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Poem of the day

The TVClubHouse: Archives: Movies & Library 2003 -2004: Library: June 2003 - April 2004: Poem of the day users admin

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Babyruth

Sunday, February 17, 2002 - 10:31 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

from Song of Myself

I.
I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease . . . observing a spear of summer grass.

II.
Houses and rooms are full of perfumes . . . the shelves
are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume . . . it has no taste
of the distillation . . . it is odorless,
It is for my mouth forever . . . I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.

The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, and buzzed whispers . . . loveroot, silkthread,
crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration . . . the beating of my heart . . .
the passing of blood and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore
and darkcolored sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belched words of my voice . . . words loosed
to the eddies of the wind,

A few light kisses . . . a few embraces . . . reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along
the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health . . . the full-noon trill . . . the song of me
rising from bed and meeting the sun.

Have you reckoned a thousand acres much? Have you reckoned
the earth much?
Have you practiced so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin
of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun . . . there are
millions of suns left,
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand . . . nor
look through the eyes of the dead. nor feed on the spectres
in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

Juju2bigdog

Monday, February 18, 2002 - 12:07 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Leaves of Grass. Oh! And what was that movie where the professor was dying and his students came to the hospital and read Song of Myself to him as he lay dying?

Babyruth

Monday, February 18, 2002 - 8:05 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
W. H. Channing
My Symphony


To live content with
small means; to seek
elegance rather than
luxury, and refinement
rather than fashion;
To be worthy,
not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard,
think quietly,
talk gently,
act frankly;
to listen to stars and birds,
to babes and sages
with open heart;
to bear all
cheerfully,
do all bravely,
await occasions,
hurry never.

In a word,
to let the spiritual,
unbidden and unconscious,
grow up through the common.
This is my symphony.

Babyruth

Monday, February 18, 2002 - 8:07 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Oh, Juju, I don't know! Darn it all. I'll see if I can find out.

Juju2bigdog

Monday, February 18, 2002 - 10:51 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Found it! With Honors. And he wasn't a professor; he was a bum, who one day stood in for the professor.

With Honors

I did a www.google.com search on leaves of grass movie dying. I love Google!

Babyruth

Wednesday, February 20, 2002 - 7:55 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Cry If You Want To

Cry if you want to
I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me.
It's no use in keeping a stiff upper lip
You can weep, you can sleep,
you can loosen your grip
You can frown,
you can drown and go down with your ship
You can cry if you want to.
Don't ever apologize venting your pain
It's something to me you don't need to explain
I don't need to know why; I don't think it's insane
You can cry if you want to.
The windows are closed, the neighbors aren't home
If it's better with me than to do it alone,
I'll draw all the curtains and unplug the phone
You can cry if you want to.
You can stare at the ceiling and tear at your hair,
Swallow your feelings and stagger and swear,
You can show things and throw things, and I wouldn't care.
You can cry if you want to.
I won't make fun of you,
I won't tell anyone
I won't analyze what you do or you should have done,
I won't advise you to go and have fun
You can cry if you want to.
Well, it's empty and ugly and terribly sad,
I can't feel what you feel,I know that it's real and it makes you so mad
You can cry.
Cry if you want to
I won't tell you not to
I won't try to cheer you up
I'll just be here if you want me to be near you.



Copyright Signal Songs
Recorded by Holly Cole Trio


Babyruth

Thursday, February 21, 2002 - 2:54 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Daughter of Eve

A fool I was to sleep at noon,
And wake when night is chilly
Beneath the comfortless cold moon;
A fool to pluck my rose too soon,
A fool to snap my lily.

My garden-plot I have not kept;
Faded and all-forsaken,
I weep as I have never wept:
Oh it was summer when I slept,
It's winter now I waken.

Talk what you please of future spring
And sun-warm'd sweet to-morrow—
Stripp'd bare of hope and everything,
No more to laugh, no more to sing,
I sit alone with sorrow.


Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Babyruth

Thursday, February 21, 2002 - 3:04 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Well, sorry for that rather depressing poem!

Here's a lighter approach to the idea:

How did it get so late so soon?
Its night before its afternoon.
December is here before its June.
My goodness how the time has flewn.
How did it get so late so soon?

-Dr. Seuss

Romans8_1

Friday, September 27, 2002 - 11:25 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Here's my favorite ...

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?
By Thomas Hardy

"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? -- planting rue?"
-- "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"

"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"

"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? -- prodding sly?"
-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.

"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say -- since I have not guessed!"
-- "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"

"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave...
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"

"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."

Missy2

Monday, October 14, 2002 - 8:32 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Here's my favorite:

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Whit4you

Tuesday, November 05, 2002 - 5:02 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Nice poems - I've always loved poetry.

Cyn

Monday, January 13, 2003 - 12:42 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
I have seen all the works
that are done
under the sun; and, behold,
all is vanity and vexation
of Spirit.

King Solomon

Cyn

Thursday, January 16, 2003 - 9:27 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
We use tools.
We become tools.
Metal cinders splinter past,
covering our heads with plastic
We attended the marches and we protested.
We do not belong amongst beasts.
Beasts are visiters that mate with intent.
Islands are homes for refugees.
Often we cannot live together.
Yet, somehow vegitarian wolves adapt.

by Cyn Roe

Cyn

Sunday, April 13, 2003 - 7:49 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Text description

the far east:
you can see for miles
on a thin black line in a crowded desert -
chained and molded metal freedom
upholstered and rusted
lying cold w/
a bubbling pool from the mouth to the shoulder
lights gazing ahead -
reflecting the denial,
the indecision
the straightway
yes, you can see for miles

text and pic copyrighted
not for reproduction
names kept secret


Cyn

Saturday, May 10, 2003 - 3:55 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
I found a crushed rainy rose in the sands,
seeing it’s life-way, as a dream, like
distant sky-blue clouds.

Text description

I wandered into the crevices of rocks
that are filled with night,
and waited for daybreaks to come in sight,
After a sleepless night of celebration,
After sleepless nights of celebrations,
With one shift I
Leaned against the doors,
that opened at our will as the
beams of sunshine entered

Text description

photo #1: moon at 4AM for 4MINS
photo #2: sun at 6AM for 2 MINS

copyright Time & Materials

Cyn

Thursday, May 15, 2003 - 7:34 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
The days were so much happier when we sat and traced
and made plans to visit far away places
To the places that are now reachable
we have gone
And returned
And we still sit smiling
With our quick glances
Folded into our cuffs
from the captured
reflections of light
that we create
in each other's eyes
Text description

Cyn

Thursday, May 15, 2003 - 7:54 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
A brief note today
made me wish for the time
we will once again sit and trace
our twirling light
in each other's eyes
Text description
copyright Time & Materials

Staceyinpa

Friday, May 16, 2003 - 7:33 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
One of my Favorites:

The Jaberwocky
By Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffing through the tugey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jaberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did grye and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe

Cyn

Saturday, May 31, 2003 - 10:18 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Text description
Copyright Time & Materials

Cyn

Thursday, June 05, 2003 - 8:31 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
“Women of the world united in prayer for a peaceful world of co-existence.”

Copyright Time & Materials

Cyn

Thursday, June 05, 2003 - 8:32 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
Text description

Jan

Wednesday, August 06, 2003 - 2:52 pm   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
To a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.


-- Gerald Manley Hopkin

Meridian

Wednesday, October 29, 2003 - 9:11 am   Edit Post Move Post Delete Post View Post    
I Go Back to May 1937 (from The Gold Cell)


I see them standing at the formal gates of their colleges,
I see my father strolling out
under the ochre sandstone arch, the
red tiles glinting like bent
plates of blood behind his head, I
see my mother with a few light books at her hip
standing at the pillar made of tiny bricks with the
wrought-iron gate still open behind her, its
sword-tips black in the May air,
they are about to graduate, they are about to get married,
they are kids, they are dumb, all they know is they are
innocent, they would never hurt anybody.
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don't do it--she's the wrong woman,
he's the wrong man, you are going to do things
you cannot imagine you would ever do,
you are going to do bad things to children,
you are going to suffer in ways you never heard of,
you are going to want to die. I want to go
up to them there in the late May sunlight and say it,
her hungry pretty blank face turning to me,
her pitiful beautiful untouched body,
his arrogant handsome blind face turning to me,
his pitiful beautiful untouched body,
but I don't do it. I want to live. I
take them up like the male and female
paper dolls and bang them together
at the hips like chips of flint as if to
strike sparks from them, I say
Do what you are going to do, and I will tell about it.

--Sharon Olds