Poems
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09-03-2016, 07:38 PM
Poems
Thought I would share this poem by Aldous Huxley, which has resonated with me.

Quote:“It’s dark because you are trying too hard.

Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.

Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply.

Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.

I was so preposterously serious in those days, such a humorless little prig.

Lightly, lightly – it’s the best advice ever given me.

When it comes to dying even. Nothing ponderous, or portentous, or emphatic.

No rhetoric, no tremolos,

no self conscious persona putting on its celebrated imitation of Christ or Little Nell.

And of course, no theology, no metaphysics.

Just the fact of dying and the fact of the clear light.

So throw away your baggage and go forward.

There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet,

trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair.

That’s why you must walk so lightly.

Lightly my darling,

on tiptoes and no luggage,

not even a sponge bag,

completely unencumbered.”


Link.


Which poems have resonated with you?

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09-03-2016, 08:54 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2016 08:58 PM by Old Man Marsh.)
RE: Poems
[Image: Quote-Zebra-Poetry-Poem-Shelsilverstein-...Quote-.jpg]

Don't let those gnomes and their illusions get you down. They're just gnomes and illusions.

--Jake the Dog, Adventure Time

Alouette, je te plumerai.
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13-03-2016, 04:48 PM
RE: Poems
Inky pinky ponky
Daddy had a donkey
The donkey died
And daddy cried
Inky pinky ponky

Don't let those gnomes and their illusions get you down. They're just gnomes and illusions.

--Jake the Dog, Adventure Time

Alouette, je te plumerai.
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13-03-2016, 06:02 PM
RE: Poems
I love Lisel Mueller

[Image: 20587989-000.png]

And Pablo Neruda

[Image: Pablo-Neruda-10.jpg]

And Rumi

[Image: poem_rumi.jpg]

And Robert Frost

[Image: 8047d1f9cfe7bc8bbad0a2b66193395c.jpg]

"Let the waters settle and you will see the moon and stars mirrored in your own being." -Rumi
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14-03-2016, 01:23 AM
RE: Poems
Anna Akhmatova: The Grey-Eyed King

Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.

This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,

"He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.

I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey."

He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.

Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...

And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
"Never again will you see your young king..."


Mikhail Lermontov: The Captive Knight

By a loophole, I sit in my prison,
Could see the blue of the heaven from there,
I feel sharp pain and a shame at the vision
Of heedless birds, freely playing in air.

On my dry lips, I’ve not any prayers,
Nor any songs, that have ever to fly on,
But I remember the ancient battles,
My heavy sword and my coat of iron.

My stony armor – the cross I’m to bear,
My stony helmet compresses my brow,
My shield’s worn from a sword and a spear,
My horse takes roads – I don’t now how.

Time is my horse that stays always my own,
A helmet’s mask-visor – the grate on a hole,
The walls are my armor that’s made of the stone,
My permanent shield is the door’s iron fold.

Time! I desire to speed your hooves’ rattle!
My stony armor is heavy to rise on!
Death, when we’ve come, will help me by the saddle;
I will dismount and rise up my visor.

The first revolt is against the supreme tyranny of theology, of the phantom of God. As long as we have a master in heaven, we will be slaves on earth.

Mikhail Bakunin.
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14-03-2016, 01:50 AM
RE: Poems
One of Edgar Allan Poe's lesser-known works. "Israfel" has always resonated with me, as an aspiring artist.

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.

Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamoured moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.

And they say (the starry choir
And the other listening things)
That Israfeli's fire
Is owing to that lyre
By which he sits and sings—
The trembling living wire
Of those unusual strings.

But the skies that angel trod,
Where deep thoughts are a duty,
Where Love's a grown-up God,
Where the Houri glances are
Imbued with all the beauty
Which we worship in a star.

Therefore, thou art not wrong,
Israfeli, who despisest
An unimpassioned song;
To thee the laurels belong,
Best bard, because the wisest!
Merrily live, and long!

The ecstasies above
With thy burning measures suit—
Thy grief, thy joy, thy hate, thy love,
With the fervour of thy lute—
Well may the stars be mute!

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this
Is a world of sweets and sours;
Our flowers are merely—flowers,
And the shadow of thy perfect bliss
Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell
Where Israfel
Hath dwelt, and he where I,
He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.

"Owl," said Rabbit shortly, "you and I have brains. The others have fluff. If there is any thinking to be done in this Forest - and when I say thinking I mean thinking - you and I must do it."
- A. A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner
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