From time to time a poem

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08 Jul 2013 00:31 #111878 by Lorian
Replied by Lorian on topic From time to time a poem
All in All

(Written during the Victorian Era in England)

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Destiny's embrace can be sweet or filled with sorrow....Take charge and become the master of your own fate...

"The man of wisdom is never of two minds;
the man of benevolence never worries;
the man of courage is never afraid."

-Confucius
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08 Jul 2013 21:09 #111957 by Wescli Wardest
.
Love in the Valley
BY GEORGE MEREDITH

Under yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward,
Couched with her arms behind her golden head,
Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly,
Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.
Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her,
Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow,
Waking in amazement she could not but embrace me:
Then would she hold me and never let me go?

Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow,
Swift as the swallow along the river's light
Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored winglets,
Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her flight.
Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops,
Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun,
She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer,
Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won!

When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror,
Tying up her laces, looping up her hair,
Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded,
More love should I have, and much less care.
When her mother tends her before the lighted mirror,
Loosening her laces, combing down her curls,
Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded,
I should miss but one for many boys and girls.

Heartless she is as the shadow in the meadows
Flying to the hills on a blue and breezy noon.
No, she is athirst and drinking up her wonder:
Earth to her is young as the slip of the new moon.
Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid measure,
Even as in a dance; and her smile can heal no less:
Like the swinging May-cloud that pelts the flowers with hailstones
Off a sunny border, she was made to bruise and bless.

Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping
Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star.
Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note unvaried,
Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown eve-jar.
Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting:
So were it with me if forgetting could be willed.
Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring,
Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled.

Stepping down the hill with her fair companions,
Arm in arm, all against the raying West
Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she marches,
Brave in her shape, and sweeter unpossessed.
Sweeter, for she is what my heart first awaking
Whispered the world was; morning light is she.
Love that so desires would fain keep her changeless;
Fain would fling the net, and fain have her free.

Happy happy time, when the white star hovers
Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy dew,
Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart the darkness,
Threading it with colour, as yewberries the yew.
Thicker crowd the shades while the grave East deepens
Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud swells.
Maiden still the morn is; and strange she is, and secret;
Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as cold sea-shells.

Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting
Wild cloud-mountains that drag the hills along,
Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant laughter
Chill as a dull face frowning on a song.
Ay, but shows the South-West a ripple-feathered bosom
Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend
Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset
Rich, deep like love in beauty without end.

When at dawn she sighs, and like an infant to the window
Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams,
Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily
Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams.
When from bed she rises clothed from neck to ankle
In her long nightgown sweet as boughs of May,
Beautiful she looks, like a tall garden lily
Pure from the night, and splendid for the day.

Mother of the dews, dark eye-lashed twilight,
Low-lidded twilight, o'er the valley's brim,
Rounding on thy breast sings the dew-delighted skylark,
Clear as though the dewdrops had their voice in him.
Hidden where the rose-flush drinks the rayless planet,
Fountain-full he pours the spraying fountain-showers.
Let me hear her laughter, I would have her ever
Cool as dew in twilight, the lark above the flowers.

All the girls are out with their baskets for the primrose;
Up lanes, woods through, they troop in joyful bands.
My sweet leads: she knows not why, but now she totters,
Eyes the bent anemones, and hangs her hands.
Such a look will tell that the violets are peeping,
Coming the rose: and unaware a cry
Springs in her bosom for odours and for colour,
Covert and the nightingale; she knows not why.

Kerchiefed head and chin she darts between her tulips,
Streaming like a willow grey in arrowy rain:
Some bend beaten cheek to gravel, and their angel
She will be; she lifts them, and on she speeds again.
Black the driving raincloud breasts the iron gateway:
She is forth to cheer a neighbour lacking mirth.
So when sky and grass met rolling dumb for thunder
Saw I once a white dove, sole light of earth.

Prim little scholars are the flowers of her garden,
Trained to stand in rows, and asking if they please.
I might love them well but for loving more the wild ones:
O my wild ones! they tell me more than these.
You, my wild one, you tell of honied field-rose,
Violet, blushing eglantine in life; and even as they,
They by the wayside are earnest of your goodness,
You are of life's, on the banks that line the way.

Peering at her chamber the white crowns the red rose,
Jasmine winds the porch with stars two and three.
Parted is the window; she sleeps; the starry jasmine
Breathes a falling breath that carries thoughts of me.
Sweeter unpossessed, have I said of her my sweetest?
Not while she sleeps: while she sleeps the jasmine breathes,
Luring her to love; she sleeps; the starry jasmine
Bears me to her pillow under white rose-wreaths.

Yellow with birdfoot-trefoil are the grass-glades;
Yellow with cinquefoil of the dew-grey leaf;
Yellow with stonecrop; the moss-mounds are yellow;
Blue-necked the wheat sways, yellowing to the sheaf:
Green-yellow bursts from the copse the laughing yaffle;
Sharp as a sickle is the edge of shade and shine:
Earth in her heart laughs looking at the heavens,
Thinking of the harvest: I look and think of mine.

This I may know: her dressing and undressing
Such a change of light shows as when the skies in sport
Shift from cloud to moonlight; or edging over thunder
Slips a ray of sun; or sweeping into port
White sails furl; or on the ocean borders
White sails lean along the waves leaping green.
Visions of her shower before me, but from eyesight
Guarded she would be like the sun were she seen.

Front door and back of the mossed old farmhouse
Open with the morn, and in a breezy link
Freshly sparkles garden to stripe-shadowed orchard,
Green across a rill where on sand the minnows wink.
Busy in the grass the early sun of summer
Swarms, and the blackbird's mellow fluting notes
Call my darling up with round and roguish challenge:
Quaintest, richest carol of all the singing throats!

Cool was the woodside; cool as her white dairy
Keeping sweet the cream-pan; and there the boys from school,
Cricketing below, rushed brown and red with sunshine;
O the dark translucence of the deep-eyed cool!
Spying from the farm, herself she fetched a pitcher
Full of milk, and tilted for each in turn the beak.
Then a little fellow, mouth up and on tiptoe,
Said, "I will kiss you": she laughed and leaned her cheek.

Doves of the fir-wood walling high our red roof
Through the long noon coo, crooning through the coo.
Loose droop the leaves, and down the sleepy roadway
Sometimes pipes a chaffinch; loose droops the blue.
Cows flap a slow tail knee-deep in the river,
Breathless, given up to sun and gnat and fly.
Nowhere is she seen; and if I see her nowhere,
Lightning may come, straight rains and tiger sky.

O the golden sheaf, the rustling treasure-armful!
O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced!
O the treasure-tresses one another over
Nodding! O the girdle slack about the waist!
Slain are the poppies that shot their random scarlet
Quick amid the wheatears: wound about the waist,
Gathered, see these brides of Earth one blush of ripeness!
O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced!

Large and smoky red the sun's cold disk drops,
Clipped by naked hills, on violet shaded snow:
Eastward large and still lights up a bower of moonrise,
Whence at her leisure steps the moon aglow.
Nightlong on black print-branches our beech-tree
Gazes in this whiteness: nightlong could I.
Here may life on death or death on life be painted.
Let me clasp her soul to know she cannot die!

Gossips count her faults; they scour a narrow chamber
Where there is no window, read not heaven or her.
"When she was a tiny," one aged woman quavers,
Plucks at my heart and leads me by the ear.
Faults she had once as she learnt to run and tumbled:
Faults of feature some see, beauty not complete.
Yet, good gossips, beauty that makes holy
Earth and air, may have faults from head to feet.

Hither she comes; she comes to me; she lingers,
Deepens her brown eyebrows, while in new surprise
High rise the lashes in wonder of a stranger;
Yet am I the light and living of her eyes.
Something friends have told her fills her heart to brimming,
Nets her in her blushes, and wounds her, and tames.—
Sure of her haven, O like a dove alighting,
Arms up, she dropped: our souls were in our names.

Soon will she lie like a white-frost sunrise.
Yellow oats and brown wheat, barley pale as rye,
Long since your sheaves have yielded to the thresher,
Felt the girdle loosened, seen the tresses fly.
Soon will she lie like a blood-red sunset.
Swift with the to-morrow, green-winged Spring!
Sing from the South-West, bring her back the truants,
Nightingale and swallow, song and dipping wing.

Soft new beech-leaves, up to beamy April
Spreading bough on bough a primrose mountain, you,
Lucid in the moon, raise lilies to the skyfields,
Youngest green transfused in silver shining through:
Fairer than the lily, than the wild white cherry:
Fair as in image my seraph love appears
Borne to me by dreams when dawn is at my eyelids:
Fair as in the flesh she swims to me on tears.

Could I find a place to be alone with heaven,
I would speak my heart out: heaven is my need.
Every woodland tree is flushing like the dog-wood,
Flashing like the whitebeam, swaying like the reed.
Flushing like the dog-wood crimson in October;
Streaming like the flag-reed South-West blown;
Flashing as in gusts the sudden-lighted white beam:
All seem to know what is for heaven alone.

Monastic Order of Knights
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09 Jul 2013 16:15 #112077 by Donkey
Replied by Donkey on topic From time to time a poem
I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Maya Angelou

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
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11 Jul 2013 11:01 #112298 by Donkey
Replied by Donkey on topic 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 t.co/RXxbNVtmWn via @brainpicker

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.”
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16 Jul 2013 17:08 - 16 Jul 2013 17:09 #112879 by Reliah
Replied by Reliah on topic From time to time a poem
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

...
Last edit: 16 Jul 2013 17:09 by Reliah.
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16 Jul 2013 17:32 #112884 by Wescli Wardest
Hope is the Thing with Feathers

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

By: Emily Dickinson

Monastic Order of Knights
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16 Jul 2013 18:51 - 16 Jul 2013 18:52 #112891 by Reliah
Replied by Reliah on topic From time to time a poem
Join me on the edge of time
Where pain and fear subside
And things we've never dared to speak
Find no reason left to hide

Join me after midnights toll
While killing words still sleep
Where every secret in your heart
Will lose all will to keep

Join me before morning breaks
And unwanted eyes can see
Where imagination turns to dreams
And dreams - reality
-Reliah :P

...
Last edit: 16 Jul 2013 18:52 by Reliah.
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17 Jul 2013 23:54 #113091 by Kyp
Replied by Kyp on topic From time to time a poem
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.

www.myspace.com/masterkyp

"Pureland" Jedi (according to the TOTJO)
Master Of Jediism
Knighted as Master on June 2nd, 2006

Apprenticed to:
I completed most of my training before I joined the TOTJO, and then I learned retroactively from a few of the Original Masters of the Order.

My Apprentices:
Andon Colos(Pre-TOTJO - Corresponded via email, eventually fell out of contact)
Master Scythe
Master Jyn Osiris
Master Chappo DaBlack
Jedi Froste(Trained and Ordained offline, locally, accompanied me in my travels)
Master Nassik Dabak
Master Anakin Phoenix
Master Taarn(Sterling)
Nique Serce
Nalfien
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18 Jul 2013 02:29 #113098 by Desolous
Replied by Desolous on topic From time to time a poem
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.

Master: Senior Knight Akkarin
Location: Alabama, USA
Impure Jediist

Rank: Apprentice
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21 Jul 2013 20:43 #113531 by Damion_Storm
“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

Rev. Robert Cannon OCP
  • Bishop of TotJO
  • Master Knight of Jediism
Apprentices: None
Former Apprentices: Cynthia, Alexandre Orion, Reliah
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