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Poetry Corner

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Poetry Corner

Post by Night Eyes on Mon Mar 21, 2016 10:09 am

Hey guys today 21st of March is World Poetry day

would you like to post your favourite Poems to share with us?


I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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.


Last edited by Night Eyes on Sat Apr 02, 2016 8:09 am; edited 1 time in total

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by posay on Mon Mar 21, 2016 10:31 am

Aw that was beautiful Night, what a lovely idea!  Here's my favourite poem.  I studied this poem on my access course and found that I really enjoyed it.  I couldn't have cared less about poems in the past but I really loved this one.

A Sonnet Of The Moon

LOOK how the pale queen of the silent night
Doth cause the ocean to attend upon her,
And he, as long as she is in his sight,
With her full tide is ready her to honor.
But when the silver waggon of the moon
Is mounted up so high he cannot follow,
The sea calls home his crystal waves to moan,
And with low ebb doth manifest his sorrow.
So you that are the sovereign of my heart
Have all my joys attending on your will;
My joys low-ebbing when you do depart,
When you return their tide my heart doth fill.
   So as you come and as you do depart,
   Joys ebb and flow within my tender heart.


   - Charles Best
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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Sparkle28 on Mon Mar 21, 2016 12:41 pm

I don't really have one unless you count this....

I wish I was a glow worm
A glow worms never glum
How could you be grumpy
When the Sun shines out your bum


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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Sparkle28 on Mon Mar 21, 2016 12:43 pm

Only half of my message appeared

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Sparkle28 on Mon Mar 21, 2016 12:45 pm

Grrrrrrrrrrrr. ....... it's not posting I will try again
Thanks Night for this thread I will now use it to promote my book ..... unashamedly

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Cathartic-Ramblings-Broken-Hearted-Donna-ebook/dp/B01CRVOZD2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1458578407&sr=8-1&keywords=Donna+ewood


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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Freya on Mon Mar 21, 2016 11:37 pm

Thanks for sharing the link to your collection Sparkle! Smile So impressive. I love you

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Freya on Mon Mar 21, 2016 11:40 pm

Love all these poems I love you


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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Night Eyes on Tue Mar 22, 2016 3:27 am

Freya is that Poem about an unborn baby?

i'm sure we learnt it in school.. many years ago

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Adi on Tue Mar 22, 2016 3:36 am

This is a small part from one of my favorite Hindi songs. It explains the divinity and greatness of the music.

संगीत  मी है ऐसी फुहार  पतझड में भी जो लाये बहार
संगीत को ना रोके दिवार, संगीत जाये सरहद के पार
संगीत माने ना धर्म ना जात, संगीत से जुडी कायेनात
संगीत कि ना कोई जुबान, संगीत मे  है गीता कुराण
संगीत मे है अल्ला और राम, संगीत मे है दुनिया तमाम
तूफान का भी रुख मोडता है , संगीत तुटे दिल को जोडता है

Translation:

Music is such a magical spray that it can make trees spring in fall.

Music can't be stopped by the walls and music transcends borders across. (This might give Donald Trump a run for his money Very Happy )

Music doesn't obey caste or creed, the whole nature is connected to the music, indeed.

Music knows no language, music has Geeta and Quran included.

Music contains Allah and Ram (and Jesus too, for that matter), Music contains the entire universe.

Music can redirect the hurricane, music is broken heart's only treatment!


=====

I just love these lyrics. Very Happy

Here is the original song. The part mentioned above begins towards the end ( Razz ) at 5.20

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Freya on Tue Mar 22, 2016 3:44 am

What beautiful lyrics, Adi Smiley and I totally agree with them Very Happy

Night Eyes wrote:Freya is that Poem about an unborn baby?

i'm sure we learnt it in school.. many years ago

I really don't know to be honest... I do love Plath but this is a poem I'd never come across before, so I don't know the context, but what you say would make sense. Smiley

------------------------------------------------------

This is my favourite Plath poem:

Mushrooms

Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly

Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.

Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.

Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,

Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,

Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We

Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking

Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!

We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,

Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:

We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Adi on Tue Mar 22, 2016 4:31 am

I just realized I already love this thread so much. After posting my reply I went through all the replies and I must say this has been a bliss. So many awesome lyrics. Very Happy

Here is another one...

In Ancient Indian music, it is said that there used to be a special kind of singers who mastered the art of music to the extent it affected even inanimate objects.

There was this singer called Tansen who said to possess the power to light fire by singing his composition called "Raag Deepak"
Deepak means a stable flame.
His daughter mastered this art and used it to bring rain wherever required.

Lord Krishna could attract wild and domestic animals with his flute. It was so soothing that even trees would shake their leaves in bliss.

I used to think this is all a fable and a bunch of made up bullshit. But after studying LoA and energy and nature of the universe, this doesn't see far fetched at all! Smiley

This song I am going to translate next is a composition called "Raag Desh". It so small in length but so profound that it explains nature of the power of human subconscious mind. You find a new meaning every time you listen to it. And you know the juicy part, YOU DON'T EVEN NEED TO UNDERSTAND THE LYRICS.

It brings tears in my eyes every time I listen to it with a calm mind.

Talk about music being a "drug", this is IT! Very Happy

Even this song seems to attract fire flies. Not tested in real life, but if the singer is capable to connecting himself to the energy of the planet (known as Gaia) then this can be witnessed.

मन मंदिरा - A temple of mind (or temple like mind. Can't be translated in English accurately)

It is a prayer to find your inner soul.

मन मंदिरा... तेजाने उजळून घेई साधका, संवेदना संवादे सहवेदना जपताना

Dear temple like mind, please shower this student of yours, who is communicating with you sensitively to protect himself from painful feelings, with your divine glow

तळहाताच्या रेषांनी सहज सुखा का भोगी कुणी

Who has experienced the joy of total bliss just because of the lines on their palm?

स्वयंप्रकाशी तू तारा, चैतन्याचा गाभारा

You're a star that produces it's own light (like the Sun), the core of consciousness.
There is no direct english word for गाभारा (Gabhara) Which means the innermost sanctum of the temple.
If you visit any ancient temple and enter the Gabhara, you will "feel" this kind of connection. True Story. Can't be explained further.

भर पंखातून स्वप्न उद्याचे, झेप घे रे पाखरा

Fill your winds with the grandiose dream of a better tomorrow and SOAR, you little bird! Smiley




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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by LittlemissSunshine on Tue Mar 22, 2016 6:25 am

床前明月光
疑是地上霜
举头望明月
低头思故乡

This is my favorite poem. It's the first poem I learned in Chinese. For me it's a symbol of the art of Chinese poetry since it's about the amount of characters and word flow more than the beauty of the words. It means:

Bright moonlight before my bed
I suppose it's frost on the ground
I raise my head to look at the bright moon
I bow my head and think of home
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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Night Eyes on Tue Mar 22, 2016 7:58 am

awww these are all so beautiful and inspiring.. thanks guys I love you

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


Robert Frost

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by posay on Tue Mar 22, 2016 1:29 pm

Night Eyes wrote:Freya is that Poem about an unborn baby?

i'm sure we learnt it in school.. many years ago

Same here, it sounds very familiar. Love it I love you

I also love reading poems in another language, not that I can actually read the language but thanks to you guys translating I can, it's refreshing to have that variety. I love you Oh and I wish I was Lord Krishna with a flute who could attract all of the wild and domestic animals. Razz here's the Scottish poem I promised, have fun trying to understand it haha.

‘A Summer’s Day’ - Tom Leonard

1. yir eyes ur
2. eh
3. a mean yir

4. pirrit this wey
5. ah think yer
6. bywetifl like ehm

7. fact
8. fact a think yir
9. ach a luvyi thahts

10. thahts
11. jist thi wey it iz like
12. Thahts ehm
13. aw ther iz ti say

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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Night Eyes on Tue Mar 22, 2016 2:14 pm

lol i love it Posay


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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Night Eyes on Sat Apr 02, 2016 8:10 am


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Re: Poetry Corner

Post by Freya on Sat Apr 02, 2016 11:37 pm

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
by T.S. Eliot


S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
              So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
              And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
              And should I then presume?
              And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
              Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
              That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
              “That is not it at all,
              That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

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