02-15-2002, 01:38 PM | #11 |
Dracolisk
Join Date: January 8, 2001
Location: Amsterdam, The Netherlands
Age: 43
Posts: 6,541
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Oh, I loved that movie so much!! It had me in tears so many times....
O Captain, my Captain.... [img]graemlins/crying.gif[/img] [img]graemlins/crying.gif[/img] [img]graemlins/crying.gif[/img] [img]graemlins/crying.gif[/img] OK this is a very nasty one but it's so immensely clever and succinct, I had to add it. It's all the more poignant because in the end she didn't follow her own advice anyway... Dorothy Parker - Resumé Razors pain you Rivers are damp Acids stain you And drugs cause cramp Guns aren't lawful Nooses give Gas smells awful You might as well live. (quoted from memory, may contain small punctuation errors)
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02-15-2002, 03:49 PM | #12 |
White Dragon
Join Date: October 19, 2001
Location: York, UK.
Age: 41
Posts: 1,815
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A little extract from "Not Cheap"'s latest edition!
HONK LOUD THE TRUMP OF DOOM Honkhonk honkhonk honk honk honk. Honk honk honkhonk honk honk honk. Honkhonkhonk honk honk honk honk. Honkhonkhonk honkhonk honk. Honk honk honk honk honk honk? (Honk honkhonk honk honk honk honk.) FNAAAAAAARRRRRPPPPPPPPPP! Honk honk honkhonk honk honk honk. Honk honk honk honkhonkhonk honk, Honk honkhonk honk honk honk honk - Honkhonk honk honk honk honk. Honk honk honk honk honk honk, Honk honkhonk. Honk honk honk honk! Revolution! (Yeah!)
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[img]\"http://img1.ranchoweb.com/images/sproutman/certwist.gif\" alt=\" - \" /><br /><br /><i>\"And the angels all pallid and wan,<br />Uprising, unveiling, affirm,<br />That the play is the tragedy, man,<br />And its hero the Conquerer Worm.\"</i><br /> - Edgar Allan Poe |
02-16-2002, 03:03 PM | #13 |
Jack Burton
Join Date: June 3, 2001
Location: Among the Stars
Age: 36
Posts: 5,837
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Yes, live poets are allowed, Jerome. [img]smile.gif[/img]
And everyone, please try to keep in tone with the original! These poems are supposed to be topics for discussion, or inspiration. 1 Half a league, half a league, 2 Half a league onward, 3 All in the valley of Death 4 Rode the six hundred. 5 `Forward, the Light Brigade! 6 Charge for the guns!' he said: 7 Into the valley of Death 8 Rode the six hundred. II. 9 `Forward, the Light Brigade!' 10 Was there a man dismay'd? 11 Not tho' the soldier knew 12 Some one had blunder'd: 13 Their's not to make reply, 14 Their's not to reason why, 15 Their's but to do and die: 16 Into the valley of Death 17 Rode the six hundred. III 18 Cannon to right of them, 19 Cannon to left of them, 20 Cannon in front of them 21 Volley'd and thunder'd; 22 Storm'd at with shot and shell, 23 Boldly they rode and well, 24 Into the jaws of Death, 25 Into the mouth of Hell 26 Rode the six hundred. IV 27 Flash'd all their sabres bare, 28 Flash'd as they turn'd in air 29 Sabring the gunners there, 30 Charging an army, while 31 All the world wonder'd: 32 Plunged in the battery-smoke 33 Right thro' the line they broke; 34 Cossack and Russian 35 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 36 Shatter'd and sunder'd. 37 Then they rode back, but not 38 Not the six hundred. V 39 Cannon to right of them, 40 Cannon to left of them, 41 Cannon behind them 42 Volley'd and thunder'd; 43 Storm'd at with shot and shell, 44 While horse and hero fell, 45 They that had fought so well 46 Came thro' the jaws of Death, 47 Back from the mouth of Hell, 48 All that was left of them, 49 Left of six hundred. VI 50 When can their glory fade? 51 O the wild charge they made! 52 All the world wonder'd. 53 Honour the charge they made! 54 Honour the Light Brigade, 55 Noble six hundred! -Alfred Lord Tennyson, "The Charge of the LIght Brigade"
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02-16-2002, 03:15 PM | #14 |
Beholder
Join Date: May 4, 2001
Location: The Outside Looking In
Age: 36
Posts: 4,361
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i'll make one of my own, a nice shortie in comparison to the ones ive written and sent out previously...
To spend a day without you, absolute torment, just being able to talk, with you for half a minute, is enough to sate my pallette, for another day, with hope but to talk, only thing that gets me out of bed each day, is the chance of even a brief chat, more often than not, it doesnt happen, but when it does... nothing could be better... Cody R. Lape (this will probably be added to later, btw). |
02-16-2002, 05:56 PM | #15 |
Jack Burton
Join Date: November 10, 2001
Location: Bathurst & Orange, in constant flux
Age: 37
Posts: 5,452
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One of my favourite poems... I used to know this of by heart!!
The Highwayman By Alfred Noyes The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding- Riding-riding- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door. He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin; They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh! And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky. Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard, And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred; He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked; His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay, But he loved the landlord's daughter, The landlord's red-lipped daughter, Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say- "One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day, Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way." He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West. He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching- Marching-marching- King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say- Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers! The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat. And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding- Riding-riding- A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. |
02-16-2002, 06:33 PM | #16 |
20th Level Warrior
Join Date: November 3, 2001
Location: Texas
Age: 54
Posts: 2,830
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Jabberwocky
Twas brillig and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimbal in the nabe. All mimsy were the borogroves And the mome raths out grabe. Beware, beware the Jabbberwok, my son. The teeth that tear, the claws that snatch. Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch. He took his Vorpal Sword in hand, Long time the manxome foe he sought. So rested he by the Tumtum tree And stood a while in thought. And as he stood in uffish thought, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame Came whiffling through the tulgy wood And burbled as it came. One, two, one, two, and through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack. He left it dead, and with it's head, He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! Oh, frabjous day! Calloo, Callay!" He chortled in his joy. Twas brillig, and the slithey toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogroves And the mome raths outgrabe. -Lewis Carroll.
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Lady Galadria,Goddess\' Equal of the O.R.T.; [img]\"http://havak.db-forge.com/portraits/bitmaps/wlf180L.bmp\" alt=\" - \" /><br />\"Romance at short notice was her specialty.\" - Saki <br />Founder of the IW Branch of the Anti-Anomen Society |
02-16-2002, 06:37 PM | #17 |
Ma'at - Goddess of Truth & Justice
Join Date: November 24, 2001
Location: Australia
Age: 37
Posts: 3,281
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Lennon that is a great poem, heck i am going to remember that one.
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Carpe Noctem: Ph’nglui mglw’nafh cthulhu r’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. |
02-16-2002, 06:43 PM | #18 |
Ma'at - Goddess of Truth & Justice
Join Date: November 24, 2001
Location: Australia
Age: 37
Posts: 3,281
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After seeing Galadria put the Jabawocky up i had to post this, it is a rating of the creatures in the poem.
The Jabberwock Given that so many words in the poem are "portmanteaus," which is to say made up of two smaller words, we can only assume that the Jabberwock was intended to be a combination of "jock" and "abbey," in other words a sort of athletic nun. That would explain the "claws that catch." Presumably it also has legs that run for touchdowns and a blood-stained wimple. B+ Vorpal Blades Dungeons and Dragons had a vorpal blade available, among other ludicrous magic items such as portable holes. A friend once pointed out that, one assumes, the main feature distinguishing Vorpal Blades from other magic swords is that they go "snicker-snack." Product placement aside, that's got to get annoying after a while. C Bandersnatches Jabberwocks and Jub-Jub birds, frankly, don't sound that tough. Bandersnatches, however, seem pretty menacing, especially if you're a bander. And the one in the poem is frumious, which is a combination of "furious" and "rum," meaning an angry drunk. Let the kid from the story take on an angry, boozed-up Bandersnatch! Then we'll see who's galumphing! A Chortling Carroll fans like to point out that this started out as a nonsense word, but now it's in the dictionary, even those cheap little dictionaries you get when you subscribe to newsmagazines. The thing of it is, though, that the meaning seems to have changed. In Jabberwocky, the father of the protagonist chortles in joy at seeing his son return. By the modern definition, that would go something like this: "Ah, my child has returned to me after I thought he was messily killed! A-hyuk, a-hyuk!" Doesn't quite work. C- Tumtum Trees I like the idea of Tumtum Trees. I'd like to raise Tumtum Trees, along with the world-choking Baobabs from from The Little Prince. Although to be honest, I imagine the two looking exactly the same. I'd raise them from mere Tumtum Saplings, occasionally going for walks among them, musing uffishly under their expansive branches. And then I'd chop them down for lumber, because who wouldn't want a genuine Tumtum dresser or nightstand? B-
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Carpe Noctem: Ph’nglui mglw’nafh cthulhu r’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn. |
02-16-2002, 07:01 PM | #19 |
Jack Burton
Join Date: June 3, 2001
Location: Among the Stars
Age: 36
Posts: 5,837
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Thanks, Lennon, that's what I meant. I love the HIghwaymen..."And she warned him-with her death."
Galadria, LOL, gotta love Lewis Carroll! [img]smile.gif[/img] Did you make up that rating shadowhound, or get it somewhere? I As I ebb'd with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward, Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems, Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot, The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of the globe. Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows, Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten, Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide, Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me, Paumanok there and then as I thought the old thought of likenesses, These you presented to me you fish-shaped island, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk'd with that electric self seeking types. 2 As I wend to the shores I know not, As I list to the dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd, As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me, As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer, I too but signify at the utmost a little wash'd-up drift, A few sands and dead leaves to gather, Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift. O baffled, balk'd, bent to the very earth, Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth, Aware now that amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my arrogant poems the real Me stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether unreach'd, Withdrawn far, mocking me with mock-congratulatory signs and bows, With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written, Pointing in silence to these songs, and then to the sand beneath. I perceive I have not really understood any thing, not a single object, and that no man ever can, Nature here in sight of the sea taking advantage of me to dart upon me and sting me, Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all. 3 You oceans both, I close with you, We murmur alike reproachfully rolling sands and drift, knowing not why, These little shreds indeed standing for you and me and all. You friable shore with trails of debris, You fish-shaped island, I take what is underfoot, What is yours is mine my father. I too Paumanok, I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been wash'd on your shores, I too am but a trail of drift and debris, I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island. I throw myself upon your breast my father, I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, I hold you so firm till you answer me something. Kiss me my father, Touch me with your lips as I touch those I love, Breathe to me while I hold you close the secret of the murmuring I envy. 4 Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will return,) Cease not your moaning you fierce old mother, Endlessly cry for your castaways, but fear not, deny not me, Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet as I touch you or gather from you. I mean tenderly by you and all, I gather for myself and for this phantom looking down where we lead, and following me and mine. Me and mine, loose windrows, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See, from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last, See, the prismatic colors glistening and rolling,) Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, Buoy'd hither from many moods, one contradicting another, From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell, Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil, Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown, A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at random, Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature, Just as much whence we come that blare of the cloud-trumpets, We, capricious, brought hither we know not whence, spread out before you, You up there walking or sitting, Whoever you are, we too lie in drifts at your feet. -Walt Whitman [ 02-16-2002: Message edited by: Lioness ]
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02-16-2002, 07:09 PM | #20 |
Avatar
Join Date: November 12, 2001
Location: Netherlands
Age: 55
Posts: 522
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Although poems are not quite my cup of tea,i'd like to post a reply.
It's about the highwayman.Did you know it has been recorded by Loreena Mckennitt on her fabulous album The book of secrets? Just wanted to mention that.
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