Thursday, July 29, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I carry your heart with me- E.E. Cummings
I carry your heart with me(I carry it in
my heart)I am never without it(anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)I want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
my heart)I am never without it(anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)I want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Child- Sylvia Plath
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Verbally
There is a strange concoction
Of words and feelings.
It was about time.
Merely,
They slither through the slots sneakily,
As I can't grasp the structure of expression.
A moment, a movement leads to suppressed sound.
Calm,
Precursor of the shattering,
Before a helpless cry for understanding.
I see no sound, when I hear no scenery.
In. Enlarge, and lost in thought.
In the evening, muffled sound and a bubble.
Humming almost at the height,
Exhale.
Silly sense in the aftermath,
Second from the reasoning
And the sweet smell of sugar in the air.
Nonsense.
Of words and feelings.
It was about time.
Merely,
They slither through the slots sneakily,
As I can't grasp the structure of expression.
A moment, a movement leads to suppressed sound.
Calm,
Precursor of the shattering,
Before a helpless cry for understanding.
I see no sound, when I hear no scenery.
In. Enlarge, and lost in thought.
In the evening, muffled sound and a bubble.
Humming almost at the height,
Exhale.
Silly sense in the aftermath,
Second from the reasoning
And the sweet smell of sugar in the air.
Nonsense.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Wondrous Water
Wondrous Water
Trickle drops and continues.
No. Unknowing and indefinite.
The mystery of life is why we live it.
That one clear shine,
That makes you wonder of the structure,
It's why we question, it's our nurture.
Why try to survive
Without a meaning?
Simple is the way to everything.
In a cell it thrives.
With a discipline, emancipated.
Energy can never be created.
A.
Trickle drops and continues.
No. Unknowing and indefinite.
The mystery of life is why we live it.
That one clear shine,
That makes you wonder of the structure,
It's why we question, it's our nurture.
Why try to survive
Without a meaning?
Simple is the way to everything.
In a cell it thrives.
With a discipline, emancipated.
Energy can never be created.
A.
The Forgotten First Sin
The Forgotten First Sin
Dry, brittle and scarce,
Are my vocal cords,
As it shook me.
The physicality bears no question.
Only the worthless "Why?" which won't be.
Is it a minute detail?
It bears a lot of significance...
So, the small things in life make a difference.
Barely noticed by others, I see the change,
Creeping up sneakily, a serpent waiting to strike.
There's a warmth radiating from my depths,
That can't be extinguished so easily,
For when all materialisms are gone,
It remains the true meaning of life.
Which you cant appreciate.
I want to have a discussion.
You have to bear the consequences,
But sadly I'm the one to suffer.
Collapse of the Empire.
A.
Dry, brittle and scarce,
Are my vocal cords,
As it shook me.
The physicality bears no question.
Only the worthless "Why?" which won't be.
Is it a minute detail?
It bears a lot of significance...
So, the small things in life make a difference.
Barely noticed by others, I see the change,
Creeping up sneakily, a serpent waiting to strike.
There's a warmth radiating from my depths,
That can't be extinguished so easily,
For when all materialisms are gone,
It remains the true meaning of life.
Which you cant appreciate.
I want to have a discussion.
You have to bear the consequences,
But sadly I'm the one to suffer.
Collapse of the Empire.
A.
From a Beginning
From a Beginning
One tingle,
That creeps under the skin.
The tremour before the erruption,
Or the silence before the sin.
A physical understanding,
Or an explosion of emotion
Needed for the sequence of events.
That change the world for a split second.
Words are useless,
They fly past my ear.
But employed prehistoric gestures,
Contradict the delicate language you spoke.
What dark depths lay in your mind,
Now vanished.
It is shallow,
As the brain becomes challenged.
Take a piece of this moment,
And throw it into eternity.
Rough, harsh and sudden,
Is the product of your discovery.
And when witnessed,
A sun ray shines still.
The curtain of realisation is drawn,
A scent of coffee and fresh lemon.
Free. Its over.
A.
26/06/08 2:55 am
One tingle,
That creeps under the skin.
The tremour before the erruption,
Or the silence before the sin.
A physical understanding,
Or an explosion of emotion
Needed for the sequence of events.
That change the world for a split second.
Words are useless,
They fly past my ear.
But employed prehistoric gestures,
Contradict the delicate language you spoke.
What dark depths lay in your mind,
Now vanished.
It is shallow,
As the brain becomes challenged.
Take a piece of this moment,
And throw it into eternity.
Rough, harsh and sudden,
Is the product of your discovery.
And when witnessed,
A sun ray shines still.
The curtain of realisation is drawn,
A scent of coffee and fresh lemon.
Free. Its over.
A.
26/06/08 2:55 am
Natural Cause
Natural Cause
(A product of the clash of interests)
My Dear Friend,
I look down from the clouds of realisation
Into your little mixed up world,
The jungles though which you pass,
Towards the hidden paths of your future.
My Dear Friend,
If I could only prevent,
That which makes you stumble and fall...
The dark forces,
Which endanger your delicate soul.
Something, so pure,
Which still lives on,
But you know, not for long,
When your cocoon will open.
As time passes, I stall,
And try to remember, what I did not know.
The impossible.
My Dear Friend,
A balance must strike
and those who make you break,
will be a snowflake,
on a summer's day.
A.
(A product of the clash of interests)
My Dear Friend,
I look down from the clouds of realisation
Into your little mixed up world,
The jungles though which you pass,
Towards the hidden paths of your future.
My Dear Friend,
If I could only prevent,
That which makes you stumble and fall...
The dark forces,
Which endanger your delicate soul.
Something, so pure,
Which still lives on,
But you know, not for long,
When your cocoon will open.
As time passes, I stall,
And try to remember, what I did not know.
The impossible.
My Dear Friend,
A balance must strike
and those who make you break,
will be a snowflake,
on a summer's day.
A.
Scribbles and Electrical Impulses
Scribbles and Electrical Impulses
When the mind strikes, you're unprepared.
A single stimulus triggered,
Emerges a different person,
Out of the fog of your own conscience
And a bird flies, thought the clear skies above,
Into another realm.
A beautiful fruit,
Does not pay for the consequences of existance.
No recongnition
Of the products and creativity,
For whatever it's worth,
It's worth the worst of you.
Try to weave in some meaning,
But its slippery,
And escapes out of your grasp,
Beyond your reach or senses.
The words lack a purpose,
Reflecting the irragular texture of your thoughts.
Scribbles and electrical impulses.
That is, what it is.
A.
When the mind strikes, you're unprepared.
A single stimulus triggered,
Emerges a different person,
Out of the fog of your own conscience
And a bird flies, thought the clear skies above,
Into another realm.
A beautiful fruit,
Does not pay for the consequences of existance.
No recongnition
Of the products and creativity,
For whatever it's worth,
It's worth the worst of you.
Try to weave in some meaning,
But its slippery,
And escapes out of your grasp,
Beyond your reach or senses.
The words lack a purpose,
Reflecting the irragular texture of your thoughts.
Scribbles and electrical impulses.
That is, what it is.
A.
Damaged Existence
Damaged Existence
Another cold morning,
The breeze sways the trees.
Slowly;
In the garden, it's a different scene:
The forgotten stranger's footsteps.
The door opens and closes.
Another manly laugh now
Fills the house before him,
Unexpected, unexplained, unwanted.
Inevitable replacement of the man he used to be.
A fresh memory still remains
Of the wounds, the blood,
And the bullets,
The crippled and limbless,
the dead and the struggling.
Their cries and screems, haunting his dreams.
A wondering soul now
belonging to him, the unfortunate souldier,
forgotten in the trenches,
Of his own mind's obstacles.
What was here yesterday,
Won't be here tomorrow.
A.
Another cold morning,
The breeze sways the trees.
Slowly;
In the garden, it's a different scene:
The forgotten stranger's footsteps.
The door opens and closes.
Another manly laugh now
Fills the house before him,
Unexpected, unexplained, unwanted.
Inevitable replacement of the man he used to be.
A fresh memory still remains
Of the wounds, the blood,
And the bullets,
The crippled and limbless,
the dead and the struggling.
Their cries and screems, haunting his dreams.
A wondering soul now
belonging to him, the unfortunate souldier,
forgotten in the trenches,
Of his own mind's obstacles.
What was here yesterday,
Won't be here tomorrow.
A.
Friday, May 7, 2010
The Thought Fox- Ted Hughes
THE THOUGHT-FOX
I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Ted Hughes
I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.
Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:
Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now
Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come
Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business
Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.
Ted Hughes
A few words at the start
These are my first few poems which haven't been previously publicly exposed. I'm not extrememly proud of them, because I lack confidence in my poetry. I dont particularly like them, and I think I probably need to work on them a bit more, but since only two people have ever read them before, I'd like to see what other people think about my poetry. Also, I dont really want to go back and correct any mistakes because I feel that I would ruin the poem if I did. When writing a poem, I express what I feel at that very moment, which is something unique and always very different, so I feel that if I were to go back and correct a poem, I would be violating my own poetry, and what inspired it.
In addition to my own poems, I will probably put up poems that I come across by poets I admire. I already have a few in mind like The Thought Fox by Ted Hughes (what got me into poetry in the first thing), All Legendary Obstacles by John Montague, and a good few Plath poems. I'd love to be able to look back on these posts in the future and read the poems that have been so much emotionally significant to me in the past and at present. I might even write about a bit of what I think about the peoms or what they mean to me and how I would interpret them, but I'm not sure yet.
In addition to my own poems, I will probably put up poems that I come across by poets I admire. I already have a few in mind like The Thought Fox by Ted Hughes (what got me into poetry in the first thing), All Legendary Obstacles by John Montague, and a good few Plath poems. I'd love to be able to look back on these posts in the future and read the poems that have been so much emotionally significant to me in the past and at present. I might even write about a bit of what I think about the peoms or what they mean to me and how I would interpret them, but I'm not sure yet.
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