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02-18-2009, 01:01 AM | #21 |
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Join Date: Nov 2008
Location: Not here.
Posts: 10,947
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Aha! I felt it was Poe time myself! I decided to go a bit more apocalyptic with it, though.
The Conqueror Worm by Edgar Allan Poe Lo! 'tis a gala night Within the lonesome latter years! An angel throng, bewinged, bedight In veils, and drowned in tears, Sit in a theatre, to see A play of hopes and fears, While the orchestra breathes fitfully The music of the spheres. Mimes, in the form of God on high, Mutter and mumble low, And hither and thither fly -- Mere puppets they, who come and go At bidding of vast formless things That shift the scenery to and fro, Flapping from out their Condor wings Invisible Wo! That motley drama! --oh, be sure It shall not be forgot! With its Phantom chased forever more, By a crowd that seize it not, Through a circle that ever returneth in To the self-same spot, And much of Madness and more of Sin And Horror the soul of the plot. But see, amid the mimic rout, A crawling shape intrude! A blood-red thing that writhes from out The scenic solitude! It writhes! --it writhes! --with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued. Out --out are the lights --out all! And over each quivering form, The curtain, a funeral pall, Comes down with the rush of a storm, And the angels, all pallid and wan, Uprising, unveiling, affirm That the play is the tragedy, "Man," And its hero the Conqueror Worm. |
02-18-2009, 01:02 AM | #22 |
Mortal Enemy
Join Date: Nov 2008
Location: Site B
Posts: 32,666
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And when I'm looking for some real venom, Jack Spicer!
One Night Stand BY JACK SPICER Listen, you silk-hearted bastard, I said in the bar last night, You wear those dream clothes Like a swan out of water. Listen, you wool-feathered bastard, My name, just for the record, is Leda. I can remember pretending That your red silk tie is a real heart That your raw wool suit is real flesh That you could float beside me with a swan’s touch Of casual satisfaction. But not the swan’s blood. Waking tomorrow, I remember only Somebody’s feathers and his wrinkled heart Draped loosely in my bed. He has a series of back and forth poems with Ferlinghetti that turn down right explosive towards the end of their correspondence. Jack was f'n pistol!
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02-18-2009, 01:03 AM | #23 |
Mercenary Customizer
Join Date: Sep 2007
Location: The Bayou
Posts: 1,786
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Quote:
Edgar Allan Poe - El Dorado
My second favorite of all time. Gaily bedight, A gallant night In sunshine and in shadow, Had journeyed long, Singing a song, In search of El Dorado. But he grew old -- This knight so bold -- And -- o'er his heart a shadow Fell as he found No spot of ground That looked like El Dorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length, He met a pilgrim shadow -- "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be -- This land of El Dorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied -- "If you seek for El Dorado." 1849 A Dream Within A Dream Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow- You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream. I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand- How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep- while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream? Edgar Allan Poe |
02-18-2009, 01:04 AM | #24 |
Banned
Join Date: Jan 2009
Location: Long Beach, CA
Posts: 874
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Cows In Art Class
good weather is like good women- it doesn't always happen and when it does it doesn't always last. man is more stable: if he's bad there's more chance he'll stay that way, or if he's good he might hang on, but a woman is changed by children age diet conversation sex the moon the absence or presence of sun or good times. a woman must be nursed into subsistence by love where a man can become stronger by being hated. Charles Bukowski |
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02-18-2009, 01:04 AM | #25 |
Alley Viper Strike Team
Join Date: Feb 2009
Location: Beaverton, Oregon
Posts: 3,434
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The older Poe got, the more meloncally he became. Strange man, but very gifted.
I hope he found the peace in death that evaded him in life.
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Alley Viper attached to the Strike Team Urban Division 82nd. Cobra wants you! I'm looking for some ruthless Vipers to fill the ranks. Joes need not apply. Laugh Now, Cry Later.
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02-18-2009, 01:07 AM | #26 |
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Join Date: Nov 2008
Location: Not here.
Posts: 10,947
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This one rips me up, it's considered an early version of Dream Within A Dream. If it is, it's more potent in its concentrated form:
Imitation by Edgar Allan Poe A dark unfathom'd tide Of interminable pride — A mystery, and a dream, Should my early life seem; I say that dream was fraught With a wild, and waking thought Of beings that have been, Which my spirit hath not seen. Had I let them pass me by, With a dreaming eye! Let none of earth inherit That vision on [of] my spirit; Those thoughts I would controul, As a spell upon his soul: For that bright hope at last And that light time have past, And my worldly rest hath gone With a sight [sigh] as it pass'd on I care not tho' it perish With a thought I then did cherish. |
02-18-2009, 01:12 AM | #27 |
IRON GRENADIER
Join Date: Dec 2008
Location: Mega-City One
Posts: 14,128
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A Pale Horse
Midnight lightning in the sky Man in black he passes by It seems to me he is out of place With the look of death upon his face Can't see his eyes, no soul inside Although he walks, he is not alive Followed by a pale white horse The one called death, he holds his course The demons gather about his feet Thunder abates, the lightning streaks For the hand of death, one soul he seeks As he paces, paces down the street The fog it creeps, it settles in In front of a home, his search it ends In the still of night, a breath of wind He climbs on his steed and rides again Did you hear the small child cry? As it took first breath of life? One he lives, and one he dies As away on a pale white horse he rides. Bill Simmons I love this poem, I have it up on my wall. |
02-18-2009, 01:15 AM | #28 |
bad wolf
Join Date: Nov 2008
Location: kannapolis, nc
Posts: 3,337
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Millennium from "Flowers for Hitler"
This could be my little book about love if I wrote it-- but my good demon said: 'Lay off documents!' Everybody was watching me burn my books-- I swung my liberty torch happy as a gestapo brute; the only thing I wanted to save was a scar a burn or two-- but my good demon said: 'Lay off documents! The fire's not important!' The pile was safely blazing. I went home to take a bath. I phoned my grandmother. She is suffering from arthritis. 'Keep well,' I said, 'don't mind the pain.' 'You neither,' she said. Hours later I wondered did she mean don't mind my pain or don't mind her pain? Whereupon my good demon said: 'Is that all you can do?' Well was it? Was it all I could do? There was the old lady eating alone, thinking about Prince Albert, Flanders Field, Kishenev, her fingers too sore for TV knobs; but how could I get there ? The books were gone my address lists-- My good demon said again: 'Lay off documents! You know how to get there!' And suddenly I did! I remembered it from memory! I found her pouring over the royal family tree, 'Grandma,' I almost said, 'you've got it upside down--' 'Take a look,' she said, 'it only goes to George V.' 'That's far enough you sweet old blood!' 'You're right!' she sang and burned the London Illustrated Souvenir I did not understand the day it was till I looked outside and saw a fire in every window on the street and crowds of humans crazy to talk and cats and dogs and birds smiling at each other! -Leonard Cohen
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02-18-2009, 01:15 AM | #29 |
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Join Date: Nov 2008
Location: Not here.
Posts: 10,947
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My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it. -Henry David Thoreau |
02-18-2009, 01:15 AM | #30 |
Alley Viper Strike Team
Join Date: Feb 2009
Location: Beaverton, Oregon
Posts: 3,434
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My third favorite.
To Althea, from Prison - Richard Lovelace When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fettered to her eye, The gods that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. 1857
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Alley Viper attached to the Strike Team Urban Division 82nd. Cobra wants you! I'm looking for some ruthless Vipers to fill the ranks. Joes need not apply. Laugh Now, Cry Later.
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