more new verse??????????????7???????

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more new verse??????????????7???????

Postby thenewaustria » Thu Jul 29, 2004 1:28 am

anything new anyone?


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I've been distrcted lately!

Postby Saturn » Thu Jul 29, 2004 11:35 pm

I will give you something another time. I've been very busy - I'm in love!

“…Love is himself so divine a poet that he can kindle in the souls of others the poetic fire, for no matter what dull clay we seemed to be before, we are every one of us a poet when we are in love.”
- Plato - Symposium.

Did you read Matt's poems? They are much better than mine. Check them out if you haven't already.
Last edited by Saturn on Fri Jul 30, 2004 10:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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How silly of me!

Postby MonroeDoctrine » Fri Jul 30, 2004 6:02 am

I've just discovered the Best American Poet: Paul Lawrence Dunbar!
This man is a genius! I hope you Academics read him.
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Postby Matt » Tue Aug 03, 2004 7:56 pm

As I said in my other post, if you want to check out my first ever collection just email me at

I have done it this way because as of yet I am not confident enough to put them up out on the forum...

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Postby Saturn » Sun Aug 08, 2004 9:24 pm

After a long period of inactivity, I'll give you a little something I recently revised from a poem I wrote in less happier times:

The Predicament of the Tame

“Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.”
– Shakespeare, King Lear.

Happiness has an impervious skin,
Tough to chew, but satisfying.
We must, like the crocodile,
Grapple it, spin with all force
Freeing it from swampy life -
Gobble it from the very marrow.

Such is the ordinary experience.
For those who cannot shout or grab,
Existence is a passive starvation.

Those who cannot trumpet loud
Will be drowned by the discords.
Those who cannot napoleon armies
Will be vanquished in the fight.

The tame, the meek, the silent too
Are shoved by the ravenous mob,
Trampled and torn, left broken
By a merciless “in yer-face” world.

We are the ignored, the silent few,
Ruffled, bewildered by others’ need
To scream out their personality
So boldly and without any fear
Of ridicule, rejection or reproof.

How can they lay themselves out
Willingly, to the harsh gaze, the eye
Of the predator, Society, who hungers
Always after its own kin - a cannibal
Which vomits up those unlike itself,
Belched, half-digested with disgust.

The great feeding-frenzy of modernity
Cannot follow its own decrees – even now
Instinct, biology, and evolution hold sway,
Dictating their own peculiar Digest, laws
Which, time-honoured, set the example.

Forcefulness, strength and cunning
Are awarded the spoila opima.
The various degrees of content
Are graded always by effort:
Bliss is “Open to talent”.
The useless, the weak,
The excluded, the lost
Go empty handed,
No reward
For toil –

Last edited by Saturn on Fri Aug 13, 2004 10:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Another poem

Postby Saturn » Mon Aug 09, 2004 10:35 am

This is another poem which I wrote last year, while struggling to come to terms with my Grandfather's death (hence the last few lines). It's a bit sentimental, but so am I.

The Fall of a Sparrow

Monarchs have died, conquerors sunk to dust;
Heroic Deaths, recounted in sorrowful tones.
Anecdotes and fatal last words all recount
The fortitude of great ones’ at the threshold
Of the gaping chasm ‘twixt life and death;
But none to me more dignity conveyed
To this breast than the fall of a lowly bird.

A sparrow I found, limping in distress,
His piteous halt discovered the pain.
To find comfort and warmth for his death
Was his wish; just a quiet corner
To mantel his passing, all out of sight
Of his high brethren of the skies.
I watched, with helplessness and pity,
Unable to aid, or prevent his demise.
He sought to shun all assistance, so,
Silently, without flutter or squawk
He disappeared into the frosty night

Two bitter days did Winter usher in
Before I was apprised of his fate.
All unawares, I sorrowfully disclosed
The bare tomb of this wounded soul.
Soul! Yes I call him so, for his actions
Far outshined legendary Hercules,
Or Caesar’s stately end. Sadder too
To see this once proud denizen of the air
Immobile, shrunk, cold, and lifeless;
An object that bore no resemblance
To his former nobility and grace.

I never saw him in his native element,
Wheeling ‘midst his kindred of wing,
I picture him (fancy supplies the want)
Clearly, how he filled the trembling,
Delighted atmosphere with elegant forms
Like an imperious vessel, feathered rudder
Turned, to freely guide his chosen flight-path.
No skyline regulations bound him to law,
He ruled his demesne a tyrant absolute
With liberty to sail where Nature required.

What sad transformation, what change was’t
That saw him so struck down with force?
Some accident doubtless robbed instantly
Precious liberty, provision and will to live.
Thus, I found him that day, trying in shame
And heartache to hide even from Apollo’s eye.
To think of his cold, miserable decease
Brings the fresh, heartfelt dew to swell
In remembrance of a sorrow not long past,
Which, with like honour, robbed of life
One whom all knew most dearly loved.
He seemed to face the adversary Death
Greatly, to bow to his demands with ease.
So too, like the poor sparrow, his decline
Surrendered to Nature her borrowed clay.

"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Postby Despondence » Mon Aug 09, 2004 1:16 pm

"Utrumque solitudo mundus hodie,
Animus crastinum dies esse credo."

I was going to use this epigraph on my poetry web site, when eventually I would find the time to launch it....(though I'm sure the grammar is incorrect - corrections appreciated).

Latin epigraphs

Postby Saturn » Mon Aug 09, 2004 10:26 pm

Sorry, I don't really know much Latin, just a few words and phrases.

Who's the epigraph by? I t looks like Horace, but I might be wrong.

Here's my own personal favourite:

"Ave, tempus, edax rerum.
Omnes una manet nox."

(Hail, Time, consumer of things.
One Night awaits us all)
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".
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Re: Latin epigraphs

Postby Despondence » Tue Aug 10, 2004 12:20 pm

Stephen Saturn wrote:Who's the epigraph by? I t looks like Horace, but I might be wrong. - that was something homespun by yours truly. Hence the question mark on the grammar. But I thought it fitting to the two poems you had just posted.

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