No, I've never had brain surgery or endured such medication.
Mr Wirey is lucky to be alive & fully functioning.
Why limericks?
A difficult form has haiku.
Syllabic design they eschew
To cut up a word
in morae's absurd.
I can't figure out what to do.
-
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The Poetry Thread
- Thread starter Zwing
- Start date
Mr Wirey is lucky to be alive & fully functioning.
Why limericks?
A difficult form has haiku.
Syllabic design they eschew
To cut up a word
in morae's absurd.
I can't figure out what to do.
Aupmanyav
Be your own guru
Google and Wikipedia help:
"Translation: "The arrows (mārgaṇāḥ), of the king (jagatīśa) Arjuna spread out (vikāśam īyuḥ). The arrows (mārgaṇāḥ), of the lord of the earth (jagatīśa) [i.e. Śiva], spread out (vikāśam īyuḥ). The Gaṇas (gaṇāḥ) who are the slayers of demons (jagatīśamār) rejoiced (vikāśam īyuḥ). The seekers (mārgaṇāḥ) of Śiva (jagatīśa) [i.e. the deities and sages], reached (īyuḥ) the sky (vikāśam) [to watch the battle]."
Kirātārjunīya - Wikipedia
Urdu poets also performed magic with words (In one link Urdu was derided). That magic does not exist in Hindi.
Yes, @Mock Turtle, there are definite reasons for that limerick’s eventual designation of “unfinished”.
Okay…happy Sunday morning!
Today I dedicate a poem to all the “science guys” that I’ve interacted with, and been disabused of my theories by, on the site: @Polymath257, @ratiocinator, @Subduction Zone, @Twilight Hue (?),…
It tells of how science can be disabusing of our more fantastical reveries, and can at times seem to rob the world of all its metaphysical wonder.
A Sonnet, To Science
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
— Edgar Allan Poe
Poe, of course, is generally known as a writer of horrific prose, but I like him best by far for his poetry.
Today I dedicate a poem to all the “science guys” that I’ve interacted with, and been disabused of my theories by, on the site: @Polymath257, @ratiocinator, @Subduction Zone, @Twilight Hue (?),…
It tells of how science can be disabusing of our more fantastical reveries, and can at times seem to rob the world of all its metaphysical wonder.
A Sonnet, To Science
Science! true daughter of Old Time thou art!
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes.
Why preyest thou thus upon the poet’s heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee? or how deem thee wise,
Who wouldst not leave him in his wandering
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car,
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood
To seek a shelter in some happier star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood,
The Elfin from the green grass, and from me
The summer dream beneath the tamarind tree?
— Edgar Allan Poe
Poe, of course, is generally known as a writer of horrific prose, but I like him best by far for his poetry.
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This is certainly the king of limericks!
@Zwing: I prefer Pope:
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But more advanced, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleased at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky,
The eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
But, those attained, we tremble to survey
The growing labors of the lengthened way,
The increasing prospects tire our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fired at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind;
But more advanced, behold with strange surprise
New distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleased at first the towering Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky,
The eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
But, those attained, we tremble to survey
The growing labors of the lengthened way,
The increasing prospects tire our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!
I like the worst poem ever written.
If read with serious enthusiasm, it's hilarious.
www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It continues....getting no better.
If read with serious enthusiasm, it's hilarious.
The Tay Bridge Disaster by William McGonagall - Scottish Poetry Library
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay! / Alas! I am very sorry to say / That ninety lives have been taken away / On the...
www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It continues....getting no better.
I doubt it the worst, which in fact might be “There once was a girl from Nantucket…”
William Topaz McGonagall can even make Vogons retch.I doubt it the worst, which in fact might be “There once was a girl from Nantucket…”
For @Shadow Wolf....
Henchman number twenty one
wants some Doctor Girlfriend fun.
But too bad she's
the Monarch's squeeze.
So twenty one ain't getting none.
Henchman number twenty one
wants some Doctor Girlfriend fun.
But too bad she's
the Monarch's squeeze.
So twenty one ain't getting none.
He and I are going to form a support group.
Doing something wrong, then. I like Stephen Sondheim's "Pacific Overtures," in which some long-deprived British seamen discover their first geishas in Japan:Here, as a special sneak preview treat, is the first stanza of my epic poem “The Redundancy of Zwing”:
Doo doo doo It’s Friday naaiight,
Doo doo doo just got paaiid,
Doo doo doo But I got no life,
Tonight I won’t get laaiid…
"Pretty lady in the pretty garden won't you stay?
Pretty lady we got leave, and we got paid today!"
Paid ... rhymes with your "laaiid" ... and they will.
I think it must be a perversion
to have a pork product aversion
If your faith is make'n
you forgo the bacon,
it's time to consider conversion.
to have a pork product aversion
If your faith is make'n
you forgo the bacon,
it's time to consider conversion.
Shadow Wolf
Certified People sTabber & Business Owner
That applies to everyone
Probably even the dumb sons
Except they are swingers, or so they say
Cuz never have they have it on display
Not even at the party where it was revealed
Three packs a day makes a voice pretty as eels
Shadow Wolf
Certified People sTabber & Business Owner
Sargent Hatred was born to be a fool.
Though his HATRED tattoo I admit was cool
Until he made it VATRED and looked the fool
But he showd me wrong; got some removed
Now he's Sgt VD with a big D over his tool.
Though his HATRED tattoo I admit was cool
Until he made it VATRED and looked the fool
But he showd me wrong; got some removed
Now he's Sgt VD with a big D over his tool.
Since this is “the Poetry Thread”, it might be good to expound upon what a poem is, and what it should do. A wonderful statement of that was given by American poet Archibald MacLeish, as follows:
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown,
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves
Memory by memory the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—
A poem should not mean
But be.
A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,
Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown,
A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.
*
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,
Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,
Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves
Memory by memory the mind—
A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.
*
A poem should be equal to:
Not true.
For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.
For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea—
A poem should not mean
But be.
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RestlessSoul
Well-Known Member
Full Moon and Little Frieda, by Ted Hughes
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
RestlessSoul
Well-Known Member
The Waking, by Theodore Roethke
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.
Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.
This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
Lotus Jewel
Student of the Shakyamuni
Silence is an adornment which affords you safety,
But if you speak, refrain from babble.
If you regret your silence once,
You will regret having spoken many times
-attributed to one of 'the poets' in the Arabian Nights
I find myself going back to it at times.
But if you speak, refrain from babble.
If you regret your silence once,
You will regret having spoken many times
-attributed to one of 'the poets' in the Arabian Nights
I find myself going back to it at times.