Utter, utter foolishness

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Utter, utter foolishness

Postby JustMe » Sat Jun 07, 2003 8:35 pm

Do I have anything better to do than embarass myself in front of complete strangers? NO! But, I figure, in this friendly forum surrounded by blue are the people who will most likely appreciate this little bit of strangeness. Yes, I know it's bad fake old English. Why not? ;)

--------

Ode To Keats

And when I close my eyes the soundless tears
In sequence of unrolling threads have dropped;
A portrait of the poetess who hears
The whispered swansong of an old life cropped
By that unhappy fate, which sweetly sought
To make thy brief existence in itself
A tragedy worth wrapping into rhyme;
Too like those transient subjects which thou wrought;
Thou might grow aged and dusty on a shelf,
Unwithered by the nameless tread of time.

O youngest poet! Always thou didst know
And see around thee melancholy end;
Achilles' choice at both wicks burning low,
Among the cloying Autumn scents descend.
And like the Grecian urn hast trapped thyself
In syllables which glimmer with the light
Of thy truth's beauty, ever untouched by
A moving spirit. O Marvel to myself,
Each simple phrase transcends my stuttering night
Of awkward verse; o'erhangs the aching sky.

No, never wilt thou age amongst the earth
Choked round with revolutions of decay,
And still as long as men remember worth
Thy bones of ink shall never pass away.
But I cannot forbid myself to grieve
The accident that centuries displace
Between thy birth and mine the ages long;
Nor sleeping ears my gratitudes receive
That, living briefly, gave to me this grace
And filled the unborn ages with thy song.
JustMe
 

Postby Despondence » Mon Jun 09, 2003 1:01 pm

That's very beautiful, not to say absolutely brilliant. You know, I'd put my name and a copyright statement on that if I were you, before someone decides to rip you off. Anyway, I get a very wholesome feeling from your ode; you're clearly a poet. It kind of improves and deepens on each read too, which I guess means it must be somehow striking the right chords. I guess it also means you spent a lot of time on this piece? Anyway, that's just my uneducated impression, but would that I had your talent...
Despondence
 

Postby Endymion » Mon Jun 09, 2003 9:34 pm

Justme, that was a very good poem indeed. You should definately keep it up.

Whilst we are on the subject, I hope it would not be too wrong of me to offer my own here - I really appreciate Justme's offering and I think Thilo we should maybe have a thread for this if it becomes popular. I hope this encourages the poet in all of us to share something here.


To Rome

It’s a rose you’ve given, and a rose I’ll take
As I leave you awash in my wake
Though I travel to distant shores
I’ll remember that rose, that it was yours.

Now it’s the third day out to sea
And past the shores of Thermopylae
Today I feel I’m a lost cause
But I remembered that rose, that it was yours.

Never can an absolution be found
This ship of ours has run aground
And climbing the steps of the Piazza’s palace
I lift to you a golden chalice:

Not Apollo’s goblet, nor Endymion’s cup
Only for you would I offer up
The dregs become of this earthly root
That my soul might sprout forth a shoot
And I might live again to see
That rose you gave, you gave to me.


---
this is my composition, and I am the sole owner of copyright to the above poem. Please don't steal it.
"He Stood in His Shoes and he Wondered
He Wondered
He Stood in his Shoes and He Wondered."
Endymion
 
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Joined: Fri Nov 22, 2002 4:03 pm
Location: London, UK

Postby corydroid » Fri Jun 27, 2003 6:02 am

That was a really great dedication to Keats. :cry: Keep on practicing up on your poetry, you really have a high level of poetic skill. As for posting a poem- No, I will not. I've only recently gotten into poetry, and I still have much to learn.
"Oh sister, O daughter of Giuki, O child of my mother's womb
, By what death shall the Niblungs perish, what day is the day of their doom?"-Hogni
"Ye shall die to-day, Oh brethren, at the hands of a king forsworn."-Gudrun
corydroid
 
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Joined: Mon Apr 21, 2003 9:19 pm
Location: Cincinnati, OH U.S.A.

your ode to Keats

Postby doug arnold » Sun Jun 29, 2003 1:13 am

I like the way you reference to one of my favourites of Keats. Ode to a Grecian Urn.

And we all know a Grecian urns the same as everyone else that works. :oops:

So I will take the liberty of adding my own poem if I may be so vain?


The Love of My Life


Cold, dark, lower than whale sh*t; alone.
There is a higher purpose meant to be.
Beside my sibling sisters wombed with me.
I know somehow, there is instinct in me.
When this steel clamped shell is cracked,
I will fly, defy the wind, low, fast,
Streaking through the forest and fen. What then?
Can I fly round a mountain o’er the sea?
My map is like a knowledge known to be.
I wonder when? One day I will be free.
To use migratory instincts god gave me.
I know before my birth these things to be.
The future: carbon dated; timed in me.
My standby light: it winks assuredly.

Pressure; cold, wet, hot, moving, faster, open, light
Bubbles and the hatch: clanged and gone
Into the abyss, it’s future none.
Seconds? Three Air. Free. Tail, fins: mach three.
Life’s short fast spurt is real in me.
I know god’s purpose: now no mystery.
My love, my life you’ll shortly see.
Starlight white: only for Gods to see.
Mere gods promoted to immortality.




Ides of March 2003
doug arnold
 

Postby MasterDarcy » Wed Sep 17, 2003 9:27 am

Was it foolishness? It was utter boldness. And it is a quite amazing poem you have shared, a wonderful tribute to John Keats.

Here is one that I would to share with you. Awkward you may find it is since I am not a native English speaker :wink: , and I am just a beginner in this realm. And you may also find some borrowed Keatsian tone and phrases in it.

Fantasia

Blue the sky high where my mind wander'd far,
Azure the deep unfathomed a gleam befel,
Sapphire the diamond twinkling with the first star,
Mauve the mantle Immortal Annabelle,

Lavender her paint those of earth furrow,
Lilac my heart for unconditional love,
Violet the tear of night dew of morrow,
Sweetness in the breeze from the moon above.

What is the flower at my feet I see,
Yet so impalpable now to descern?
Slowly the day fades far away with thee,
Dear Darklin, when thy sweet nocturnes return,

I will breath joy again, till no more vigils I shall keep--
A draught of vintage, do I wake or sleep?

Oct. 2002
MasterDarcy
 
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Postby Despondence » Sun May 02, 2004 3:07 pm

Hm. I'd like to get in touch with the person ("JustMe") who started this thread with the Ode to Keats. If you still visit this forum, could you email me? I have some questions regarding the poem you posted.
Despondence
 


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