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Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

I am not yours, not lost in you,

Not lost, although I long to be


Lost as a candle lit at noon,


Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still

A spirit beautiful and bright,

Yet I am I, who long to be

Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love — put out


My senses, leave me deaf and blind,


Swept by the tempest of your love,

A taper in a rushing wind.

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She

I’m waiting for the man I hope to wed.

I’ve never seen him – that’s the funny part.


I promised I would wear a rose of red,


Pinned on my coat above my fluttered heart,


So that he’d know me – a precaution wise,


Because I wrote him I was twenty-three,

And Oh such heaps and heaps of silly lies. . .


So when we meet what will he think of me?

It’s funny, but it has its sorry side;


I put an advert. in the evening Press:


“A lonely maiden fain would be a bride.”

Oh it was shameless of me, I confess.


But I am thirty-nine and in despair,

Wanting a home and children ere too late,


And I forget I’m no more young and fair -

I’ll hide my rose and run…No, no, I’ll wait.

An hour has passed and I am waiting still.


I ought to feel relieved, but I’m so sad.

I would have liked to see him, just to thrill,


And sigh and say: “There goes my lovely lad!

My one romance!” Ah, Life’s malign mishap!


Garcon, a cafè creme.” I’ll stay till nine. . .

The cafè’s empty, just an oldish chap


Who’s sitting at the table next to mine. . .

He

I’m waiting for the girl I mean to wed.

She was to come at eight and now it’s nine.


She’d pin upon her coat a rose of red,

And I would wear a marguerite in mine.


No sign of her I see…It’s true my eyes

Need stronger glasses than the ones I wear,


But Oh I feel my heart would recognize

Her face without the rose – she is so fair.

Ah! what deceivers are we aging men!


What vanity keeps youthful hope aglow!


Poor girl! I sent a photo taken when 
I was a student, twenty years ago.


(Hers is so Springlike, Oh so blossom sweet!)


How she will shudder when she sees me now!


I think I’d better hide that marguerite -


How can I age and ugliness avow?

She does not come. It’s after nine o’clock.

What fools we fogeys are! I’ll try to laugh;


(Garcon, you might bring me another bock)


Falling in love, just from a photograph.

Well, that’s the end. I’ll go home and forget,


Then realizing I am over ripe


I’ll throw away this silly cigarette

And philosophically light my pipe.

* * * * *

The waiter brought the coffee and the beer,

And there they sat, so woe-begone a pair,


And seemed to think: “Why do we linger here?”

When suddenly they turned, to start and stare.


She spied a marguerite, he glimpsed a rose;

Their eyes were joined and in a flash they knew. . .


The sleepy waiter saw, when time to close,


The sweet romance of those deceiving two,


Whose lips were joined, their hearts, their future too.

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Let me not coin new meaning to words

Or alter their sense for mere badinage:

Broken pediments may add grace to facades

But words void of wit and sense are BeauNash

Playing dandy among a mournful wake.

I have miscalled pediments impediments

And Paul Bremer for Beau Brummel, a rake.

Words are a good man’s trusted implements-

In music chords do allow inversion

But mix up fundament for aliment

another might think it as some perversion,

If in need of vigor take supplement.

But if you are not Dam Malaprop

Treat words and their sense as walk on tight rope.

benny

Original Version:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

   If this be error and upon me proved,

   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

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‘Play it loud, play it loud

You damn well know how loud-

Blast those would rather squeak,

We are the band from hell,

‘Blast the bugles left and right

Sound fifes!’ we did as told !

‘We are the band from hell!’

2.

‘Sound bugles Sound them louder.’

But we lost the game sir!

Fanfare of our trumpets

Was no match for lungs in throes

By a mushroom cloud

Expanding and shredding-

Hell’s Bells! Sound the last Post!

3.

Hell to the right and left-

Death retching bucket full

No hands to empty them;

Sick yellow dust full blown

Carries their stench all about-

Hell has come into its own:

Music is fled, so is silence.

benny

 

Original Version:

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,


All in the valley of Death


Rode the six hundred.

“Forward, the Light Brigade!
”Charge for the guns!” he said:


Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred….

 

 

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The Isles of Greece! The isles of Greece

Wherefore this amnesia, drunk from Lethe?

Have you forgotten the warrior race

Whose swords smote down kings and forthwith

‘Here be warriors that knew no fear’

Went thus message post-haste far an’ near?

Sparta led and the hordes of foes

Before their tight phalanxes melted:

In Athens no less brave were demos

Before whose iron resolve tyrants fled.

Spartan or rich in tastes at best

Were men who deemed their own lives least.

What service has the Turks bestowed

That you let your blood and honor

Be trod and your wives as slaves sold?

Martyrs for faith in Asia minor

Lay forgotten as of no value.

For a slave race this’s nothing new.

Spare me your woes with Euro bail-out

Or the Golden Dawn spawn’d from hell.

How slaves for long living on hand-out

Are undone is a sad chronicle:

A land of slaves shall ne’er regain

Unless Greece unlearn past as one.

benny

Original Version

THE isles of Greece! the isles of Greece!

Where burning Sappho loved and sung,

Where grew the arts of war and peace,—

Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!

Eternal summer gilds them yet,

But all, except their sun, is set.

The Scian and the Teian muse,

The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute,

Have found the fame your shores refuse;

Their place of birth alone is mute

To sounds which echo further west

Than your sires’ “Islands of the Blest.”

..

Place me on Sunium’s marble steep—

Where nothing, save the waves and I,

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep:

There, swan-like, let me sing and die;

A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine—

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!

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Sleep, sleep? I am not dead nor am I tired

Dream of life sets me tasks that shall not wait,

Nightmares that chase my lot if duty shirked.

Many excuses are waking life’s bait

And in cloying phantoms failures they rate

And often these presage sad truth of life:

It is not such as flesh and bones that hurt

Or demean man’s life with corrosive grief

But chances missed and begun with no heart

That the game lost e’en before it could start.

Original Version:

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,

       He hath awaken’d from the dream of life;

       ‘Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep

       With phantoms an unprofitable strife,

       And in mad trance, strike with our spirit’s knife

       Invulnerable nothings. We decay

       Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief

       Convulse us and consume us day by day,

And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

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If you can lie and cheat and buy happiness

Tell me son, I will go in business

And treat you equal and split half and half:

My happiness your weal- and my riches

What I cannot carry with me for you

To possess and hold, Isn’t that rich?

We shall have our laugh at those who cavil

That money never bought happiness.

benny

Original Version:

If you can keep your head when all about you   

    Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,   

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

    But make allowance for their doubting too;   

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

    Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

    And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:….

 

 

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