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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#476 |
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Hither, Hither, Love by John Keats (1795-1821)
Hither, hither, love- 'Tis a shady mead- Hither, hither, love! Let us feed and feed! Hither, hither, sweet- 'Tis a cowslip bed- Hither, hither, sweet! 'Tis with dew bespread! Hither, hither, dear By the breath of life, Hither, hither, dear!- Be the summer's wife! Though one moment's pleasure In one moment flies- Though the passion's treasure In one moment dies;- Yet it has not passed- Think how near, how near!- And while it doth last, Think how dear, how dear! Hither, hither, hither Love its boon has sent- If I die and wither I shall die content! |
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#477 |
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I've been enjoying your poems as usual. I like Wonders of the Stone Age and Silver Silver in particular. Thanks. Quote:
Thanks very much Biz
I must confess that I stole the form from Hither, Hither, Love by Keats. He's been dead long enough for me to post the poem, which I'll do shortly ![]() ![]() I think yours is better.
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#478 |
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Quote:
I think yours is better. ![]()
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#479 |
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Quote:
I've been enjoying your poems as usual. I like Wonders of the Stone Age and Silver Silver in particular. Thanks.
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Do you know John, I was just thinking the same.
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#480 |
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That's praise indeed, thank you ![]() |
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#481 |
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Quote:
Do you know John, I was just thinking the same.
![]() ![]() Aroama. Like a car which is rusting becoming disgusting beginning to smell like I am - unwell. On the banks of denial. Look; see me smile as if nothing is wrong. I would sing you a song with my very last breath. For a bottle of meth. They say Tennent's Super Is like Henry Cooper. Without any bout, four knock you out. Have I had a bath? Don't make me laugh I just spray with Febreze. I have no disease. No money. No debts. No grief or regrets. Just the world and my wits and my smelly armpits. |
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#482 |
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Life In Mono
I remember you said, when we kissed that day, That there never could be a middle way. “All or nothing,” you said to me, “My love will capture, or set me free.” So holding together, I fell free to be lost, Falling away, but never counting the cost. Your head, your heart, right from the start, It was one or the other, always torn apart. And from the highest of highs to the hardest of lows, From the sweetest of kisses to the harshest of blows, “Your wild side, your child side, I love,” I cried, But while you were free, I was caught inside. You drained the colour from out of my life, Everything was either black or white, The yes, the no, the stay, the go, My persistence of love I had to show. You shouted for you, “This love is real,” But you tell me now, how should I feel? All was fine or it was out of line, “If I’m not yours, then you’re not mine.” Standing still, perpetual motion, Bridges torn between emotion, The trip, the hop, the start, the stop, Emotions’ bases crashed from the top. I tried, my love, to temper the hours, But in truth, this love, was never ours. It was all for you, the truth and the lies. And tho’ nothing lived, still something dies. |
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#483 |
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Life In Mono Sad story beautifully told scottie. Makes me wonder if I've been too controlling in any relationship. Thanks... I think.
![]() There's a bit of a line from one of my favourite bands in there too. I wonder who else spots it? |
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#484 |
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Quote:
Life In Mono
I remember you said, when we kissed that day, That there never could be a middle way. “All or nothing,” you said to me, “My love will capture, or set me free.” So holding together, I fell free to be lost, Falling away, but never counting the cost. Your head, your heart, right from the start, It was one or the other, always torn apart. And from the highest of highs to the hardest of lows, From the sweetest of kisses to the harshest of blows, “Your wild side, your child side, I love,” I cried, But while you were free, I was caught inside. You drained the colour from out of my life, Everything was either black or white, The yes, the no, the stay, the go, My persistence of love I had to show. You shouted for you, “This love is real,” But you tell me now, how should I feel? All was fine or it was out of line, “If I’m not yours, then you’re not mine.” Standing still, perpetual motion, Bridges torn between emotion, The trip, the hop, the start, the stop, Emotions’ bases crashed from the top. I tried, my love, to temper the hours, But in truth, this love, was never ours. It was all for you, the truth and the lies. And tho’ nothing lived, still something dies. |
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#485 |
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Why
Why hurt when you can you be free Why silent when you can speak Why cry when you can be heard Why stand still when you can move forward Always |
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#486 |
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Quote:
Aroama.
They say Tennent's Super Is like Henry Cooper. ![]() Quote:
The yes, the no, the stay, the go,
My persistence of love I had to show. Quote:
There's a bit of a line from one of my favourite bands in there too. I wonder who else spots it?
Quote:
Why hurt when you can you be free
Why silent when you can speak
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#487 |
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There is a place for poetry (hopefully not here). On a very
popular aol board that eventually closed it was plagued with poetic contributors. Poetry ? Thanks but no thanks. |
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#488 |
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Quote:
There is a place for poetry (hopefully not here). On a very
popular aol board that eventually closed it was plagued with poetic contributors.
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#489 |
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Kit's Coty House
Modern times would harrow What was once a barrow And the mound has gone, For they came to raid stone, Yet not far from Maidstone Kit's Coty lives on. Nothing could demolish, Sever or abolish This house on the hill, Proud despite our failings, Fenced in by black railings, Monumental still. Climb up here and slowly Let the hinges holy Open heaven’s doors, I'm a true devotee Of stone age Kit's Coty, High the dolmen soars. http://www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=358 |
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#490 |
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Quote:
There's a bit of a line from one of my favourite bands in there too. I wonder who else spots it? |
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#491 |
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#492 |
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#493 |
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Quote:
Drat, I should have got that
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#494 |
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Quote:
There is a place for poetry (hopefully not here). On a very
popular aol board that eventually closed it was plagued with poetic contributors. Poetry ? Thanks but no thanks. An AOL board was 'plagued' with the stuff was it? I've never heard of anything like that happening on AOL before. Must've been terrible for the general illiterati. The closest they usually get to rhyming is when someone puts "Me too" after the previous contributor has said the same... |
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#495 |
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Your work is greatly appreciated poets; it's lovely to pop in the next day to find a feast laid before me. Keep up the good work.
Sandy, did you have a wee dram? ![]() Cessna, all I have to say is "walk on by". |
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#496 |
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Quote:
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Really beautiful Sandy and an uplifting message as well ![]()
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#497 |
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Quote:
The Scream
I wrote the following poem after going to see an exhibition of Rothko's work: Canvas Dense slabs of crimson laid down with deft precision bleeding penetration into the black. Scuffed lines of bristles forced into canvas. Dark mirror to swallow. |
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#498 |
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#499 |
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Quote:
One of your strangest subjects I reckon John! I love the Tennent's Super/Henry Cooper rhyme. Among the descriptions of poor hygiene there are still gems - 'on the banks of denial' in particular. Much enjoyed
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Your work is greatly appreciated poets; it's lovely to pop in the next day to find a feast laid before me. Keep up the good work.
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Paintings can be a great source of inspiration and can elicit a really good poetic response. The Scream is a really good example.
I wrote the following poem after going to see an exhibition of Rothko's work: Canvas Dense slabs of crimson laid down with deft precision bleeding penetration into the black. Scuffed lines of bristles forced into canvas. Dark mirror to swallow.
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#500 |
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Quote:
Your work is greatly appreciated poets; it's lovely to pop in the next day to find a feast laid before me. Keep up the good work.
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Thanks Musty
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Paintings can be a great source of inspiration and can elicit a really good poetic response. The Scream is a really good example.
Canvas ![]() Quote:
I don't seem to write much which I consider worth posting these days. Aroama only just made it.
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I must confess that I stole the form from Hither, Hither, Love by Keats. He's been dead long enough for me to post the poem, which I'll do shortly