plagiarized from mr finsburyparkcarrots' thread "opheila's nun"
this is a sonnet .. it is beautiful
NEW POEM
I know now those long shadows on the shore
of seaward gulls like arrows on the sand
and on the surf's green shallows came before
my first walk on this shattered ocean band.
I know those shadows fell upon the trail
of my proud fathers as they looked beyond
the racking waters, dreaming of a sail
to free them from the famine of the land.
Now I, with them, will build my ship and go
and leave my shadowed ground once and for all
to pass where sunpulse motions make the flow
of gently rippling guidings to the call
of one beyond the wave, a woman true
and beautiful, a life revealed and new.
thanks mr carrots!! and if you don't want me to do this again, just pm me and send me a pint!!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
i walked upon the eastern shore with sand
hot between my toes as the salt filled air
filled my senses, consumed me with her hand
her touch was soft like dream whipped cream tis fair
she sang of love and weather in love's grasp
neither hides amongst rocks along the reef
nor washes to shore in clumps of sea grass
yet must be found for these are my belief -
while love's box is replete - songs of merry days,
the beach is a good walk for remembrance
of love in the past, so much is sweet lust
bring on the surf and the sharp sting of rays
from the jelly fish, whose transluscence
invades my senses, yet, for now, i trust
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
I know now those long shadows on the shore
of seaward gulls like arrows on the sand
and on the surf's green shallows came before
my first walk on this shattered ocean band.
I know those shadows fell upon the trail
of my proud fathers as they looked beyond
the racking waters, dreaming of a sail
to free them from the famine of the land.
Now I, with them, will build my ship and go
and leave my shadowed ground once and for all
to pass where sunpulse motions make the flow
of gently rippling guidings to the call
of one beyond the wave, a woman true
and beautiful, a life revealed and new.
this is sublime.....and the fact that it's about my ireland, brings a rush of blood to the heart.....
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
dusted out my brain and then in vain I thought
for two days crying (dying as I died again)
there were shadows that took longer and that wrought
an unctious sighing as the drying of my pen
performed a formless circle on the page, I raged
and all my caged emotions mapped a pale around my eyes
a don't come here....a stale attraction had engaged
my outskirts...and a flirt with suicide when ties
are chains and grains of sand are practically dripping
ripping pages from my life....and wanting his knife
yet to protect me as I barely see him dreaming...slipping
in my memory.....taking me and making me his wife
the sea knows all my thoughts and feelings and endeavours
and the sun accounts my woes and throws as every sorrow severs
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Originally posted by ISN excuse the stupid metre....
dusted out my brain and then in vain I thought
for two days crying (dying as I died again)
there were shadows that took longer and that wrought
an unctious sighing as the drying of my pen
performed a formless circle on the page, I raged
and all my caged emotions mapped a pale around my eyes
a don't come here....a stale attraction had engaged
my outskirts...and a flirt with suicide when ties
are chains and grains of sand are practically dripping
ripping pages from my life....and wanting his knife
yet to protect me as I barely see him dreaming...slipping
in my memory.....taking me and making me his wife
the sea knows all my thoughts and feelings and endeavours
and the sun accounts my woes and throws as every sorrow severs
Patrick Kavanagh always played with the sonnet metre (e.g: "Come Dance With Kitty Stobling"). This is in that grand tradition.
This is very direct and emotive and is actually the closest thing I've seen in theme, if not form, to a Renaissance sonnet on this thread so far, in that it is a psychological document, deeply internalised but expressively imagistic in conveying the landscape of heart and mind.
thanks....Finsbury...it stands for inverted supernova
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Gentle is the sea as a gust blows by
Calm and beautiful is this barren reef
Nothing for miles but the calm wave’s lies
As I look up, I see a cold storm breathe
Churning and lashing, the seas are angered
Sing softly Manannan, lend me your hand
Your tricks and illusion bring us danger
The hull is cracked, is this your great plan
The rain felt cooler now, as did on our heads
We drink beauty of our long journeys end
She, who is our mistress, puts us to bed
Manannan Mac Lir, now truly our friend
Bitter water, had then touched my lips
The spark within me, now comes to grips
it's Irish from a myth or something.....or am I getting it mixed up with Tir na Og or Leda
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Lir is a Celtic god which no one could communicate with. Manannan Mac Lir means Manannan,Son of the Sea. Manannan was Lir's child, and the god of sea and illusions, he is a great god though. He is also the god of the Sidhe (Practically heaven on earth).
Sorry for the crap factor of that sonnet, I guess I wasn't feeling it enough.
To specify... it's Celtic and Druid mythology, not Irish... though there were clans in Irland, they were spread pretty thick across most of Europe, and some in Asia... the biggest population was in the Netherlands region.
I like my Celtic and Druid mythology. One of my most powerful past lives took place in the England area.. and I was a druid, one of the first. But I'll save that for some poetry later.
I'm going to try my hand at a more formal approach to the sonnet. My legends will be based on suburban New Jersey or what Bruce Springsteen wrote about in his earlier records. I'm looking forward to this!
There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
He said, "I'll write an overview to show
a panorama of the lack of God
across an island; they will know me now
to be a poet-seer, one who'll plod
the boulevards and office blocks to make
my document on how the greed of man
stalks plastic satisfaction in the wake
of science. Shaming fakery's my plan."
You say, "And when your cupboard's bare and cold,
and when the lightbulb pops and flies are blind,
and when the mirror rots with spots of mould,
and when the broken window screams the wind,
Will you build, in 'challenging', a land,
a notion that the ones with money planned?"
The night cries out for a glimpse of day light
As the day begs for a time which it slept
Since before our lives the sun has been bright
And the dew in the dark has always crept
Lives passed and came at their own willingness
Yet it seems I have always remained here
Light brings warmth, night brings comforting caress
Sitting by two powers brings on some wear
I feel as though my age is catching me
Aches and pains from mysterious places
Oh in my youth, I truly had been free
If I could just flip back a few pages
When I have become youthful forever
Light and Dark, we’ll always be together
Originally posted by ExTReMe FrEAk This is from my other thread
The night cries out for a glimpse of day light
As the day begs for a time which it slept
Since before our lives the sun has been bright
And the dew in the dark has always crept
Lives passed and came at their own willingness
Yet it seems I have always remained here
Light brings warmth, night brings comforting caress
Sitting by two powers brings on some wear
I feel as though my age is catching me
Aches and pains from mysterious places
Oh in my youth, I truly had been free
If I could just flip back a few pages
When I have become youthful forever
Light and Dark, we’ll always be together
as an olderman i can certainly relate and i thank the ExTReMe FrEAk for his sonnet
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Originally posted by FinsburyParkCarrots He said, "I'll write an overview to show
a panorama of the lack of God
across an island; they will know me now
to be a poet-seer, one who'll plod
the boulevards and office blocks to make
my document on how the greed of man
stalks plastic satisfaction in the wake
of science. Shaming fakery's my plan."
You say, "And when your cupboard's bare and cold,
and when the lightbulb pops and flies are blind,
and when the mirror rots with spots of mould,
and when the broken window screams the wind,
Will you build, in 'challenging', a land,
a notion that the ones with money planned?"
This is awesome.. I am still reading this sonnet over and over and getting a different take each time..
i feel that the octet describes the cause of the poverty depicted in the sextet.. i will read the sonnet again..
Damn good mr. Fins!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
He said, "I'll write an overview to show
a panorama of the lack of God
across an island; they will know me now
to be a poet-seer, one who'll plod
the boulevards and office blocks to make
my document on how the greed of man
stalks plastic satisfaction in the wake
of science. Shaming fakery's my plan."
You say, "And when your cupboard's bare and cold,
and when the lightbulb pops and flies are blind,
and when the mirror rots with spots of mould,
and when the broken window screams the wind,
Will you build, in 'challenging', a land,
a notion that the ones with money planned?"
a great poem.....(I hope the answer is 'yes')
thanks for the link Finsbury, I always get Lir mixed up with Leda....
I'll post a link to a picture of a beautiful swan I saw in Cambridge or Oxford - can't remember which.....but think it was Cambridge
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
As usual, I'll donate a sonnet as I take it en route to the Nun.
Get ready for the weekly pack of lies:
"Najaf is back in Government command."
Then, watch the news reports: A lad defies
the camera, gun held aloft in hand,
the temple's golden dome behind him. Some
older men behind him stare at length
upon the lens, some seated, quite at home
to show resistance in a quiet strength.
It was just the same in Saddam's time:
"We have the situation in control."
Control? That's dreams of temples splashed in grime
from bodies ripped apart in dust. 'Extol
the moral highground as you brutalise';
that's their motto there. Bring on the lies.
Well, here's another version, more "universal", as it were.
In a Free State
Get ready for the weekly pack of lies:
"The town is back in Government command."
Then, watch the news reports: A lad defies
the camera, extending knuckled hand,
the Governmental Hall behind him. Some
older men behind him stare at length
upon the lens, some seated, quite at home
to show resistance in a quiet strength.
The last regime too, claimed, in pre-war time:
"We have the situation in control."
Control? A dream in alleyways of grime
To claim a thoroughfare of dust? 'Extol
the moral highground as you brutalise':
That was the plan that failed. Now? More lies.
They laid you to rest on that stinking hot day
The mourners all gathered; black-clad, like crows
beaks protruding, heads moving quickly, this then that way
'Tis irony, hypocrisy, but death draws friends out from foes.
What would you have said, dear man,
had that moment been made yours to speak?
You would sit quiet, I'm certain
and then gently chastise me for straying so far from meek.
That glorious black crest of hair resurrected
you shine once again, somewhere far, I can't reach you
But here on earth you leave wisdom and love, unaffected
by time immemorial, space, recollections, too
many to count on my fingers. Please leave a space for me
I'll be bringing the ashtray and one endless more bottle
for the day we'll all be free
when the time comes, I'll be running full throttle!
Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon a field of mourners
parading in the wake of sad relations
as their shoes fill up with water
maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
but tonight you're on my mind so....you'll never know
Jeff Buckley.....Lover, you should've come.....
....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
Originally posted by ruby They laid you to rest on that stinking hot day
The mourners all gathered; black-clad, like crows
beaks protruding, heads moving quickly, this then that way
'Tis irony, hypocrisy, but death draws friends out from foes.
What would you have said, dear man,
had that moment been made yours to speak?
You would sit quiet, I'm certain
and then gently chastise me for straying so far from meek.
That glorious black crest of hair resurrected
you shine once again, somewhere far, I can't reach you
But here on earth you leave wisdom and love, unaffected
by time immemorial, space, recollections, too
many to count on my fingers. Please leave a space for me
I'll be bringing the ashtray and one endless more bottle
for the day we'll all be free
when the time comes, I'll be running full throttle!
no need to say you're sorry when you write a good poem!!
thanks!
Down the street you can hear her scream youre a disgrace
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
Comments
this is a sonnet .. it is beautiful
NEW POEM
I know now those long shadows on the shore
of seaward gulls like arrows on the sand
and on the surf's green shallows came before
my first walk on this shattered ocean band.
I know those shadows fell upon the trail
of my proud fathers as they looked beyond
the racking waters, dreaming of a sail
to free them from the famine of the land.
Now I, with them, will build my ship and go
and leave my shadowed ground once and for all
to pass where sunpulse motions make the flow
of gently rippling guidings to the call
of one beyond the wave, a woman true
and beautiful, a life revealed and new.
thanks mr carrots!! and if you don't want me to do this again, just pm me and send me a pint!!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
hot between my toes as the salt filled air
filled my senses, consumed me with her hand
her touch was soft like dream whipped cream tis fair
she sang of love and weather in love's grasp
neither hides amongst rocks along the reef
nor washes to shore in clumps of sea grass
yet must be found for these are my belief -
while love's box is replete - songs of merry days,
the beach is a good walk for remembrance
of love in the past, so much is sweet lust
bring on the surf and the sharp sting of rays
from the jelly fish, whose transluscence
invades my senses, yet, for now, i trust
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
this is sublime.....and the fact that it's about my ireland, brings a rush of blood to the heart.....
dusted out my brain and then in vain I thought
for two days crying (dying as I died again)
there were shadows that took longer and that wrought
an unctious sighing as the drying of my pen
performed a formless circle on the page, I raged
and all my caged emotions mapped a pale around my eyes
a don't come here....a stale attraction had engaged
my outskirts...and a flirt with suicide when ties
are chains and grains of sand are practically dripping
ripping pages from my life....and wanting his knife
yet to protect me as I barely see him dreaming...slipping
in my memory.....taking me and making me his wife
the sea knows all my thoughts and feelings and endeavours
and the sun accounts my woes and throws as every sorrow severs
Patrick Kavanagh always played with the sonnet metre (e.g: "Come Dance With Kitty Stobling"). This is in that grand tradition.
This is very direct and emotive and is actually the closest thing I've seen in theme, if not form, to a Renaissance sonnet on this thread so far, in that it is a psychological document, deeply internalised but expressively imagistic in conveying the landscape of heart and mind.
Thanks.
I always wonder what ISN stands for!
Calm and beautiful is this barren reef
Nothing for miles but the calm wave’s lies
As I look up, I see a cold storm breathe
Churning and lashing, the seas are angered
Sing softly Manannan, lend me your hand
Your tricks and illusion bring us danger
The hull is cracked, is this your great plan
The rain felt cooler now, as did on our heads
We drink beauty of our long journeys end
She, who is our mistress, puts us to bed
Manannan Mac Lir, now truly our friend
Bitter water, had then touched my lips
The spark within me, now comes to grips
it's Irish from a myth or something.....or am I getting it mixed up with Tir na Og or Leda
You know the legend of the daughters of Lir? Yes, there are swans in that story too. I'll find a link for you.
The story of Leda and the Swan is from Greek mythology. And Yeats wrote a great poem about that.
Sorry for the crap factor of that sonnet, I guess I wasn't feeling it enough.
I like my Celtic and Druid mythology. One of my most powerful past lives took place in the England area.. and I was a druid, one of the first. But I'll save that for some poetry later.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
a panorama of the lack of God
across an island; they will know me now
to be a poet-seer, one who'll plod
the boulevards and office blocks to make
my document on how the greed of man
stalks plastic satisfaction in the wake
of science. Shaming fakery's my plan."
You say, "And when your cupboard's bare and cold,
and when the lightbulb pops and flies are blind,
and when the mirror rots with spots of mould,
and when the broken window screams the wind,
Will you build, in 'challenging', a land,
a notion that the ones with money planned?"
The night cries out for a glimpse of day light
As the day begs for a time which it slept
Since before our lives the sun has been bright
And the dew in the dark has always crept
Lives passed and came at their own willingness
Yet it seems I have always remained here
Light brings warmth, night brings comforting caress
Sitting by two powers brings on some wear
I feel as though my age is catching me
Aches and pains from mysterious places
Oh in my youth, I truly had been free
If I could just flip back a few pages
When I have become youthful forever
Light and Dark, we’ll always be together
as an olderman i can certainly relate and i thank the ExTReMe FrEAk for his sonnet
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
This is awesome.. I am still reading this sonnet over and over and getting a different take each time..
i feel that the octet describes the cause of the poverty depicted in the sextet.. i will read the sonnet again..
Damn good mr. Fins!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green
a great poem.....(I hope the answer is 'yes')
thanks for the link Finsbury, I always get Lir mixed up with Leda....
I'll post a link to a picture of a beautiful swan I saw in Cambridge or Oxford - can't remember which.....but think it was Cambridge
Get ready for the weekly pack of lies:
"Najaf is back in Government command."
Then, watch the news reports: A lad defies
the camera, gun held aloft in hand,
the temple's golden dome behind him. Some
older men behind him stare at length
upon the lens, some seated, quite at home
to show resistance in a quiet strength.
It was just the same in Saddam's time:
"We have the situation in control."
Control? That's dreams of temples splashed in grime
from bodies ripped apart in dust. 'Extol
the moral highground as you brutalise';
that's their motto there. Bring on the lies.
In a Free State
Get ready for the weekly pack of lies:
"The town is back in Government command."
Then, watch the news reports: A lad defies
the camera, extending knuckled hand,
the Governmental Hall behind him. Some
older men behind him stare at length
upon the lens, some seated, quite at home
to show resistance in a quiet strength.
The last regime too, claimed, in pre-war time:
"We have the situation in control."
Control? A dream in alleyways of grime
To claim a thoroughfare of dust? 'Extol
the moral highground as you brutalise':
That was the plan that failed. Now? More lies.
The mourners all gathered; black-clad, like crows
beaks protruding, heads moving quickly, this then that way
'Tis irony, hypocrisy, but death draws friends out from foes.
What would you have said, dear man,
had that moment been made yours to speak?
You would sit quiet, I'm certain
and then gently chastise me for straying so far from meek.
That glorious black crest of hair resurrected
you shine once again, somewhere far, I can't reach you
But here on earth you leave wisdom and love, unaffected
by time immemorial, space, recollections, too
many to count on my fingers. Please leave a space for me
I'll be bringing the ashtray and one endless more bottle
for the day we'll all be free
when the time comes, I'll be running full throttle!
Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon a field of mourners
parading in the wake of sad relations
as their shoes fill up with water
maybe I'm too young to keep good love from going wrong
but tonight you're on my mind so....you'll never know
Jeff Buckley.....Lover, you should've come.....
no need to say you're sorry when you write a good poem!!
thanks!
As she slams the door in his drunken face
And now he stands outside
And all the neighbours start to gossip and drool
He cries oh, girl you must be mad,
What happened to the sweet love you and me had?
Against the door he leans and starts a scene,
And his tears fall and burn the garden green