A PoeTic InterluDe....

[darKest StaR]

When we two parTed
In sileNce and tears,
Half broKen-hearTed
To sever for yearS,
Pale greW thy cheek anD cold,
Colder than thy kiSS;
Truly that hour foreTold
SorroW to thiS.

The deW of the morninG
Sank chiLL on my brow
It felt liKe the warning
Of what I feel noW.
Thy voWs are all broKen,
And light is thy faMe:
I hear thy naMe spoken,
And shaRe in its shaMe.

TheY name thee beFore me,
A knell in mine eaR
A shuDDer come o'eR me
Why wert thou so deaR?
They knoW not I knew thee,
Who knew thee oh too weLL
Long, long shall I ruE thee,
Too deeply tO tell.

In secreT we met -
In silence I grieVe,
That thy hearT could forGet,
Thy spirit deceiVe.
And if I should meeT thee
After long yeaRs,
How should I greeT thee?
With sileNce and teaRs.

LoRd ByroN.....

Awwwwwww I LoVe that poemmmmm.....

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron

 

[The Piss Artist Formerly Known As Reg Plate]

Culture Corner!

You bring culture to this site, but sadly the closest most people in here get to culture is the green mould that grows in the discarded coffee cup by the side of the mouse.

Nevertheless you get a special 21 gun Reg Plate salute in recognition of your valiant attempt to bring Moz-Solo culture - whilst under fire!

Reg

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: Culture Corner!

> You bring culture to this site, but sadly the closest most people in here
> get to culture is the green mould that grows in the discarded coffee cup
> by the side of the mouse.

> Nevertheless you get a special 21 gun Reg Plate salute in recognition of
> your valiant attempt to bring Moz-Solo culture - whilst under fire!

> Reg

Speak for yourself!
I'll have you know that I for one am extremely cultured, and dare I say, almost sophisticated?

 

[The Piss Artist Formerly Known As Reg Plate]

JoJo you are one of a small minority then...

You are a sophisticate in the land of the brutes,bores, boors and barbarians!

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: JoJo you are one of a small minority then...

> You are a sophisticate in the land of the brutes,bores, boors and
> barbarians!

Yes, alas it has always been so. Sigh!
I know some nice girls like a bit of rough, but I long for a charming man.
Do you know any Reg?

 

[The Piss Artist Formerly Known As Reg Plate]

I am perfect...

I am perfectly charmless sadly, and so are all my cohorts, we hang abot the libarys, museums and gallerys because they are free and not because we like the ambience.

REG

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: I am perfect...

> I am perfectly charmless sadly, and so are all my cohorts, we hang abot
> the libarys, museums and gallerys because they are free and not because we
> like the ambience.

> REG

Yes I feared as much.
Whereas I visit these places so that it will be known that I am both cultured AND sophisticated.
The search for a charming man goes on then......

 

[darKest StaR]

I'm tryinG my bestesT....

"La noche bueNa se vieNe,
La noche buena sE va,
Y nosotros noS iremos
Y no volvereMos mas."
-- Old VillancicOo.

Sweet evenings come and go, loVe,
They caMe and wenT of yore:
This evening of our life, loVe,
Shall gO and coMe no more.

When we have passed away, loVe,
All thinGs will keeP their name;
But yet no life on earth, loVe,
With ouRs will bE the same.

The daisies will be there, loVe,
The staRs in heaVen will shine:
I shall not feel thy wish, loVe,
NoR thou my hanD in thine.

A better time will come, loVe,
And betteR souls bE born:
I would not be the best, loVe,
To leaVe thee noW forlorn.

George Eliot!

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: I'm tryinG my bestesT....

That's very lovely, but could we possibly have some cheerful love poems now?
If there is such a thing?
My faith in love is sorely shaken. Oooer, I've come over all Byronesque!

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: O.K. here's one that is sort of happy

No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.

Edwin Morgan

 

[The Piss Artist Formerly Known As Reg Plate]

Re: O.K. here's one that is sort of happy

Sort of Happy? I wouldnae want to read a sad one - jeanie mac!

Reg

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: O.K. here's one that is sort of happy

> Sort of Happy? I wouldnae want to read a sad one - jeanie mac!

> Reg

I admit its tinged with sadness, but that's about as cheerful as I get.
Jeanie Mac?

 

[darKest StaR]

Aeeee fond kiSS, and then we seVer....

Ae fareweel, and then for eVer!
DeeP in heart-wrung teaRs I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs anD groans I'll waGe thee.

Who shall say that Fortune grieVes him
While the staR of hoPe she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful 'twinKle lights mE'
DarK despair around benights mE.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancY;
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to loVe her,
LoVe but her, and loVe for eveR.

Had we never loVed sae kindly,
Had we never loVed sae blindly,
Never met-or never parteD,
We had ne'er been broKen-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and faiRest!
Fare thee weel, thou besT and dearest!
Thine be ilka joY and treasuRe,
Peace, enjoyment, loVe, and pleasure!

Ae fond kiSS, and then we seVer;
Ae fareweel, alas, for eVer!
Deep in heart-wrung teaRs I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll waGe thee.

Robert Burns!

 

[The Piss Artist Formerly Known As Reg Plate]

jeanie Mac is an exclamation - in the language of burns

Jeanie Mac is just a exclamation in Scotland - like Help ma Kilt, Help ma Boab, or In the name o' the wee man.

Aye i'm alone in keeping the language o Burns alive here, still its a lonley furrow I plow.

Reg

 

[Jo Jo70]

Re: jeanie Mac is an exclamation - in the language of burns

> Jeanie Mac is just a exclamation in Scotland - like Help ma Kilt, Help ma
> Boab, or In the name o' the wee man.

> Aye i'm alone in keeping the language o Burns alive here, still its a
> lonley furrow I plow.

> Reg

Well I've always said that education is life-long.
Thank you Reg.

 

[mauve21]

> When we two parTed
> In sileNce and tears,
> Half broKen-hearTed
> To sever for yearS,
> Pale greW thy cheek anD cold,
> Colder than thy kiSS;
> Truly that hour foreTold
> SorroW to thiS.

> The deW of the morninG
> Sank chiLL on my brow
> It felt liKe the warning
> Of what I feel noW.
> Thy voWs are all broKen,
> And light is thy faMe:
> I hear thy naMe spoken,
> And shaRe in its shaMe.

> TheY name thee beFore me,
> A knell in mine eaR
> A shuDDer come o'eR me
> Why wert thou so deaR?
> They knoW not I knew thee,
> Who knew thee oh too weLL
> Long, long shall I ruE thee,
> Too deeply tO tell.

> In secreT we met -
> In silence I grieVe,
> That thy hearT could forGet,
> Thy spirit deceiVe.
> And if I should meeT thee
> After long yeaRs,
> How should I greeT thee?
> With sileNce and teaRs.

> LoRd ByroN.....

> Awwwwwww I LoVe that poemmmmm.....

> George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron

Sweetly lovely

 

[darKest StaR]

I speaK not, I trace not, I breathe not thy naMe....

There is grieF in the sound, there is guilt in the faMe;
But the teaR that now burnS on my cheeK may imPart
The deeP thoughts thaT dwell in that sileNce of hearT.
Too brieF for our paSSion, too lonG for our peaCe,
Were thoSe hours - can their joY or their bitterness ceaSe?
We repenT, we abjuRe, we will breaK from our chain,
We will parT, we will fly to naer uniTe again!
Oh! thiNe be the gladness, and miNe be the guilt!
ForgiVe me, adored oNe! forsaKe if thou wilT;
But the hearT which is thine shall eXpire undebaseD,
And man shall not breaK iT - whateVer thou may'sT.
And sterN to the haughty, buT humble to thee,
This soul in its bitteresT blackneSS shall be;
And our daYs seem as swift, and our moments moRe sweeT,
With thee at mY side, than with worlds at our feeT.
One sigh of thy sorroW, one look of thy loVe,
Shall turn me or fiX, shall reWard or reproVe.
And the heaRtless may woNder at all I reSign
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.

GeoRge GorDon ByroN... LorD ByroN!

 

[Jo Jo70]

O.k. I've decided to give in to the misery......

CLENCHED SOUL
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.

Pablo Neruda

 

[Jo Jo70]

And here's some more....

SADDEST POEM
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

 

[Codreanu]

I saw thee weep---the big bright tear
Came o'er that eye of blue;
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew:
I saw thee smile---the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceased to shine;
It could not match the living rays
That filled that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve
Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind
Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind
That lightens o'er the heart.
--George Gordon Byron

BTW, my maternal great-great-great grandfather was named George-Byron