stop
As 'twere a spinning-top.
In contemplation had those three so wrought
Upon a moment, and so stretched it out
That they, time overthrown,
Were dead yet flesh and bone.
I knew that I had seen, had seen at last
That girl my unremembering nights hold fast
Or else my dreams that fly
If I should rub an eye,
And yet in flying fling into my meat
A crazy juice that makes the pulses beat
As though I had been undone
By Homer's Paragon
Who never gave the burning town a thought;
To such a pitch of folly I am brought,
Being caught between the pull
Of the dark moon and the full,
The commonness of thought and images
That have the frenzy of our western seas.
Thereon I made my moan,
And after kissed a stone,
And after that arranged it in a song
Seeing that I, ignorant for So long,
Had been rewarded thus
In Cormac's ruined house.
MICHAEL ROBARTES AND THE DANCER
He. Opinion is not worth a rush;
In this altar-piece the knight,
Who grips his long spear so to push
That dragon through the fading light,
Loved the lady; and it's plain
The half-dead dragon was her thought,
That every morning rose again
And dug its claws and shrieked and fought.
Could the impossible come to pass
She would have time to turn her eyes,
Her lover thought, upon the glass
And on the instant would grow wise.
She. You mean they argued.
He. Put it so;
But bear in mind your lover's wage
Is what your looking-glass can show,
And that he will turn green with rage
At all that is not pictured there.
She. May I not put myself to college?
He. Go pluck Athene by the hair;
For what mere book can grant a knowledge
With an impassioned gravity
Appropriate to that beating breast,
That vigorous thigh, that dreaming eye?
And may the Devil take the rest.
She. And must no beautiful woman be
Learned like a man?
He. Paul Veronese
And all his sacred company
Imagined bodies all their days
By the lagoon you love so much,
For proud, soft, ceremonious proof
That all must come to sight and touch;
While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof,
His 'Morning' and his 'Night' disclose
How sinew that has been pulled tight,
Or it may be loosened in repose,
Can rule by supernatural right
Yet be but sinew.
She. I have heard said
There is great danger in the body.
He. Did God in portioning wine and bread
Give man His thought or His mere body?
She. My wretched dragon is perplexed.
Hec. I have principles to prove me right.
It follows from this Latin text
That blest souls are not composite,
And that all beautiful women may
Live in uncomposite blessedness,
And lead us to the like -- if they
Will banish every thought, unless
The lineaments that please their view
When the long looking-glass is full,
Even from the foot-sole think it too.
She. They say such different things at school.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Glass On The Bar
Three bushmen one morning rode up to an inn,
And one of them called for the drinks with a grin;
They'd only returned from a trip to the North,
And, eager to greet them, the landlord came forth.
He absently poured out a glass of Three Star.
And set down that drink with the rest on the bar.
`There, that is for Harry,' he said, `and it's queer,
'Tis the very same glass that he drank from last year;
His name's on the glass, you can read it like print,
He scratched it himself with an old piece of flint;
I remember his drink -- it was always Three Star' --
And the landlord looked out through the door of the bar.
He looked at the horses, and counted but three:
`You were always together -- where's Harry?' cried he.
Oh, sadly they looked at the glass as they said,
`You may put it away, for our old mate is dead;'
But one, gazing out o'er the ridges afar,
Said, `We owe him a shout -- leave the glass on the bar.'
They thought of the far-away grave on the plain,
They thought of the comrade who came not again,
They lifted their glasses, and sadly they said:
`We drink to the name of the mate who is dead.'
And the sunlight streamed in, and a light like a star
Seemed to glow in the depth of the glass on the bar.
And still in that shanty a tumbler is seen,
It stands by the clock, ever polished and clean;
And often the strangers will read as they pass
The name of a bushman engraved on the glass;
And though on the shelf but a dozen there are,
That glass never stands with the rest on the bar.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Cole And Glass
she was a beautiful girl
with light blond hair
although she had problems
she still wasnt scared
she had the heart of a worrior
and the motivation
of a lioness waiting to strike her pray
as she walked through the woods
and overcame the obsticals in her path
she was not alone
for a fox with brown fur fallowed
guiding her way and making sure she was ok
the fox defended the beautiful girl with all she could
but found out later on she had not done as good
although the fox tried hard to help
it wasnt enough
the girl had a heart of glass
and the fox a heart of cole
the girl had good things in her life
but the bad took it over
the fox left for just a while
and when she returned she found
the beautiful girl covered in blood
her wrists bleeding and her heart of glass
shattared to pieces mearly dropped
the fox looked at her friend with tears in her eyes
who would hurt this beautiful girl
what would make her want to take her life
the fox tried to think but found no thought
she had realized that she had done enough
and enough was everything she could to help the girl
the fox dug a whole deep in the ground and
covered her friend in beautiful leave that suit her well
she burried her were she knew the girl with the
now broken heart of glass would have been happy
in a beautiful sarounding in a quiet forest is where
she is burried
the fox said a prayer and howled at the moon
as she walked away carrying the pieces of her heart of glass
the fox swallowed each piece with thought and love
hope was upon her that it would be safe
so now in her chest right beside the foxes heart of cole
is a memorie the pieces of her friend glass heart
the beautiful girl with the heart of glass loved nights
an stars
she would always talk about them and now shes with them
watching over the fox
i swear i can still hear the beautiful girl talk to me
when the wind blows i hear her voice and when i look into the sky
on a bright stary night i can see her looking and watching for me
with my eyes closed i can picture her smile
i still here her calling me once in a while
saying my dear fox it is my turn to watch over you
with my heart of cole and the pieces of glass
friendship stays forever
poem by Sandy Vanity
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You stayed right through the night
You stayed right through the night,
you were sweet beautiful and fair
and up to the next morning light
you were with without a single care.
With the first light you had to go away
while I heard your heart beating from under your breast
but you lingered on that day
and with your love I were truly blest.
I asked you to be my bride,
as in loving we could not be celibate
and you accepted with pride
to be much more than my bedmate.
Now every morning it's you beautiful eyes that I see
and as long as I live
you will probably accompany me
as my lovely beautiful wife.
poem by Gert Strydom
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We Can Make The Morning
(words & music by j. ramsey)
I just thought I heard a small voice crying
Looked again and saw that it was me
I feel like a little boy denying
That he fears the night cause he cant see
Then a larger thought said stop your crying
Dont be scared to search cause you may find
Fate holds out a candle for your footsteps
Time rolls back the shadows of your mind
Its a long, long lonely night
You can make the morning if you try
Its a long, long lonely night
Oh, we can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i
Together, together, together
Loneliness is darkness first companion
Spend the night alone and faith may bend
Share it all and see how fear starts fading
Chase away the shadows with a friend
Dawns elusive light is just beginning
Now the day can push away the night
Dreams can make the sun feel much brighter
Hope creates a foothold for the light
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Girl, we can make the morning you and i, oh
Together
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
Its a long, long lonely night
We can make the morning if we try
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Are Glass
We are young we can break
Watch us fall
We can take some train
Down to the sea
We are glass, we are glass
We are real you can touch
Just for now
And then say
hey you, which way is down
We are glass, we are glass
We are strong we run though
We have time
And to you Im just
One of those boys
We are glass, we are glass
We are cold
Were not supposed to cry
But its all just a thought
So here am i
We are glass, we are glass
They run fast
Impressions of the floors inviting
Stay with me, stay with me
They run past
With telephones they scream
Well would you turn all this down
Turn all this down
You are replaced you are you
And our dreams are real
And dreams are all we need
We are glass, we are glass
We slip down
And old eyes dont cry for me
Cause I doubt Im and I doubt you
And never never going to doubt
We are glass, we are glass
They run fast
Impressions of the floors inviting
Stay with me, stay with me
They run past
With telephones they scream
Well would you turn all this down
Turn all this down
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Teen Dream Come True
it was a summer nights dream, not a cloud to be seen
the sky a beautiful orange red
i saw you and i thought that i was dead.
then a vision came into my eyes
the vision was of you and i.
and the tears came down like the rain from the sky
not even thinking or knowing why.
i was attracted to you like bees to honey
it seemed strange- it seemed funny.
then i recalled the first time that i saw you:
i was walking to school with my friends that day
you was with your friends walking the opposite way.
our eyes met and neither one of us
could pull our gaze away.
i wanted to chase and talk to you
but i did'nt know what to say.
it's five years later and we are young adults now
and i still could'nt make a sound.
so you walked over to me with a smile so wide
that i became hypnotized.
hi! my name is venus, and i remember you from school.
you walked by and i played the fool.
i could'nt speak, i stood transfixed at the way our eyes met
and it still haunts me yet.
there was so many things that i wanted to say
but you continued to walk away.
now i'm older and no longer shy.
would you like to sit with me and have a glass of wine?
still speechless- i shook my head.
then the words rose to my throat.
'i always thought of you' i started to boast.
you captured my heart on that very first day
and there was so many things that i wanted to say.
your eyes had pulled me in like
a whirlpool in the ocean, and set all my feelings in motion.
i thought of you night and day
but did'nt know from where you came.
i searched every hallway and each classroom
but you was gone much too soon.
she said: i was tranferred from school that very day
but to the LORD i did pray.
that i would see you again, and that we'd be more than friends.
if we could just sit and talk, and learn about each other
for in my heart there was no other.
we reached across the table and our hands touched
for the first time, and our bodies started to
shake and quiver, and chills running up and
down our spines.
she knew i was hers, and she was mine.
embarassed, because we thought that people had saw
the way that we reacted.
we grabbed hands and ran out the door.
to once again face the beautiful orange red sky
and knew this was a love sublime.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Spirits for Good
We come with peace and reason,
We come with love and light,
To banish black self-treason
And everlasting night.
We know no god nor devil,
We neither drive nor lead—
We come to banish evil
In thought as well as deed.
And this our grandest mission,
And this our purest worth;
To banish superstition,
The blackest curse on earth.
We come to pass no sentence,
For ours is not the power—
The coward’s vain repentance
But wastes the waiting hour.
’Tis not for us to lengthen
The years of wasted lives;
We come to help and strengthen
The goodness that survives.
We promise nought hereafter,
We cannot conquer pain,
But work, and rest, and laughter,
Will soothe the tortured brain.
That which is lost, we cannot
Restore to any one—
But Truth and Right must triumph,
And Justice must be done!
We come in many guises;
But every one is plain
To each pure thought that rises
Again and yet again.
We are ourselves and human,
And ours our destiny;
The souls of Man and Woman
Divorced by Vanity.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Room 122
Tossing her leather bag onto the bed she waits stretched as tight as a drum. Her heart feels like Thor's war hammer is beating against it. The tension in the back of her neck is making her crouch forward.
Sit up straight, she says to herself.
Don't say too much when he walks in. And DON'T look him in the eye.
The eyes are a dead giveaway. A window to the soul.
When he comes in look over his shoulder like there's something behind his back you have an interest in.
So many memories...
God, you're a freak. What are you doing here? It's plain.
Love? No, you've lost your mind. That has to be it.
But, he say's he can't wait to see you, so everything is going be ok. God would have intervened if it wasn't ok.
A faint knock.
Don't answer it. Wait! Don't go. Go. No, wait.
Answer the door you idiot! He came all this way to see you.
He towers over her dominantly. Her knees go weak.
Don't chicken out now.
You're so beautiful, he says. Your hair is a little shorter, but you look the same.
She takes his hand. She's shaking inside. Does he feel it? She doesn't want him to think she's a little girl.
Shut up! You ARE a little girl!
Would you like a glass wine? she asks. Thinking she's in need of liquid courage.
Yes. Do you have a bottle opener?
Yes, I always come prepared.
Oh great, you found opportunity to mention what a real keen taskmaster you are.
Cut to the chase. You were soaked with the mere thought of him. Just let him take you down.
He sits down on the love sofa. In her mind she finds this hilarious. He's on the love sofa. She wonders why they are called that.
I mean seriously, how many people make love on a sofa? Hmm.
How long can you stay? She asks.
About 2 hours.
Oh no, she thinks. We don' have much time. She wonders how they can absorb each other in a mere two hours.
Let's go lie down, he says. I want to look at you.
You promised that you wouldn't force me into anything, she says.
I wont, he says.
Against her own advice she starts to look into his eyes. Oh God, they're green. Look away. You always were a sucker for green eyes. They'll bewitch you...Fill you with regret.
I remember you from the last time I saw you, he says.
Really? When was that? she asks.
I'm not sure. It was in the Ratz Keller, I think. I may have been drinking. I may have been dreaming.
Oh. she says, her voice trailing off. I don't remember, I'm sorry.
From out of nowhere…I want you to stroke me. Would you like to do that? The bulge in his jeans huge.
So many memories...
Frightened, she looks at her watch. Do you know that it's midnight? Their time together had evaporated.
Really? he says. I have to go.
I wish you didn't have to, she says.
Call me ok? She asks vulnerably.
Sure. What's your name and number?
Written by Sara Fielder © 2012
poem by Sara Fielder
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Hospice
She placed it down-
Something you can leave behind she thought but wouldn't say
A green plant in a tub rested next to the bed
A lead laden hand stretched to touch its broken soil
Small thing in the way of things and wondered why.
She thought-
New white walls prepare you best for heaven
While darkness only lingers in the mind
Time the only fight in our possession
Death the only kindness left behind..
She saw-
A fanlight directs the sun across his sad face
The way they said it would the day he came
Hands grasped to find hers beneath the table
And tangled like a vine around the veins
She felt-
A twinge of loneliness that evening in the soft light
Drank a glass of wine alone in bed
Tears filled up her glass in lone procession
Regrets for years when things where never said.
She thought-
New white walls prepare you best for heaven
While darkness only lingers in the mind
Time the only fight in our possession
Death the only kindness left behind.
poem by Alan Halford
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Changes
we do not pray for changes
they always come
and they disregard
those that do not welcome
their presence
when the texting came one day
the telegraphs and telegrams
have become so funny and
we all laugh about sheets of
paper travelling in air
who would have thought that
iron flies? that faces appear on
cellphones? that making love
can be as easily done
in cyberspace? so safe
and at no expense.
and who would have thought
that you will leave me?
i never thought of it and you
one day has become a mere
shadow without a body on my
favorite bed. And you laugh.
and who would have thought
that i, too, can easily forget you
like a text message deleted
in a very instant.
you also never thought about it.
we're even, and indeed life is fair.
changes are instant. and so are
wounds easily cured, and so are
hearts mended, and so are scars
made to disappear like an MMS.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Green Eyes Blue
Green Eyes Blue
Waking with warmth in my heart and your golden body next to me
A smile on my face morning upon morning
Minds eye scanning memory of every touch, sound, sight of you
The feel of your arms around me, the sweet smell of your breath
And from above…searching me, are your Green Eyes Blue
Eager new flavors, smells and touches brings new joy
Desire for love and hunger for flesh bring these gloves off to touch you
Lips wet and breathes quiver and our legs tangled tight
I want for nothing but your Green Eyes Blue
This woman is awakened by your touch and inspired by your goodness
The fire once thought dead now stoked by your careful hands
Beautiful man of mine holding my heart as we are afloat in this life
I am safe with you beside me as we become lost in each other
My heart is lost in your Green Eyes Blue
poem by Ellie Cook
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Drunken Memories Of Anne Sexton
The first and last time I met
my ex-lover Anne Sexton was at
a protest poetry reading against
some anti-constitutional war in Asia
when some academic son of a bitch,
to test her reputation as a drunk,
gave her a beer glass full of wine
after our reading. She drank
it all down while staring me
full in the face and then said
"I don't care what you think,
you know," as if I was
her ex-what, husband, lover,
what? And just as I
was just about to say I
loved her, I was, what,
was, interrupted by my beautiful enemy
Galway Kinnell, who said to her
"Just as I was told, your eyes,
you have one blue, one green"
and there they were, the two
beautiful poets, staring at
each others' beautiful eyes
as I drank the lees of her wine.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Always a woman
Late at night when I tuck them tight
I am a mother
Morning breaks and I have eggs to bake
I am a nurturer
But always with me the thought
I am a woman
Suit, heals and briefcase
I am a lawyer
Lace, stockings and champagne
I am a lover
But always with me the thought
I am a woman
Tears and stories of regret
I am a friend
Teachings and homework
I am a mentor
But always with me the thought
I am a woman
Apron and dinner to make
I am a cook
Stolen cookies and milk
I am an accomplice
But always with me the thought
I am a woman
Alone at last with chocolate to indulge
I am me
Pages of a book to entice
I am me
All roles rolled into one
But … always a woman
poem by Jenna Wolf
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A Woman Young And Old
I
FATHER AND CHILD
SHE hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women,
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names;
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful,
Cold as the March wind his eyes.
II
BEFORE THE WORLD WAS MADE
IF I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet,
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror,
No vanity's displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.
What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved,
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I'd have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.
III
A FIRST CONFESSION
I ADMIT the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me;
My blenching and trembling,
Nothing but dissembling,
Nothing but coquetry.
I long for truth, and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns,
For a man's attention
Brings such satisfaction
To the craving in my bones.
Brightness that I pull back
From the Zodiac,
Why those questioning eyes
That are fixed upon me?
What can they do but shun me
If empty night replies?
IV
HER TRIUMPH
I DID the dragon's will until you came
Because I had fancied love a casual
Improvisation, or a settled game
That followed if I let the kerchief fall:
Those deeds were best that gave the minute wings
And heavenly music if they gave it wit;
And then you stood among the dragon-rings.
I mocked, being crazy, but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free,
Saint George or else a pagan Perseus;
And now we stare astonished at the sea,
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
V
CONSOLATION
O BUT there is wisdom
In what the sages said;
But stretch that body for a while
And lay down that head
Till I have told the sages
Where man is comforted.
How could passion run so deep
Had I never thought
That the crime of being born
Blackens all our lot?
But where the crime's committed
The crime can be forgot.
VI
CHOSEN
THE lot of love is chosen. I learnt that much
Struggling for an image on the track
Of the whirling Zodiac.
Scarce did he my body touch,
Scarce sank he from the west
Or found a subtetranean rest
On the maternal midnight of my breast
Before I had marked him on his northern way,
And seemed to stand although in bed I lay.
I struggled with the horror of daybreak,
I chose it for my lot! If questioned on
My utmost pleasure with a man
By some new-married bride, I take
That stillness for a theme
Where his heart my heart did seem
And both adrift on the miraculous stream
Where -- wrote a learned astrologer --
The Zodiac is changed into a sphere.
VII
PARTING
i{He.} Dear, I must be gone
While night Shuts the eyes
Of the household spies;
That song announces dawn.
i{She.} No, night's bird and love's
Bids all true lovers rest,
While his loud song reproves
The murderous stealth of day.
i{He.} Daylight already flies
From mountain crest to crest
i{She.} That light is from the moom.
i{He.} That bird...
i{She.} Let him sing on,
I offer to love's play
My dark declivities.
VIII
HER VISION IN THE WOOD
DRY timber under that rich foliage,
At wine-dark midnight in the sacred wood,
Too old for a man's love I stood in rage
Imagining men. Imagining that I could
A greater with a lesser pang assuage
Or but to find if withered vein ran blood,
I tore my body that its wine might cover
Whatever could rccall the lip of lover.
And after that I held my fingers up,
Stared at the wine-dark nail, or dark that ran
Down every withered finger from the top;
But the dark changed to red, and torches shone,
And deafening music shook the leaves; a troop
Shouldered a litter with a wounded man,
Or smote upon the string and to the sound
Sang of the beast that gave the fatal wound.
All stately women moving to a song
With loosened hair or foreheads grief-distraught,
It seemed a Quattrocento painter's throng,
A thoughtless image of Mantegna's thought --
Why should they think that are for ever young?
Till suddenly in grief's contagion caught,
I stared upon his blood-bedabbled breast
And sang my malediction with the rest.
That thing all blood and mire, that beast-torn wreck,
Half turned and fixed a glazing eye on mine,
And, though love's bitter-sweet had all come back,
Those bodies from a picture or a coin
Nor saw my body fall nor heard it shriek,
Nor knew, drunken with singing as with wine,
That they had brought no fabulous symbol there
But my heart's victim and its torturer.
IX
A LAST CONFESSION
WHAT lively lad most pleasured me
Of all that with me lay?
I answer that I gave my soul
And loved in misery,
But had great pleasure with a lad
That I loved bodily.
Flinging from his arms I laughed
To think his passion such
He fancied that I gave a soul
Did but our bodies touch,
And laughed upon his breast to think
Beast gave beast as much.
I gave what other women gave
'That stepped out of their clothes.
But when this soul, its body off,
Naked to naked goes,
He it has found shall find therein
What none other knows,
And give his own and take his own
And rule in his own right;
And though it loved in misery
Close and cling so tight,
There's not a bird of day that dare
Extinguish that delight.
X
MEETING
HIDDEN by old age awhile
In masker's cloak and hood,
Each hating what the other loved,
Face to face we stood:
'That I have met with such,' said he,
'Bodes me little good.'
'Let others boast their fill,' said I,
'But never dare to boast
That such as I had such a man
For lover in the past;
Say that of living men I hate
Such a man the most.'
'A loony'd boast of such a love,'
He in his rage declared:
But such as he for such as me --
Could we both discard
This beggarly habiliment --
Had found a sweeter word.
XI
FROM THE 'ANTIGONE'
OVERCOME -- O bitter sweetness,
Inhabitant of the soft cheek of a girl --
The rich man and his affairs,
The fat flocks and the fields' fatness,
Mariners, rough harvesters;
Overcome Gods upon Parnassus;
Overcome the Empyrean; hurl
Heaven and Earth out of their places,
That in the Same calamity
Brother and brother, friend and friend,
Family and family,
City and city may contend,
By that great glory driven wild.
Pray I will and sing I must,
And yet I weep -- Oedipus' child
Descends into the loveless dust.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even Green Bears Like Anecdotes About Them
Which college student would turn down even
a few dollars? A notice goes, up, Dr. Wegner
wants some volunteers for half-an-hour, most,
in the Cognitive Research lab…
so when it’s my turn in the queue,
I go in and he says, now go in there
for fifteen minutes, only one instruction,
don’t think about a green bear…
so, money for old rope, with bear attached,
I go in there, check every few minutes that
I haven’t thought about some idiotic green bear…
come out, he’s sitting there with all his smug
students and assistants, looking just as if
I were some green bear, about to amuse them hugely…
so to shut their silly faces up, I don’t wait, but say,
if you’re going to ask me did I think about
that green bear no I didn’t once I checked
every few minutes to see if I’d thought about it no…
and they all laughed…ticked the boxes, wrote
in their don’t- I- love-my-Prof little notebooks with
their smug little smiles to each other…
now I go to sleep
thinking of feeding them one by one
to that green bear, wow they taste good…
I mean, who in their right mind
ever thinks of some green bear…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Saint George
The dragon, taller than a tree,
Looked down on George's head,
While he looked up uncertainly
And fighting first his dread...
He stood his ground, not one step back,
As faith within him grew,
For while he knew that things looked black,
He had to see this through...
The dragon stood his ground as well,
Though George held high his sword...
The dragon, thought to come from Hell,
Perhaps with fire stored...
The dragon had no flames and yet
He knew George planned his death,
Yet thought he had no need to fret,
If George no more had breath...
The dragon swished his giant tail,
But George was wise to that
And proved himself an agile male
Instead of falling flat...
The tail passed by, his sword went in,
The dragon roared in pain
And when George saw his chance to win,
He pierced the tail again...
If dragons cursed and dragons swore,
That must have happened next,
As blood then spurted out for sure,
With that big dragon vexed...
He dragged his dragon's tail away
As fast as he then could
And then decided, come what may,
To kill small George real good...
But George was quick to cut things short,
He climbed the dragon's tail
And valiantly he fought and fought
The dragon tooth and nail...
Across the back, just like a hill,
He clambered to the hilt,
Upto the neck where he stayed still,
In hopes the beast was killed...
The dragon twisted left and right,
But George drew back his sword
And then he thrust with all his might,
So death would be assured...
The dragon gulped with bloodied mouth,
A glaze then filled his eyes,
Then suddenly his frame fell South,
With him cut down to size...
The dragon laid upon the ground,
While George climbed down nearby,
The dragon made a gurgling sound,
As if to ask him why...
The dragon hadn't sought this duel,
Yet George had blocked his path,
The dragon thought he was a fool
Who'd signed his epitaph...
The dragon's teeth were then removed
When he no longer breathed
And while folks cheered with courage proved,
George stood there quite relieved...
The villagers were quite impressed,
That brave George didn't faint...
The Church declared his noble quest
As worthy of a saint...
A patron saint, of course, is rare,
Yet England still recalls
His courage thought beyond compare
That it's still taught in schools...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Tuesday Morning
Too many sad days
Too many tuesday mornings
I thought of you today
I wished it was yesterday morning
I thought of you today
I dreamt you were dressed in mourning
But I knew that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a tuesday morning
I fell through the window
And I found that I was still breathing
I thought of tomorrow
And the fear that you might leave me
I thought of tomorrow
And I wished it was monday morning
But I knew that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a tuesday morning
Turn your face from me
And I will cover myself with sorrow
Bring hell down upon me
I will surrender my heart to sorrow
Bring hell down upon me
And I will say goodbye tomorrow
But I knew that you
With your heart beating
And your eyes shining
Would be dreaming of me
Lying with you
On a tuesday morning
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nimmo
Since you remember Nimmo, and arrive
At such a false and florid and far drawn
Confusion of odd nonsense, I connive
No longer, though I may have led you on.
So much is told and heard and told again,
So many with his legend are engrossed,
That I, more sorry now than I was then,
May live on to be sorry for his ghost.
You knew him, and you must have known his eyes,—
How deep they were, and what a velvet light
Came out of them when anger or surprise,
Or laughter, or Francesca, made them bright.
No, you will not forget such eyes, I think,—
And you say nothing of them. Very well.
I wonder if all history’s worth a wink,
Sometimes, or if my tale be one to tell.
For they began to lose their velvet light;
Their fire grew dead without and small within;
And many of you deplored the needless fight
That somewhere in the dark there must have been.
All fights are needless, when they’re not our own,
But Nimmo and Francesca never fought.
Remember that; and when you are alone,
Remember me—and think what I have thought.
Now, mind you, I say nothing of what was,
Or never was, or could or could not be:
Bring not suspicion’s candle to the glass
That mirrors a friend’s face to memory.
Of what you see, see all,—but see no more;
For what I show you here will not be there.
The devil has had his way with paint before,
And he’s an artist,—and you needn’t stare.
There was a painter and he painted well:
He’d paint you Daniel in the lion’s den,
Beelzebub, Elaine, or William Tell.
I’m coming back to Nimmo’s eyes again.
The painter put the devil in those eyes,
Unless the devil did, and there he stayed;
And then the lady fled from paradise,
And there’s your fact. The lady was afraid.
She must have been afraid, or may have been,
Of evil in their velvet all the while;
But sure as I’m a sinner with a skin,
I’ll trust the man as long as he can smile.
I trust him who can smile and then may live
In my heart’s house, where Nimmo is today.
God knows if I have more than men forgive
To tell him; but I played, and I shall pay.
I knew him then, and if I know him yet,
I know in him, defeated and estranged,
The calm of men forbidden to forget
The calm of women who have loved and changed.
But there are ways that are beyond our ways,
Or he would not be calm and she be mute,
As one by one their lost and empty days
Pass without even the warmth of a dispute.
God help us all when women think they see;
God save us when they do. I’m fair; but though
I know him only as he looks to me,
I know him,—and I tell Francesca so.
And what of Nimmo? Little would you ask
Of him, could you but see him as I can,
At his bewildered and unfruitful task
Of being what he was born to be—a man.
Better forget that I said anything
Of what your tortured memory may disclose;
I know him, and your worst remembering
Would count as much as nothing, I suppose.
Meanwhile, I trust him; and I know his way
Of trusting me, and always in his youth.
I’m painting here a better man, you say,
Than I, the painter; and you say the truth.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Thought Police
(d. pickerill/p. odonoughue)
Chorus:
Thought police
They will put you under
The thought police
They will take you in
The thought police
They will clean your mind out
The thought police
You can never win
You can never win
You can never, never, never, never, never win
There are people around with problems
Those who live in fear
Running from the shadows
Waiting for another year
Thought of the secrets
Secrets of the mind
Thoughts can spell out danger
To the leaders of the time
Chorus
Thoughts are fleeting glimpses
Of the future or the past
They lock ideas in a bottle
Its time to break the glass
Hiding out in the daytime
Crawling through the night
Keeping out of danger
Just trying to find the light
Chorus
Chorus (x2 and fade)
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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