Collection: June 2012

Friday, June 15, 2012

THE TIDES RISES, THE TIDES FALLS

The tide rises, the tide falls,

The twillight darkens, the curlew calls;

Along the sea-sands damp and brown

The traveller hastens toward the town,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on the roofs and walls,

But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;

The little waves, with their soft, white hands,

Efface the footprints in the sands

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steads in their stalls]

Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;

The day returns, but nevermore

Returns the traveller to the shore,

And the tide rises, the tide falls.

ATHELETS BY GRACE GAVALIERI(1937-)

The first time I saw my American poems translated

I just stopped and studied

the hieroglyphics on the page,

tiny scribbles of black ink

saying twice

what was said before.

                                       Then I knew
                                       I would not leave this world
                                       without loving some of it......
                                       nothing reduced to a single truth........
             all of one blood,
                                       our words, music and lives coming together.
                                       It was not that the stars had fallen down-

It was more that we didn't need

the lamp which had gone out.

How separate we are in the dark

after the poem is gone.

PIED BEAUTY BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS(1844-1889)

Glory to be God for dappled things-

For skies of couple colors as a brinded cow;

For rose moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;

Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;

Landscape plotted and pieced- fold, fallow, and plough;

And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare and strange;

Whatever it fickle, freckled (who knows how?)

With swift, slow; sweet, sour, adazzle, dim;

He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:

Praise him.

GOD'S GRANDEUR BY GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS(1844-1889)

The world is charged with the grandeur of god

It will flame out like shining from the shook foil;

It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil,

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?

Generations have trod , have trod, have trod

And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot fell, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives a dearest freshness deep down things;

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings

THE NEW COLOSSUS BY EMMA LAZARUS(1849-1887)

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gets shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon- hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

712 BY EMILSON DICKINSON(1830-1886)

Because I could not stop for the Death -

He kindly stopped for me -

The Carriage held but just Ourselves

And Immortality.

We slowly drove- He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too

For his Civility.

We passed the School, where the children strove

At Recess- in the Ring-

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain-

We passed the Setting Sun-

Or rather - he passed us -

The Dews drew quivering & chill-

For only Gossamer, my Gown -

My tippet - only Tulle-

We paused before House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground-

The Roof was scarcely visible-

The Cornice- in the Ground-

Since then- 'tis Centuries- and yet

Feels shorter than the Day-

I first surmised the Horses' Heads-

   Were towards Eternity-

Thursday, June 14, 2012

348 BY EMILY DICKINSON(1830-1886)

I dreaded that first Robbin, so,
But He is a mastered, now,
I'm some accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though-

I thought if I could only live
Till the first Shout got by-
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me-

I dared not meet Daffodils-
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own-

I wished the Grass would hurry-
So- when 'twas time to see-
He'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch- to look at me-

I could not bear the Bees should come,
I wished they'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go,
What would had they, for me?

They're here, though; not a creature failed-
No Bloosom stayed away
In gentle deference to me -
The Queen of Calvary

Each one salutes me, as he goes,
And I, my childish Plumes,
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgement
Of their unthinking Drums -

STARS BY EMILY BRONTE (1818-1848)

Ah!, why, because the dazzling sun
Restore our earth to joy
Have you, departed, everyone
And left a sesert sky?

All though the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And with a full heart's thankful sighs
I blessed that watch divine!

I was at peace, drank your beams
As they were lift to me
And revealed in my changeful dreams
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought-star followed star
Through boundless regions on,
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through and proved us one.

Why did morning dawn to break
So great, so pure a spell,
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek
Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red he rose, and arrow straight
His fierce beams struck my brow,
The soul of Nature sprang elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

My lids closed down- yet through the veil
I saw him blazing still,
And steep in gold the misty dale
And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow then
To call back Night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again
Throb with my heart and me!

It would not do- the pillowed grow
And glowed both roof and floor,
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door.

The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise
And give them leave to roam.

O Stars and dreams and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm but burn-

That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew:
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only awake with you!

MINIVER CHEEVY BY EDWIN ARLINGTON(1869-1935)

Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.

Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing;
The vision of warrior bold
Would set him dancing.

Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors;
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot,
And Priam's neighbors.

Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragment;
He mourned Romance, now on the town,
And Art, a vagrant.

   Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.

Miniver cursed the commonplace
And eyed a khaki suit with loathing;
Hi missed the medieval grace
Of iron clothing.

Miniver scorned the gold he sought,
But sore annoyed was he without it,
   Miniver thought, and thought, and thought
And thought about it.

Miniver Cheevy, born too late,
Scratched his head and kept on thinking;
Miniver Coughed, and called it fate,
And kept on drinking.

THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT BY EDWARD LEAR (1812-1888)

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
and sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl"
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall I do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy wood stood
With a ring at the end of the nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of the nose.

Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

MY GHOST STORY

One night, a young boy by the name of Xavier dragged his friends to the biggest haunted house in town. It was the opening night, but they noticed that it was nearly empty. They walked up to the front door, getting a sudden rush of cold air, so cold it could pierce their skin.

“Why is it so cold?” Asked his friend Seth.

“Dunno, maybe it’s the ghost following us!” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

As they go to the door, another cold rush of air flew into them, followed by a laugh. They couldn’t help but laugh. Thinking it was one of their tricks.

“ It’s okay, we’re not scared.” yelled Xavier, in between fits of laughter.

They walked in and Xavier felt a sudden pain inside his chest. A pain he had never felt before. A pain so excruciating it hurt of move.

“Help!! HELP ME!” he yelped, puffing for air and crashing to the ground. He looked around, eyeing everyone to get help, but then it stopped, he could breath again. He wasn’t being attacked anymore.

On the way home, Xavier walked ahead of everyone else. Along the street, they rustled through leaves and rubbish.

“Maybe it was an asthma attack...” exclaimed his friend Robbie.

Xavier over heard the conversation and decided to join in.

“It wasn’t an asthma attack.” Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, shuffling his feet and feeling around for the charm his Mother had given him just the day before.

As soon as he got home, he couldn’t be bothered doing anything else, so he went to sleep and dreamt a terrible dream. Something grabbing at him, something dark, something that would haunt him forever. A ghost.

He woke up in horrible fright. The attack had started again. He cried out in pain until something stopped him, something cold and dark reached out and grabbed him at his neck. Xavier tried to kick at it, but there was nothing there to kick at. Nothing, just the darkness of his room.

His attack stopped. He stumbled to to the light and flicked it on and once again, he felt a cold wind blow in his face. Xavier checked under the bed and in the wardrobe for someone, but no one was there.

Every night the same thing happened, the attacks the cold air, but every night it was somewhat different. Cold hands, gloves, lights but usually the cold air.

He didn’t know how to stop it, until one day Xavier moved away.

It began again. The pain. The nightmares, they began getting bigger and longer. He started to become worried, but all he could do was deal with it and scream.

Xavier could hear the footsteps on the staircase, the door opening, and once again, the pain started. It felt like the thing was trying to control him, that all the life had been sucked out of him, when one day, it all stopped. He waited for the pain, but it never came.

It was all over.

FROM THE FAERIE QUEENE, FROM THE FIRST BOOKE BY(ca.1552-1599)

Contayning
The legend of the
Knight of the Red Crosse
or
Of Holinesse

1.

Lo I man, whose Muse whilome did maske
As time her taught, in lowly Shepheards weed,
Am now enfrost a far unfitter taske,
For trumpets sterne to chaunge mine Oaten reeds,
And sing of Knights and Ladies gentle deeds;
Whose prayses having slept in silence long,
Me, all to meane, the sacred Muse areeds
To blazon broad emongst her her learned throng:
Fierce warres and faithfull loves shall moralize my song.

2.

Help then, O holy Virgin chiefe of mine ,
Thy weaker Novice to performe thy will,
Lay forth out of thine everlasting scryne
The antique rolles, which there lye hidden still,
Of Faerie knights and fairest Tenaquill,
Whom that most noble Briton Prince so long
Sought through the world, and suffered so much hill,
That I must rue his undeserved wrong:
O helpe thou my weake wit, sharpen my dull tong.

   3.

   And thou most dreaded impe of highest Jove
Faire Venus sonne, that with thy cruell dart
At the good knight so cunningly didst rove,
That glorious fire if kindled in his hart,
Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart,
And with thy mother milde come to mine ayde:
Come both, and with you bring triumphant Mart
In loves and jollities arrayd,
After his murdrous spoile and bloudy rage allayd.

4.

And with them eke, O Goddesse heavenly bright,
Mirror of grace and Majestie divine,
Great Lady of the greatest Isle, whose light
Like Phoebus lampe throughout the world dothe shine ,
Shed thy faire beames into feeble eyne,
And raise my thought to humble and to vile,
To thinke of that true glorious type is thine,
The argument of mine afflicted stile:
The which to heare, vouchsafe, o dearest dred a-while.

FROM AMORETTI: SONNET 67 BY EDMUND SPENSER (ca. 1552-1599)

Like as a huntsman after a weary chase
Seeing the game from him escap'd away
Sits down to rest him in some shady place
With panting hounds beguiled of their prey:
So after long pursuit and vain assay,
When I all weary had the chase forsook,
The gentle deer return'd the self same way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.
There she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide:
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own goodwill her firmly tied
Strange thing, me seem'd, to see a beast so wild,
So goodly won, with her own will beguil'd.

MY EXTRA ORDINARY LIFE

My names Charlotte Tubron and this is my extraordinary life as a 14 year old girl with brown hair and bright blue eyes.

My life started on the 17th of December in the year of 1997. That was the year my Grandfather passed away. I didn’t get to meet him. A few years later, I was 3. Everything changed then when my whole family, Mum, Dad, everyone and everything was burnt down in the house fire, started by a group of arsonist’s. I was on the outside. And from then on, it was never the same. My whole life changed. I got nightmares at the age of 3 and a half. At 4, I got day mares as well. My Grandmother suggested counciling, but it wasn’t necessary. It was never going to stop.

At 5, I started school. It didn’t help. I got day and nightmares. I re-lived the experience. One day, I started drawing my imagination on paper. It was like life, and I loved it. My Gran got me private lessons, but I hated it, I wanted to draw what I wanted, not what someone else wanted me to draw. At 6, I started counciling. It was horrible. I wanted to run away and cry, forever. But I couldn’t. They told me to write. So, I wrote. I wrote everything. About my parents, my school, my Gran, and it hang there. So my hobby was to write and draw. What else? Have night and day mares?

At the age of 7, I started having random epilepsy fits. I fell to the ground and all the other kids did was laugh at me. It happened nearly everyday and if I was lucky enough, it happened twice a day some days. It was horrid. I went to the hospital and they hadn’t seen anything like it. I wasn’t normal, I was strange, like a martian on earth. Like mixing ballet with soccer. I just wasn’t right. At 8, my Gran pulled me out of school. I stayed home. But I was bored. So I ran away, everyday.

At 9, my life sucked even more. I made a friend , but she left. It didn’t last. 10, I nearly died. my Gran was nearly going to put me up for adoption, but I changed her mind. I didn’t give her much trouble anyway.

When I was 10, it was all the same. Nothing different. 11. I went back to school, but again it didn’t help. It just dragged the days to make them longer.

At 12, I started counciling again. My class kept laughing at me, but the fits started calming down a lot. I sat in my tree all day and watched all the little birds fly by. It helped to calm me. I helped me control my breathing. On my 13th birthday, my Gran got me a whole room full of artist equipment. Paints, books, pencils. It was all I needed.

At 14, my life started getting worse again. I started getting the fits again, I felt like i wanted to die and i continued getting day and nightmares. It was uncontrollable. It happened. I couldn’t help it. Thats when my Gran couldn’t handle it anymore. She passed away in her sleep a few months ago and from then on, I have been alone my whole life.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

SETH COMPTON BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS(1868-1950)

When I died, the circulating library
Which I built up for Spoon River,
And managed for the good of inquiring minds,
Was sold at auction on the public square,
as if to destroy the last vestige
Of my memory and influence.
For those of you who could not see the virtue
of knowing Volney's "Ruins" as well as Butler's "Analogy"
And "Faust" as well as "Evangeline,"
Were really the power in the village,
And often you asked me,
"What is the use of knowing the evil in the world?"
I am out of your way now, Spoon River,
Choose your own good and call it good
For I could never make you see
Who knows not what is evil;
And no one knows what is true
Who knows not what is false.

DOC HILL BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS(1868-1950)

I went up and down the streets
Here and there by day and night,
Through all hours of the night caring for the poor who were sick.

Do you know why?
My wife hated me my son went to the dogs.
And I turned to the people and poured out my love to them.
Sweet it was to sweet the crowds about the lawns on the day of my funeral,
And hear them murmur their love and sorrow.
But oh, dear god, my soul trembled, scarcely able
To hold to the railing of the new life
When I saw Em Stanton behind the oak tree
At the grave,
Hiding herself, and her grief!

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

THE RAVEN BY EDGAR ELLAN POE

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lure-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-
"Tis some visitor, "I muttered, " tapping at my chamber door-
Only this and nothing more"

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the black December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon a floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for everyone.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-
This it is and nothing more.

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chambered door-
That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning.
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what threat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
"Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when with many a flirt and flutter;
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the last obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mein of lord or lady, perched above chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my cahmber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou, "I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nighty shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly
Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;
Roe we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above hid chamber door,
   With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he outpour.
Nothing father then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before."
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
   Then the bird said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon a velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with lamp-light gloating o'er.
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose foot-balls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite-respite and nepenthe from my memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind of nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on his desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me -tell me , I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, thing of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!-
By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, if within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Be the word our sign of parting, bird or friend!" I shrieked, upstarting-
Get thee back into the tempest and Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door !
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy my form from of my door!"
   Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

Pages

Friday, June 15, 2012

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Tuesday, June 12, 2012