Yellow Bastille

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Dawn
User
1,425 posts
To The Dead in the Graveyard Underneath My Window

Adelaide Crapsey



Written in a moment of exasperation



How can you lie so still? All day I watch

And never a blade of all the green sod moves

To show where restlessly you toss and turn,

And fling a desperate arm or draw up knees

Stiffened and aching from their long disuse;

I watch all night and not one ghost comes forth

To take its freedom of the midnight hour.

Oh, have you no rebellion in your bones?

The very worms must scorn you where you lie,

A pallid mouldering acquiescent folk,

Meek habitants of unresented graves.

Why are you there in your straight row on row

Where I must ever see you from my bed

That in your mere dumb presence iterate

The text so weary in my ears: "Lie still

And rest; be patient and lie still and rest."

I'll not be patient! I will not lie still!

There is a brown road runs between the pines,

And further on the purple woodlands lie,

And still beyond blue mountains lift and loom;

And I would walk the road and I would be

Deep in the wooded shade and I would reach

The windy mountain tops that touch the clouds.

My eyes may follow but my feet are held.

Recumbent as you others must I too

Submit? Be mimic of your movelessness

With pillow and counterpane for stone and sod?

And if the many sayings of the wise

Teach of submission I will not submit!

...

I'll not be patient. I will not lie still.


I HOPE YOU AREN'T EOSOPHOBIC. 8U
garfield
User
6 posts
Who won?
My Sigggy!
Brain
User
8 posts
Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold



The sea is calm tonight,

The tide is full, the moon lies fair

Upon the straits; on the French coast the light

Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,

Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.

Come to the window, sweet is the night air!

Only, from the long line of spray

Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,

Listen! you hear the grating roar

Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,

At their return, up the high strand,

Begin, and cease, and then again begin,

With tremulous cadence slow, and bring

The eternal note of sadness in.



Sophocles long ago

Heard it on the Agean, and it brought

Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

Of human misery; we

Find also in the sound a thought,

Hearing it by this distant northern sea.



The Sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore

Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.

But now I only hear

Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,

Retreating, to the breath

Of the night-windm down the vast edges drear

And naked shingles of the world.



Ah, love, let us be true

To one another! for the world, which seems

To lie before us like a land of dreams,

So various, so beautiful, so new,

Hath really neither joy, no love, nor light,

Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;

And we are here as on a darkling plain

Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,

Where ignorant armies clash by night.



VerpetsGhost
Official
0 posts
Originally posted by the user Sin, archived on Mar 7th 2017
Little Red Cap by Carol Ann Duffy



At childhood's end, the houses petered out

into playing fields, the factory allotments

kept, like mistresses, by kneeling married men,

the silent railway line, the hermit's caravan,

till you came at last to the edge of the woods.

It was there that I first clapped eyes on the wolf.



He stood in a clearing, reading his verse out loud

in his wolfy drawl, a paperback in his hairy paw,

red wine staining his bearded jaw. What big ears

he had! What big eyes he had! What teeth!

In the interval, I made quite sure he spotted me,

sweet sixteen, never been, babe, waif, and bought me a drink,



my first. You might ask why. Here's why. Poetry.

The wolf, I knew, would lead me deep into the woods,

away from home, to a dark tangled thorny place

lit by the eyes of owls. I crawled in his wake,

my stockings ripped to shreds, scraps of red from my blazer

snagged on twig and branch, murder clues. I lost both shoes



but got there, wolf's lair, better beware. Lesson one that night,

breath of the wolf in my ear, was the love poem.

I clung till dawn to his thrashing fur, for

what little girl doesn't dearly love a wolf?

Then I slid from between his hairy matted paws

and went in search of a living bird - white dove -



which flew, straight, from my hands to his open mouth.

One bite, dead. How nice, breakfast in bed, he said,

licking his chops. As soon as he slept, I crept to the back

of the lair, where a whole wall was crimson, gold, aglow with books.

Words, words were truly alive on the tongue, in the head,

warm, beating, frantic, winged; music and blood.



But then I was young - and it took ten years

in the woods to tell that a mushroom

stoppers the mouth of a buried corpse, that birds

are the uttered thoughts of trees, that a greying wolf

howls the same old song at the moon, year in, year out,

season after season, same rhyme, same reason. I took an axe



to a willow to see how it wept. I took an axe to a salmon

to see how it leapt. I took an axe to the wolf

as he slept, one chop, scrotum to throat, and saw

the glistening, virgin white of my grandmother's bones.

I filled his cold belly with stones. I stitched him up.

Out of the forest I come, with my flowers, singing, all alone.
Azazel
User
4,924 posts
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;



And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white;



Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;



And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.



Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,

If mankind perished utterly;



And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn

Would scarcely know that we were gone.



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

My Absolute Favorite Poem
"Laugh whenever you can. Keeps you from killing yourself when things are bad. That and vodka." — Jim Butcher (Dresden Files: Changes)
Sheer
User
456 posts
The Harlot's House - Oscar Wilde.


We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.

Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss.

Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.

We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.

Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.

The took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.

Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.

Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.

Then, turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."

But she--she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.

Then suddenly the tune went false,
The dancers wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.

And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.



“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
Anglewitch
User
171 posts
Poison Tree by William Blake

---

I was angry with my friend
I told my wrath, my wrath did end
I was angry with my foe
I told it not, my wrath did grow

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears
And I sunnèd it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles

And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright
And my foe beheld it shine
And he knew that it was mine

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree

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betty_boop_2009
User
5 posts
This is my new poem which i just made (im new to poetry by the way) umm and well i hope you like my poem.....

My life
Happy times we may spend together
But it may never be forever.
They can go one by one in a flash
They just run. ha more like dash.
But you should just enjoy life.
because you never no when he will dig in the knife



thats how far i got so far any help please xx
M.baigent
Zombiotic
User
430 posts
I wrote this a while back....

Hell's Gaze Upon Humanity


They left me alone, on the side of the street.
Nothing to wear, ...nothing to eat.
One day, they shall regret their mistake....
Even though right now, it is I whom shake.

A day in the future, I'm still alone.
Everyone has vanished, I hear a faint moan.
I look to the distance, and what do I see?
My old self staring back at me...

A time in the past, maybe I could have forgiven.
I should, I could, must be regiven.
Yet, why do they hate me, those monstrous shadows?
They leave me be, in such the unholy gallows.

Now, is now, for I can not change that.
How am I hating this unmerciful silence no less?
Is it because in the end, there is nothing there? Nothing here?
There is nothing I see... nothing at all.... so forgive my manners, but burn shall you all.
Zom is busy. Doing something. Doing what? He hasn't quite figured this out yet.
Izretfan4
User
17 posts
Romeo, oh romeo, wherfore art thou Romeo. heeheehee
The wise man is silent, while the fool speaks.
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