From time to time a poem

Recorded 4 weeks before she took her own life:
@donkeydonnyb: Sylvia Plath Reads Her Moving Poem "Tulips": A Rare 1961 BBC Recording | Brain Pickings http://t.co/RXxbNVtmWn via @brainpicker

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/tag/sylvia-plath/

“I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted / To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.”

I.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once fair and stately palace --
Radiant palace --reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion --
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

II.
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow;
(This --all this --was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odour went away.

III.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about a throne, where sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

IV.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

V.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And, round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

VI.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows, see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh --but smile no more.

Edgar A. Poe

The Folly of Fnord

Welcome Jedi, sit and listen... Hear this tale of admonition. I Implore you, heed the fable of Fnord's Folly. Fnord lived on the north shore of Loch Noir. In his year of forty and four, there came a knock upon his door. Fearful, Fnord first hesitated, but soon his fear he had abated... Fnord crept cautiously toward the door. Fnord peered outside the window, seeking who was at the door. Behold in black robes flowing: though dark, his face was glowing, stood a sinister Sith Lord!

There must be some grave error... for Fnord stood there, not in terror. Confusion gripped his mind, stabbing deeply like a sword. The Jedi taught him sith were evil, but his thoughts were in upheaval... This Lord was small in stature, gently rapping on the door. Surely this demure robed figure was not evil to the core. Unsure, Fnord then unlocked the door. Come in, Fnord calmly beckoned... The rain outside, your face obscures. Welcome to my humble home, sit thee down, I do implore. Thank you kindly said the Sith, the rain outside has soaked me to the core. Might I share your fire's gleam, to warm my bones would be supreme... Yes you may, Fnord then decreed... Would you like some coffee served with cream?

Why thank you, yes, the guest then replied. Though sugar in my coffee I must have as well he sighed. Fnord shared his coffee with the Sith Lord, then he cautiously implored: You have been most kind I must admit, are Sith not evil as I've been assured? Surely not replied the Sith, It's bad press we have endured. Sith are not all that different really, from the Jedi you view dearly, for we all seek greater power... that's the truth, I do ensure. Fnord's jaw nearly hit the floor, for his guest's words seemed so obscure. This was not what he had learned, Sith were Evil! He felt sure... mistaken, had to be this Sith Lord, sipping coffee at leisure.

Outside, the rain continued, most furiously flooding, did it pour. The torrent tormented timultuously, forcing Fnord forth from his home. Flooded from his home, Fnord sought salvation from the storm. Not so fast, cried out the Sith Lord, why not wait out the storm's dark fury, there inside the cellar door? Fnord took pause upon those words, the cellar flooded, he was sure. Fnord Implored his fellow to Follow, lest they both fall into folly... drowned inside that cellar door. A boat then floated toward the shore! Salvation from the storm, the boat beckoned them aboard. Fnord fought woeful thoughts, for he deplored to depart, and leave behind his faithful horse. An idea alit upon Fnord, for not far there was a fjord!

Fnord was sure he could fjord the fjord, mounted on his faithful horse! Fnord again implored the Sith Lord, to join him across the Fjord. Nay, replied the Sith Lord, for I do not trust the horse. I shall board the boat instead, it seems much safer to me, of course. Floored, Fnord urged his horse forth toward the fjord. Fortunately For Fnord, the Fjord flowed only four feet rather than fourteen fathoms deep. Fortuitously, Fnord's horse flitted flawlessly 'cross the fjord. Forthright his fellow followed Fnord, aboard the boat sent by the Force. Though he did not trust the horse, he feared falling far from Fnord and hither into folly.

Folly followed instead on Fnord, as he fell forth from his horse and gored his gourd on a horde of boards. Abhorred, Fnord Implored the Sith Lord for his folly, why he had not warned him of the boards! I asked you to seek shelter, was the Sith Lord's final word. Fnord could not afford this foolish fopah, he turned his wrath then to his horse. Furious, Fnord roared at the Fjord for causing Fnord to fall from his faithful horse. The Sith Lord laughed at Fnord's misfortune, for he had warned Fnord to stay behind, safe behind the cellar door. Fnord's anger grew intently, for Sith Lord's ridicule ensued. Fnord then picked up a board from the horde upon which he had gored his gourd.

Feculent fool! Fnord screamed in anger, I'll kill you for your twisted words! I tried to warn you, quoth the Sith Lord... deplore me not for your irony sore. Fnord ignored the Sith Lord's imploring, and charged madly toward the fjord. Fnord forgot about the flood, as he sought to smite the laughing Lord. Too late Fnord saw his error, ae he plunged forth from the shore. Raging water frothed around him, Fnord quickly tried to reach the shore. Unfortunately for Fnord, the froth flowed deeper than the fjord. Folly followed for Fnord's anger, as he drowned in the froth's dark swarm. Shocked at the fate of Fnord, the Sith Lord quickly went ashore. He pondered there a moment, was he evil after all? He had not saved Fnord from folly, instead laughing at his fall. Moment passed, the Sith Lord shrugged... Fnord's fate was his own fault, reassured. The Sith Lord went forth and shared the fable, imploring all to heed the word. Fnord's folly was his failing, acting rashly was the spur. Before you leap into action, be sure there is no fall. Satisfaction will not befall you, if you leap into a horde of boards.

This will probably dumb down the average level of discourse here, but I thought I would try my hand after oh so long.

After all this time
To see you again
Tears a hole within
What passes for my soul
We had such plans
Such grand designs
Now, both of us
Trapped
Within the lives we've made
So far from where we thought
We'd be...

-jpt

Maybe ill try another one when I'm not drunk.

“A Boy’s love for Dad”

I heard a crack in the middle of night.
I looked around there’s nothing in sight.
And, then another from within the trees.
I could smell the smoke in the breeze.
And, then erupted a thunderous roar.
Could this be why I joined the Corps?
A folly here and another over there.
The odds not good but, death doesn’t care.
The smoke was building more and more.
Defeat was what they had in store.
With heads high and weapons aimed true.
We fought hard and pushed on through.
We lost one man, bless his dedicated soul.
We carried him along and accomplished our goal.
He lays to rest now in American ground.
Friends and family crying all around.
Then a young boy about three feet tall,
Said, “Daddy died to save us all.”
This simple phrase comforted all,
“Daddy died to save us all.”

By: Robert Cannon

...now read it in reverse

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird

Wallace Stevens

I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

I used to write poems
About love and pain
And find I can't write
About other things!

The depth of emotion
Just doesn't inspire.
Does a poet need pain
As a child her mother?

The things in my head
Don't inspire and cheer;
They shouldn't be shared
With anyone here.

I'm more of a Poe
And less of a Frost.
In love and pain
I'm too easily lost.

:dry:

This is a poem I wrote, its about bullying, rage, vengance, and violence. Writing stuff like this is a way for me to work through anger in writing, rather than acting out on it.

=================================

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
-Emily Dickinson

Brian Cranston of Breaking Bad reads Percy Bysshe Shelley’s "Ozymandias."