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  1. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    The Walrus and The Carpenter
    Lewis Carroll
    (from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

    The sun was shining on the sea,
    Shining with all his might:
    He did his very best to make
    The billows smooth and bright--
    And this was odd, because it was
    The middle of the night.


    The moon was shining sulkily,
    Because she thought the sun
    Had got no business to be there
    After the day was done--
    "It's very rude of him," she said,
    "To come and spoil the fun!"


    The sea was wet as wet could be,
    The sands were dry as dry.
    You could not see a cloud, because
    No cloud was in the sky:
    No birds were flying overhead--
    There were no birds to fly.


    The Walrus and the Carpenter
    Were walking close at hand;
    They wept like anything to see
    Such quantities of sand:
    "If this were only cleared away,"
    They said, "it would be grand!"


    "If seven maids with seven mops
    Swept it for half a year.
    Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
    "That they could get it clear?"
    "I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
    And shed a bitter tear.


    "O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
    The Walrus did beseech.
    "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
    Along the briny beach:
    We cannot do with more than four,
    To give a hand to each."


    The eldest Oyster looked at him,
    But never a word he said:
    The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
    And shook his heavy head--
    Meaning to say he did not choose
    To leave the oyster-bed.


    But four young Oysters hurried up,
    All eager for the treat:
    Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
    Their shoes were clean and neat--
    And this was odd, because, you know,
    They hadn't any feet.


    Four other Oysters followed them,
    And yet another four;
    And thick and fast they came at last,
    And more, and more, and more--
    All hopping through the frothy waves,
    And scrambling to the shore.


    The Walrus and the Carpenter
    Walked on a mile or so,
    And then they rested on a rock
    Conveniently low:
    And all the little Oysters stood
    And waited in a row.


    "The time has come," the Walrus said,
    "To talk of many things:
    Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
    Of cabbages--and kings--
    And why the sea is boiling hot--
    And whether pigs have wings."


    "But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
    "Before we have our chat;
    For some of us are out of breath,
    And all of us are fat!"
    "No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
    They thanked him much for that.


    "A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
    "Is what we chiefly need:
    Pepper and vinegar besides
    Are very good indeed--
    Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
    We can begin to feed."


    "But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
    Turning a little blue.
    "After such kindness, that would be
    A dismal thing to do!"
    "The night is fine," the Walrus said.
    "Do you admire the view?


    "It was so kind of you to come!
    And you are very nice!"
    The Carpenter said nothing but
    "Cut us another slice:
    I wish you were not quite so deaf--
    I've had to ask you twice!"


    "It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
    "To play them such a trick,
    After we've brought them out so far,
    And made them trot so quick!"
    The Carpenter said nothing but
    "The butter's spread too thick!"


    "I weep for you," the Walrus said:
    "I deeply sympathize."
    With sobs and tears he sorted out
    Those of the largest size,
    Holding his pocket-handkerchief
    Before his streaming eyes.


    "O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
    "You've had a pleasant run!
    Shall we be trotting home again?'
    But answer came there none--
    And this was scarcely odd, because
    They'd eaten every one.




    Feel free to post favorite poems in here.

    -Seldon
  2. farraday Jedi Grand Master

    Member Since:
    Jan 27, 2000
    star 7
    I'm going to post my own poetry and because we have no cruel and unusual punishment clause you guys can't stop me.

    My inhaler
    is vaguely phallic
    whenever I use it
    I feel rather gaelic.


    I've got hundreds more.
  3. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Ozymandias

    I met a traveler from an antique land
    Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
    Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
    Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
    And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
    Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
    Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
    The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
    And on the pedestal these words appear:
    "My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
    Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
    Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
    Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
    The lone and level sands stretch far away.

    -Percy Bysshe Shelley
    1792-1822

  4. Mortimer_Snerd Jedi Grand Master

    Member Since:
    Mar 14, 2004
    star 6
    Gene Gene had a machine.
    Joe Joe made it go.
    Along came Art, cut a big fart,
    And blew the whole damn thing apart.

    *bows*

  5. carmenite42 Jedi Master

    Member Since:
    Jul 21, 2003
    star 4
    so much depends
    upon

    a red wheel
    barrow

    glazed with rain
    water

    beside the white
    chickens.



  6. Darth_AYBABTU Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 8, 2001
    star 6

    Late one night
    When the moon was green
    Around the corner
    Came a fart machine

    A shot was fired
    A scream was heard
    A man got killed
    By a flying turd

    in memory of Mortimer Snerd

    AYBABTU

  7. Dark_Jedi_Kam Jedi Grand Master

    Member Since:
    Jul 12, 2002
    star 5
    I love you in red

    I love you in blue

    But most of all

    I love you in red
  8. EagleIFilms Jedi Grand Master

    Member Since:
    Apr 6, 2001
    star 5
    Butterflies flying around
    and outside the window every day
    every day and it's scary.

    I shot one
    of them one day but he was still
    alive. Bloody wings and a heart of steel.

    One day I'm afraid
    he'll tell his friends about the freak
    in apartement twelve A with a gun.

    And they'll swarm me one day.
    Antennae and flapping wings and
    those terrible flailing legs.


  9. Terr_Mys Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 19, 2002
    star 6
    I wrote this one in Mrs. Waldron's 8th grade social studies class. I'm quite proud of it. :)

    There once was a king filled with anger and greed
    Who ruled our great land of free speech and free creed.
    He ruled the land over such a vast sea
    By taxing the people's own sugar and tea.
    Over the ocean he sent hordes of troops
    To control the colonies' protesting groups.
    Bloodshed and massacre is what they would see
    When faced with the Sons of Liberty.

    After this in America nothing was well,
    For to the crown five Yankees had fell.
    So the Sons of Liberty constructed a plot,
    They planned a great protest and selected a spot.
    "This will show them," the men did think,
    "After all of this tea does sink."
    Instead of engaging in a brawl or a fight,
    They dumped tea into the harbor one night.

    And the old greedy king did not like the sound
    Of what his royal soldiers and sentries had found.
    "They dumped our precious tea on the sea floor?
    What do they want? To start a war?"
    So the king sent more soldiers dressed in red coats
    Over the ocean in squadrons of boats.
    The sights of red foot soldiers and grenadiers
    Confirmed the colonists' most fearful of fears.

    But that old foolish king had no way to see
    That the protest was over more than just tea.
    In fact, the colonists were uniting as one,
    And not one of them was about to run.
    Like Ben Franklin, Samuel Adams, and Paul Revere,
    None of the colonists had anything to fear.
    That old greedy king was about to see
    Just how revolutionary a war could be.
  10. Jjanda_Solo Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Feb 19, 2001
    star 5
    This isn't my very favorite poem, but it might be my second (or certainly very high up there).

    anyone lived in a pretty how town
    by e. e. cummings

    anyone lived in a pretty how town
    (with up so floating many bells down)
    spring summer autumn winter
    he sang his didn?t he danced his did.

    Women and men(both little and small)
    cared for anyone not at all
    they sowed their isn?t they reaped their same
    sun moon stars rain

    children guessed(but only a few
    and down they forgot as up they grew
    autumn winter spring summer)
    that noone loved him more by more

    when by now and tree by leaf
    she laughed his joy she cried his grief
    bird by snow and stir by still
    anyone?s any was all to her

    someones married their everyones
    laughed their cryings and did their dance
    (sleep wake hope and then)they
    said their nevers they slept their dream

    stars rain sun moon
    (and only the snow can begin to explain
    how children are apt to forget to remember
    with up so floating many bells down)

    one day anyone died i guess
    (and noone stooped to kiss his face)
    busy folk buried them side by side
    little by little and was by was

    all by all and deep by deep
    and more by more they dream their sleep
    noone and anyone earth by april
    wish by spirit and if by yes.

    Women and men(both dong and ding)
    summer autumn winter spring
    reaped their sowing and went their came
    sun moon stars rain
  11. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    We and They
    by Rudyard Kipling
    1. "A Friend of the Family"
    From "Debits and Credits"(1919-1923)

    Father and Mother, and Me,
    Sister and Auntie say
    All the people like us are We,
    And every one else is They.
    And They live over the sea,
    While We live over the way,
    But-would you believe it? --They look upon We
    As only a sort of They!

    We eat pork and beef
    With cow-horn-handled knives.
    They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
    Are horrified out of Their lives;
    While they who live up a tree,
    And feast on grubs and clay,
    (Isn't it scandalous? ) look upon We
    As a simply disgusting They!

    We shoot birds with a gun.
    They stick lions with spears.
    Their full-dress is un-.
    We dress up to Our ears.
    They like Their friends for tea.
    We like Our friends to stay;
    And, after all that, They look upon We
    As an utterly ignorant They!

    We eat kitcheny food.
    We have doors that latch.
    They drink milk or blood,
    Under an open thatch.
    We have Doctors to fee.
    They have Wizards to pay.
    And (impudent heathen!) They look upon We
    As a quite impossible They!

    All good people agree,
    And all good people say,
    All nice people, like Us, are We
    And every one else is They:
    But if you cross over the sea,
    Instead of over the way,
    You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
    As only a sort of They!

  12. PrincessKenobi New Films Manager of DOOM and vacation

    Manager
    Member Since:
    Aug 12, 2000
    star 7
    Mommy Date Written:1/27/2001

    Mommy
    You left me
    Never said goodbye
    Leaving me questioning
    My self being
    Subconsciously thinking
    You left because of me
    When it was of your
    Own free will
    The things you did
    To me and my brothers
    I could never forgive
    You hurt us
    And broke us
    Daddy said it would be okay
    Daddy always says that
    Daddy's always right
    We covered up
    What you had done
    For months after you left
    Slowly but surely
    We opened up to Daddy
    We told him the things
    That you had done
    Mommy why,
    Why did you hurt us so?
    Why didn't you love us?
    Why did you hurt us so
    For years I longed
    For reasons
    To relieve my doubt
    Never could I find
    A single one
    The words you used
    The pain you inflicted
    Caused me to hide away
    Now here I am
    Alone at a crossroad
    Realizing for the first time
    That for the last
    Seven years
    I hid my hurt
    At not understanding
    How you could do this
    to me.
    I hate you
    And that hurts
    Most of all
    Because I hate
    No one
    I wish you
    Ungratful things
    In your new life
    Apart from us
    Mommy

  13. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Robert Frost
    Poetry


    Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Whose woods these are I think I know.
    His house is in the village though;
    He will not see me stopping here
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.

    My little horse must think it queer
    To stop without a farmhouse near
    Between the woods and frozen lake
    The darkest evening of the year.

    He gives his harness bells a shake
    To ask if there is some mistake.
    The only other sound's the sweep
    Of easy wind and downy flake.

    The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
    But I have promises to keep,
    And miles to go before I sleep,
    And miles to go before I sleep.

  14. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6

    DOVER BEACH

    By Matthew Arnold

    The sea is calm tonight,
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to the window, sweet is the night air!
    Only, from the long line of spray
    Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
    Listen! you hear the grating roar
    Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
    At their return, up the high strand,
    Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
    With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
    The eternal note of sadness in.

    Sophocles long ago
    Heard it on the Agean, and it brought
    Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
    Of human misery; we
    Find also in the sound a thought,
    Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

    The Sea of Faith
    Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
    Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
    But now I only hear
    Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
    Retreating, to the breath
    Of the night wind, down the vast edges drear
    And naked shingles of the world.

    Ah, love, let us be true
    To one another! for the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain
    Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
    Where ignorant armies clash by night.

    1867
  15. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Another reason why I don't keep a gun in the house

    The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
    He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
    that he barks every time they leave the house.
    They must switch him on on their way out.

    The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
    I close all the windows in the house
    and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
    but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
    barking, barking, barking,

    and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
    his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
    had included a part for barking dog.

    When the record finally ends he is still barking,
    sitting there in the oboe section barking,
    his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
    entreating him with his baton

    while the other musicians listen in respectful
    silence to the famous barking dog solo,
    that endless coda that first established
    Beethoven as an innovative genius.


    --Billy Collins
  16. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    The Art of Drowning

    I wonder how it all got started, this business
    about seeing your life flash before your eyes
    while you drown, as if panic, or the act of submergence,
    could startle time into such compression, crushing
    decades in the vice of your desperate, final seconds.

    After falling off a steamship or being swept away
    in a rush of floodwaters, wouldn't you hope
    for a more leisurely review, an invisible hand
    turning the pages of an album of photographs-
    you up on a pony or blowing out candles in a conic hat.

    How about a short animated film, a slide presentation?
    Your life expressed in an essay, or in one model photograph?
    Wouldn't any form be better than this sudden flash?
    Your whole existence going off in your face
    in an eyebrow-singeing explosion of biography-
    nothing like the three large volumes you envisioned.

    Survivors would have us believe in a brilliance
    here, some bolt of truth forking across the water,
    an ultimate Light before all the lights go out,
    dawning on you with all its megalithic tonnage.
    But if something does flash before your eyes
    as you go under, it will probably be a fish,

    a quick blur of curved silver darting away,
    having nothing to do with your life or your death.
    The tide will take you, or the lake will accept it all
    as you sink toward the weedy disarray of the bottom,
    leaving behind what you have already forgotten,
    the surface, now overrun with the high travel of clouds.

    --Billy Collins
  17. Terr_Mys Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 19, 2002
    star 6
    French poem read by moi.

    It's actually 'excessive ardeur', not 'excessive odeur'...that's a rather humourous error on my part.
  18. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Petra

    "... match me such a marvel, save in Eastern clime

    A rose-red city, half as old as time."

    -Dean Burgen
  19. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    I'm going to type another poem in soon.
    I am just upping it so I don't lose the thread.
  20. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    For Whom the Bell Tolls
    by John Donne

    No man is an island,
    Entire of itself.
    Each is a piece of the continent,
    A part of the main.
    If a clod be washed away by the sea,
    Europe is the less.
    As well as if a promontory were.
    As well as if a manner of thine own
    Or of thine friend's were.
    Each man's death diminishes me,
    For I am involved in mankind.
    Therefore, send not to know
    For whom the bell tolls,
    It tolls for thee.
  21. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Note: I am not being prejudiced this is just a historical poem and does not reflect my actual views on the subject matter. It just reflects some of the thoughts of the time period.

    The White Man's Burden
    By Rudyard Kipling
    McClure's Magazine 12 (Feb. 1899).

    Take up the White Man's burden--
    Send forth the best ye breed--
    Go, bind your sons to exile
    To serve your captives' need;
    To wait, in heavy harness,
    On fluttered folk and wild--
    Your new-caught sullen peoples,
    Half devil and half child.

    Take up the White Man's burden--
    In patience to abide,
    To veil the threat of terror
    And check the show of pride;
    By open speech and simple,
    An hundred times made plain,
    To seek another's profit
    And work another's gain.

    Take up the White Man's burden--
    The savage wars of peace--
    Fill full the mouth of Famine,
    And bid the sickness cease;
    And when your goal is nearest
    (The end for others sought)
    Watch sloth and heathen folly
    Bring all your hope to nought.

    Take up the White Man's burden--
    No iron rule of kings,
    But toil of serf and sweeper--
    The tale of common things.
    The ports ye shall not enter,
    The roads ye shall not tread,
    Go, make them with your living
    And mark them with your dead.

    Take up the White Man's burden,
    And reap his old reward--
    The blame of those ye better
    The hate of those ye guard--
    The cry of hosts ye humour
    (Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
    "Why brought ye us from bondage,
    Our loved Egyptian night?"

    Take up the White Man's burden--
    Ye dare not stoop to less--
    Nor call too loud on Freedom
    To cloak your weariness.
    By all ye will or whisper,
    By all ye leave or do,
    The silent sullen peoples
    Shall weigh your God and you.

    Take up the White Man's burden!
    Have done with childish days--
    The lightly-proffered laurel,
    The easy ungrudged praise:
    Comes now, to search your manhood
    Through all the thankless years,
    Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
    The judgment of your peers.

  22. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    Paul Revere's Ride
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


    Listen my children and you shall hear
    Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
    On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
    Hardly a man is now alive
    Who remembers that famous day and year.
    He said to his friend, "If the British march
    By land or sea from the town to-night,
    Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
    Of the North Church tower as a signal light,--
    One if by land, and two if by sea;
    And I on the opposite shore will be,
    Ready to ride and spread the alarm
    Through every Middlesex village and farm,
    For the country folk to be up and to arm."

    Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar
    Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
    Just as the moon rose over the bay,
    Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
    The Somerset, British man-of-war;
    A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
    Across the moon like a prison bar,
    And a huge black hulk, that was magnified
    By its own reflection in the tide.

    Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street
    Wanders and watches, with eager ears,
    Till in the silence around him he hears
    The muster of men at the barrack door,
    The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
    And the measured tread of the grenadiers,
    Marching down to their boats on the shore.

    Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,
    By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
    To the belfry chamber overhead,
    And startled the pigeons from their perch
    On the sombre rafters, that round him made
    Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
    By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
    To the highest window in the wall,
    Where he paused to listen and look down
    A moment on the roofs of the town
    And the moonlight flowing over all.

    Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
    In their night encampment on the hill,
    Wrapped in silence so deep and still
    That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
    The watchful night-wind, as it went
    Creeping along from tent to tent,
    And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
    A moment only he feels the spell
    Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
    Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
    For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
    On a shadowy something far away,
    Where the river widens to meet the bay,--
    A line of black that bends and floats
    On the rising tide like a bridge of boats.

    Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
    Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
    On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
    Now he patted his horse's side,
    Now he gazed at the landscape far and near,
    Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
    And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
    But mostly he watched with eager search
    The belfry tower of the Old North Church,
    As it rose above the graves on the hill,
    Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
    And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height
    A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
    He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
    But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
    A second lamp in the belfry burns.

    A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
    A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
    And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
    Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
    That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
    The fate of a nation was riding that night;
    And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
    Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
    He has left the village and mounted the steep,
    And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
    Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
    And under the alders that skirt its edge,
    Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
    Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

    It was twelve by the village clock
    When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
    He heard the crowing of the cock,
    And the barking of the farmer's dog,
    And felt the damp of the river fog,
    That rises after the sun goes down.

    It was one by the village clock,
    When he galloped into Lexington.
    He saw the gilded weathercock
    Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
    And the meeting-house windows, black and bare,
    Gaze at him with a
  23. Darth-Seldon Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    May 17, 2003
    star 6
    The Prisoners


    Steel doors ? guillotine gates ?
    of the doorless house closed massively.
    We were locked in with loss.

    Guards frisked us, marked our wrists,
    then let us into the drab Rec Hall ?
    splotched green walls, high windows barred ?

    where the dispossessed awaited us.
    Hands intimate with knife and pistol,
    hands that had cruelly grasped and throttled

    clasped ours in welcome. I sensed the plea
    of men denied: Believe us human
    like yourselves, who but for Grace ...

    We shared reprieving Hidden Words
    revealed by the Godlike imprisoned
    One, whose crime was truth.

    And I read poems I hoped were true.
    It's like you been there, brother, been there,
    the scarred young lifer said.

    Robert Hayden

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