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Blackthorne
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RE: Post a Poem
The Riders of Babylon (1928)
by Robert Ervin Howard
First published January 1928 in Weird Tales

The riders of Babylon clatter forth
Like the hawk-winged scourgers of Azrael
To the meadow-lands of the South and North
And the strong-walled cities of Israel.
They harry the men of the caravans,
They bring rare plunder across the sands
To deck the throne of the great god Baal.
But Babylon's king is a broken shell
And Babylon's queen is a sprite from Hell;
And men shall say, "Here Babylon fell,"
Ere Time has forgot the tale.
The riders of Babylon come and go
From Gaza's halls to the shores of Tyre;
They shake the world from the lands of snow
To the deserts, red in the sunset's fire;
Their horses swim in a sea of gore
And the tribes of the earth bow down before;
They have chained the seas where the Cretans sail.
But Babylon's sun shall set in blood;
Her towers shall sink in a crimson flood;
And men shall say, "Here Babylon stood,"
Ere Time forgot the tale.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Riders_of_Babylon
2013 May 10 03:26
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Phlegethon
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Post: #82
RE: Post a Poem
A Warning


Place your hands in mine, dear,
With their rose-leaf touch:
If you heed my warning,
It will spare you much.

Ah! with just such smiling
Unbelieving eyes,
Years ago I heard it:
You shall be more wise.

You have one great treasure
Joy for all your life;
Do not let it perish
In one reckless strife.

Do not venture all, child,
In one frail, weak heart;
So, through any shipwreck,
You may save a part.

Where your soul is tempted
Most to trust your fate,
There, with double caution,
Linger, fear, and wait.

Measure all you give -- still
Counting what you take;
Love for love: so placing
Each an equal stake.

Treasure love; though ready
Still to live without.
In your fondest trust, keep
Just one thread of doubt.

Build on no to-morrow;
Love has but to-day:
If the links seem slackening,
Cut the bond away.

Trust no prayer nor promise;
Words are grains of sand;
To keep your heart unbroken,
Hold it in your hand.

That your love may finish
Calm as it begun,
Learn this lesson better,
Dear, than I have done.

Years hence, perhaps, this warning
You shall give again,
In just the self-same words, dear,
And -- just as much -- in vain.


- Adelaide Anne Procter


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2013 May 20 12:55
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Osweo (01-06-2013)
Kat
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Post: #83
RE: Post a Poem
The Land That is Not

I long for the land that is not,
because all that exists, I'm too weary to want.
The moon tells me in silvery runes
about the land that is not.
The land where all our dreams are wondrously fulfilled,
the land where we cool our bleeding brow
in the dew of the moon.
My life was a hot illusion.
But one thing I have found and one thing I have really won--
the way to the land that is not.

-Edith Södergran
2013 May 20 19:04
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Phlegethon
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Post: #84
RE: Post a Poem
I Heard an Angel


I heard an Angel singing
When the day was springing
‘Mercy, Pity, Peace
Is the world’s release.’

Thus he sung all day
Over the new mown hay,
Till the sun went down
And haycocks looked brown.

I heard a Devil curse
Over the health and the furze,
‘Mercy could be no more,
If there was nobody poor,

And pity no more could be,
If all were happy as we.
At his curse the sun went down,
And the heavens gave a frown.

Down poured the heavy rain
Over the new reaped grain
And misery's increase
Is Mercy, Pity, Peace.



William Blake


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

(This post was last modified: 2013 May 21 21:20 by Phlegethon.)
2013 May 20 20:07
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Dussander (20-05-2013)
Blackthorne
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Post: #85
RE: Post a Poem
A poem by St. Therese de Lisieux. <3 Reposted appropriately after being initialized in the "Beyond Liberalism" thread. Tongue

MY HEAVEN ON EARTH.

To bear my exile now, within this world of tears,

The holy tender glance of Christ, my Lord, I need.

That glance, surcharged with love, consoles me through the years;

His loveliness displays foretaste of heaven indeed.

On me my Jesus smiles, when toward Him I aspire — ,

The trial of my faith then weighs no more on me.

That love-glance of my God, that smile of holy fire,

Oh, this is heaven for me!





‘Tis heaven to have the power, great grace from Christ to win

For Holy Mother Church, for all my Sisters dear, —

For every soul on earth that He may enter in,

Enflame our sinful hearts, and grant us joy and cheer.

All things my love can gain when, heart to heart, I pray,

Alone with Jesus Christ in speechless ecstasy.

Beside His altar blest with Him I gladly stay, —

Oh, this is heaven for me!





My heaven within the Host safe hid and peaceful, lies,

Where Jesus Christ abides, divinest, fairest Fair.

From that great fount of love doth endless life arise;

There, day and night, my Lord doth hearken to my prayer.

When, in Thy perfect love (O moment blest and bright!)

Thou comest, Spouse most pure, me to transform in Thee,

That union of our hearts, that rapture of delight, —

Oh, this is heaven for me!





My heaven it is to feel in me some likeness blest

To Him Who made me and my soul hath reconciled;

My heaven it is always beneath His eye to rest.

To call Him Father dear, and be His loving child.

Safe shielded in His arms, no storm my soul can fear;

Complete abandonment my only law shall be.

To sleep upon His Heart, with His blest Face so near, —

Oh, this is heaven for me!





My heaven is God alone, the Trinity Divine,

Who dwells within my heart, the Prisoner of my love.

There, contemplating Thee, I tell Thee Thou art mine;

Thee will I love and serve until we meet above.

My heaven it is to smile on Thee whom I adore,

E’en when, to try my faith, from me Thou hidest Thee;

Calmly on Thee to smile, until Thou smil’st once more, —

Oh, this is heaven to me!


June 7, 1896.

http://www.ccel.org/ccel/therese/poems.vi.ix.html

You goddamn communist heathen, you had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary... or I'm gonna stomp your guts out!
2013 May 21 18:06
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Blackthorne
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Post: #86
RE: Post a Poem
THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY
by Gen. George S. Patton, Jr.

Through the travail of the ages,
Midst the pomp and toil of war,
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.

In the form of many people
In all panoplies of time
Have I seen the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.

I have battled for fresh mammoth,
I have warred for pastures new,
I have listed to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.

I have known the call to battle
In each changeless changing shape
From the high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.

I have sinned and I have suffered,
Played the hero and the knave;
Fought for belly, shame, or country,
And for each have found a grave.

I cannot name my battles
For the visions are not clear,
Yet, I see the twisted faces
And I feel the rending spear.

Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I've called His name in blessing
When after times I died.

In the dimness of the shadows
Where we hairy heathens warred,
I can taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used teeth before the sword.

While in later clearer vision
I can sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.

Hear the rattle of the harness
Where the Persian darts bounced clear,
See their chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite's leveled spear.

See the goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of Tyre.
Hear the crash of tons of granite,
Smell the quenchless eastern fire.

Still more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see the Legion close,
As our third rank moved in forward
And the short sword found our foes.

Once again I feel the anguish
Of that blistering treeless plain
When the Parthian showered death bolts,
And our discipline was in vain.

I remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.

Once again I smell the heat sparks
When my Flemish plate gave way
And the lance ripped through my entrails
As on Crecy's field I lay.

In the windless, blinding stillness
Of the glittering tropic sea
I can see the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.

Midst the spume of half a tempest
I have heard the bulwarks go
When the crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.

I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.

And still later as a General
Have I galloped with Murat
When we laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor's Star.

Till at last our star faded,
And we shouted to our doom
Where the sunken road of Ohein
Closed us in it's quivering gloom.

So but now with Tanks a'clatter
Have I waddled on the foe
Belching death at twenty paces,
By the star shell's ghastly glow.

So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.

And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o'er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.

So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more

You goddamn communist heathen, you had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary... or I'm gonna stomp your guts out!
2013 Jun 01 21:01
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Aemma (06-09-2013)
Aemma
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Post: #87
RE: Post a Poem
Death Of A Naturalist

All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

Seamus Heaney


Here's another by Heaney:

The Tollund Man

I

Some day I will go to Aarhus
To see his peat-brown head,
The mild pods of his eye-lids,
His pointed skin cap.

In the flat country near by
Where they dug him out,
His last gruel of winter seeds
Caked in his stomach,

Naked except for
The cap, noose and girdle,
I will stand a long time.
Bridegroom to the goddess,

She tightened her torc on him
And opened her fen,
Those dark juices working
Him to a saint's kept body,

Trove of the turfcutters'
Honeycombed workings.
Now his stained face
Reposes at Aarhus.


II


I could risk blasphemy,
Consecrate the cauldron bog
Our holy ground and pray
Him to make germinate

The scattered, ambushed
Flesh of labourers,
Stockinged corpses
Laid out in the farmyards,

Tell-tale skin and teeth
Flecking the sleepers
Of four young brothers, trailed
For miles along the lines.

III


Something of his sad freedom
As he rode the tumbril
Should come to me, driving,
Saying the names

Tollund, Grauballe, Nebelgard,

Watching the pointing hands
Of country people,
Not knowing their tongue.

Out here in Jutland
In the old man-killing parishes
I will feel lost,
Unhappy and at home.


*******

I found this interesting bit about Heaney and his poems The Tollund Man and Bogland:

Quote:More about Seamus Heaney and the Tollund Man

Seamus Heaney gave a talk at Silkeborg Museum in 1996, where he described his childhood memories of the bog:
"When I was a child and an adolescent I lived among peat-diggers and I also worked in the peat bog myself. I loved the structure the peat bank revealed after the spade had worked its way through the surface of the peat. I loved the mystery and silence of the place when the work was done at the end of the day and I would stand there alone while the larks became quiet and the lapwings started calling, while a snipe would suddenly take off and disappear..."

About his poem - Bogland - Seamus Heaney told the following: "The title of the poem refers to the bogs I knew while I was growing up and the stories I had heard about the things that could be preserved in the bog such as supplies of butter that were kept there, and about the things that were even more astonishing to a child, such as the skeleton of an Irish elk which our neighbours had dug out".

Source


At any rate, more of Heaney's poetry can be found here.

~Be the Virtuous Man or Woman you are meant to be.~
2013 Sep 06 06:47
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Phlegethon
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Post: #88
RE: Post a Poem
Mein Kind, wir waren Kinder


My child, we were just children,
Two happy kids, that’s all:
We crept into the henhouse,
And hid there in the straw.

We crowed like the cockerel,
And all the passers-by –
Thought our: ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!’
Was the real cockerel’s cry.

We papered over the boxes
We found around the yard,
And we lived there together
In our elegant house of card.

The neighbour’s cat, the old one,
She often came for tea:
We paid her our respects, then,
I bowed and you curtseyed.

We asked how she was feeling,
Politely and with care:
Since then we’ve said the same
To many an ancient fur.

We often sat there chatting,
Sensibly, as folks do,
Complaining how much better
It was in our day too:

How love and faith and loyalty
Have vanished from the earth,
How dear the coffee is now,
How hard to garner wealth!….

They’re gone our games as children,
Everything goes, we see –
Wealth and Earth and ages,
Faith, love and loyalty.


- Heinrich Heine


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2013 Sep 08 12:45
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Phlegethon
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Post: #89
RE: Post a Poem
Das gelbe Laub erzittert

Das gelbe Laub erzittert,
Es fallen die Blätter herab;
Ach, alles, was hold und lieblich,
Verwelkt und sinkt ins Grab.

Die Wipfel des Waldes umflimmert
Ein schmerzlicher Sonnenschein;
Das mögen die letzten Küsse
Des scheidenden Sommers sein.

Mir ist, als müsst ich weinen
Aus tiefstem Herzensgrund;
Dies Bild erinnert mich wieder
An unsre Abschiedsstund'.

Ich musste von dir scheiden,
Und wusste, du stürbest bald;
Ich war der scheidende Sommer,
Du warst der kranke Wald.


Parting

The yellow leaves are trembling,
Are falling, falling down;
Ah, all that was fair and lovely,
Lies withered upon the ground.

Through lofty treetops streaming,
A sorrowful sunshine lies;
The summer's last sweet kisses
As parting she fades and dies.

My heart, my heart is weeping,
In grief and pain, my flow'r,
For soon, ah soon, my dear one
Must come our parting hour.

I leave thee, I must leave thee!
And 'tis thy dying hour!
I am the flying summer,
Thou art the fading flow'r!



- Heinrich Heine


Not in haunts of marble chill,
Temples drear where ancients trod,—
Nay, in oaks on woody hill
Lives and moves the German God.

2013 Sep 08 12:52
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Aemma (08-09-2013)
Blackthorne
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Post: #90
RE: Post a Poem
Solomon Kane's Homecoming

Solomon Kane's Homecoming (1936)
by Robert Ervin Howard

The white gulls wheeled above the cliffs, the air was slashed with foam,
The long tides moaned along the strand when Solomon Kane came home.
He walked in silence strange and dazed through the little Devon town,
His gaze, like a ghost's come back to life, roamed up the streets and down.

The people followed wonderingly to mark his spectral stare,
And in the tavern silently they thronged about him there.
He heard as a man hears in a dream the worn old rafters creak,
And Solomon lifted his drinking-jack and spoke as a ghost might speak:

"There sat Sir Richard Grenville once; in smoke and flame he passed.
"And we were one to fifty-three, but we gave them blast for blast.
"From crimson dawn to crimson dawn, we held the Dons at bay.
"The dead lay littered on our decks, our masts were shot away.

"We beat them back with broken blades, till crimson ran the tide;
"Death thundered in the cannon smoke when Richard Grenville died.
"We should have blown her hull apart and sunk beneath the Main."
The people saw upon his wrist the scars of the racks of Spain.

"Where is Bess?" said Solomon Kane. "Woe that I caused her tears."
"In the quiet churchyard by the sea she has slept these seven years."
The sea-wind moaned at the window-pane, and Solomon bowed his head.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and the fairest fade," he said.

His eyes were mystical deep pools that drowned unearthly things,
And Solomon lifted up his head and spoke of his wanderings.
"Mine eyes have looked on sorcery in dark and naked lands,
"Horror born of the jungle gloom and death on the pathless sands.

"And I have known a deathless queen in a city old as Death,
"Where towering pyramids of skulls her glory witnesseth.
"Her kiss was like an adder's fang, with the sweetness Lilith had,
"And her red-eyed vassals howled for blood in that City of the Mad.

"And I have slain a vampire shape that sucked a black king white,
"And I have roamed through grisly hills where dead men walked at night.
"And I have seen heads fall like fruit in a slaver's barracoon,
"And I have seen winged demons fly all naked in the moon.

"My feet are weary of wandering and age comes on apace;
"I fain would dwell in Devon now, forever in my place."
The howling of the ocean pack came whistling down the gale,
And Solomon Kane threw up his head like a hound that sniffs the trail.

A-down the wind like a running pack the hounds of the ocean bayed,
And Solomon Kane rose up again and girt his Spanish blade.
In his strange cold eyes a vagrant gleam grew wayward and blind and bright,
And Solomon put the people by and went into the night.

A wild moon rode the wild white clouds, the waves in white crests flowed,
When Solomon Kane went forth again and no man knew his road.
They glimpsed him etched against the moon, where clouds on hilltop thinned;
They heard an eery echoed call that whistled down the wind.

http://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Solomon_Kane's_Homecoming

You goddamn communist heathen, you had best sound off that you love the Virgin Mary... or I'm gonna stomp your guts out!
2013 Nov 03 01:52
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