The Poetry Corner
- Thread starter Aepsilons
- Start date
To You
Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of
dreams,
I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your
feet and hands,
Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners,
troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you,
Your true soul and body appear before me,
They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops,
work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating,
drinking, suffering, dying.
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you
be my poem,
I whisper with my lips close to your ear,
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better
than you.
O I have been dilatory and dumb,
I should have made my way straight to you long ago,
I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted
nothing but you.
I will leave all and come and make the hymns of you,
None has understood you, but I understand you,
None has done justice to you, you have not done justice to
yourself,
None but has found you imperfect, I only find no
imperfection in you,
None but would subordinate you, I only am he who will
never consent to subordinate you,
I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better,
God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself.
Painters have painted their swarming groups and the centre-
figure of all,
From the head of the centre-figure spreading a nimbus of
gold-color’d light,
But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its
nimbus of gold-color’d light,
From my hand from the brain of every man and woman it
streams, effulgently flowing forever.
O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you!
You have not known what you are, you have slumber’d upon
yourself all your life,
Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the time,
What you have done returns already in mockeries,
(Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in
mockeries, what is their return?)
The mockeries are not you,
Underneath them and within them I see you lurk,
I pursue you where none else has pursued you,
Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the
accustom’d routine, if these conceal you from others or
from yourself, they do not conceal you from me,
The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if
these balk others they do not balk me,
The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed,
premature death, all these I part aside.
There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied
in you,
There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as good
is in you,
No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you,
No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits
for you.
As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like
carefully to you,
I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than
I sing the songs of the glory of you.
Whoever you are! claim your own at an hazard!
These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you,
These immense meadows, these interminable rivers, you are
immense and interminable as they,
These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of
apparent dissolution, you are he or she who is master or
mistress over them,
Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements,
pain, passion, dissolution.
The hopples fall from your ankles, you find an unfailing
sufficiency,
Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest,
whatever you are promulges itself,
Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided,
nothing is scanted,
Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what
you are picks its way.
Walt Whitman, 1819 - 1892
Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of
dreams,
I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under your
feet and hands,
Even now your features, joys, speech, house, trade, manners,
troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away from you,
Your true soul and body appear before me,
They stand forth out of affairs, out of commerce, shops,
work, farms, clothes, the house, buying, selling, eating,
drinking, suffering, dying.
Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you
be my poem,
I whisper with my lips close to your ear,
I have loved many women and men, but I love none better
than you.
O I have been dilatory and dumb,
I should have made my way straight to you long ago,
I should have blabb’d nothing but you, I should have chanted
nothing but you.
I will leave all and come and make the hymns of you,
None has understood you, but I understand you,
None has done justice to you, you have not done justice to
yourself,
None but has found you imperfect, I only find no
imperfection in you,
None but would subordinate you, I only am he who will
never consent to subordinate you,
I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better,
God, beyond what waits intrinsically in yourself.
Painters have painted their swarming groups and the centre-
figure of all,
From the head of the centre-figure spreading a nimbus of
gold-color’d light,
But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head without its
nimbus of gold-color’d light,
From my hand from the brain of every man and woman it
streams, effulgently flowing forever.
O I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you!
You have not known what you are, you have slumber’d upon
yourself all your life,
Your eyelids have been the same as closed most of the time,
What you have done returns already in mockeries,
(Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in
mockeries, what is their return?)
The mockeries are not you,
Underneath them and within them I see you lurk,
I pursue you where none else has pursued you,
Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the
accustom’d routine, if these conceal you from others or
from yourself, they do not conceal you from me,
The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure complexion, if
these balk others they do not balk me,
The pert apparel, the deform’d attitude, drunkenness, greed,
premature death, all these I part aside.
There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied
in you,
There is no virtue, no beauty in man or woman, but as good
is in you,
No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in you,
No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure waits
for you.
As for me, I give nothing to any one except I give the like
carefully to you,
I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than
I sing the songs of the glory of you.
Whoever you are! claim your own at an hazard!
These shows of the East and West are tame compared to you,
These immense meadows, these interminable rivers, you are
immense and interminable as they,
These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of
apparent dissolution, you are he or she who is master or
mistress over them,
Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, elements,
pain, passion, dissolution.
The hopples fall from your ankles, you find an unfailing
sufficiency,
Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by the rest,
whatever you are promulges itself,
Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are provided,
nothing is scanted,
Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what
you are picks its way.
Badlands
by: Marthas Serpas
All over his body wolves send up a mad
chorus to the moon
seeping green
across his arms and his chest
and where his new liver floats up in him
like a mushroom's flat cap.
"I feel like I'm tripping," he says
at a pitch lower than his wife hears,
and then "and I don't believe in God."
No room in that room.
So much white. So much blue.
The wolves cry the great name
into the hallway where a gurney
rolls up and down the tile
looking for someone to play catch with.
Push the wheels straight, pull the cot—
It's my job to take the heat of belief.
On Wednesday
the nurses line up for ashes
in their white Crocs
and Reeboks. Wolfman
wants God so bad
he tattoos not-God—what seems not-God—
on his skin, wants to tell me
he's afraid, that the room squeezes
time like flexible hose,
that he forgets his wife's voice,
that men come in the night
to argue with him about the nature
of stars. There are puddles of stars above
the silver wolves on his chest. Not-God sets
a chair near his bed.
He says thank you and lays
a hand on the skinny arm
and with his moist stare and rough
face tries to convey
how much he trusts the moon
who centers the persistent stars
and how he forgets the soldier sun
who keeps everyone blinking and quiet.
by: Marthas Serpas
All over his body wolves send up a mad
chorus to the moon
seeping green
across his arms and his chest
and where his new liver floats up in him
like a mushroom's flat cap.
"I feel like I'm tripping," he says
at a pitch lower than his wife hears,
and then "and I don't believe in God."
No room in that room.
So much white. So much blue.
The wolves cry the great name
into the hallway where a gurney
rolls up and down the tile
looking for someone to play catch with.
Push the wheels straight, pull the cot—
It's my job to take the heat of belief.
On Wednesday
the nurses line up for ashes
in their white Crocs
and Reeboks. Wolfman
wants God so bad
he tattoos not-God—what seems not-God—
on his skin, wants to tell me
he's afraid, that the room squeezes
time like flexible hose,
that he forgets his wife's voice,
that men come in the night
to argue with him about the nature
of stars. There are puddles of stars above
the silver wolves on his chest. Not-God sets
a chair near his bed.
He says thank you and lays
a hand on the skinny arm
and with his moist stare and rough
face tries to convey
how much he trusts the moon
who centers the persistent stars
and how he forgets the soldier sun
who keeps everyone blinking and quiet.
Dem!god
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THE BOND
My heartfelt gratitude to all readers
(After long nights of endless twist and turn from severe pain, her vision became blurred so she stirred and spoke)
"Where art thou my love?
The candle's glow hath gone
Where art thou my life?
Darkness left me undone"
(Her mate, her fate tightened his embrace and gently whispered in her ear)
"Be calm my love, my sweet
My arms, thou hath never left
My heart, 'tis where you're kept
No darkness there to greet"
(Her limbs had gone cold, her entire being caught in a fatal chill, between chattering teeth she softly complained)
" 'Tis so cold my love
With frozen tears, sleep isn't near
Winter doth come, my life
Freezing my heart, fades my breath i fear"
(Deeply inhaling her sweet scent, memorizing her very essence he tearfully whispered to her)
"Hush my love, my sweetest dear
Heed my word, my word only
Tonight my sweet,I breath to thee
A potent potion of love's elixir"
(Feeling the pain seeping through her bones she softy cried )
"Angrier are the winds my love
Tearing me apart, carries me away
Where art thou my life?
Hold me close or perish I may"
(On his chest he felt her intake of labored breath)
"Naye my love, my mate
To thee i string my heart and soul
To thee i clothe my thoughts and all
Our bond is your band till we reach the heaven's gate...
©Gelina Monaghan
My heartfelt gratitude to all readers
(After long nights of endless twist and turn from severe pain, her vision became blurred so she stirred and spoke)
"Where art thou my love?
The candle's glow hath gone
Where art thou my life?
Darkness left me undone"
(Her mate, her fate tightened his embrace and gently whispered in her ear)
"Be calm my love, my sweet
My arms, thou hath never left
My heart, 'tis where you're kept
No darkness there to greet"
(Her limbs had gone cold, her entire being caught in a fatal chill, between chattering teeth she softly complained)
" 'Tis so cold my love
With frozen tears, sleep isn't near
Winter doth come, my life
Freezing my heart, fades my breath i fear"
(Deeply inhaling her sweet scent, memorizing her very essence he tearfully whispered to her)
"Hush my love, my sweetest dear
Heed my word, my word only
Tonight my sweet,I breath to thee
A potent potion of love's elixir"
(Feeling the pain seeping through her bones she softy cried )
"Angrier are the winds my love
Tearing me apart, carries me away
Where art thou my life?
Hold me close or perish I may"
(On his chest he felt her intake of labored breath)
"Naye my love, my mate
To thee i string my heart and soul
To thee i clothe my thoughts and all
Our bond is your band till we reach the heaven's gate...
©Gelina Monaghan
Joe Shearer
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Joe Sir,
He (Baba Bulleh Shah) is a Sufi Punjabi Poet! Do you understand Punjabi?
(Parul)
I'm going to share a piece of Biblical poetry. This is written by Solomon in the Book of Wisdom.
This is the 3rd poem:
[1] But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
[2] In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be an affliction,
[3] and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
[4] For though in the sight of men they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
[5] Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good,
because God tested them and found them worthy of himself;
[6] like gold in the furnace he tried them,
and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them.
[7] In the time of their visitation they will shine forth,
and will run like sparks through the stubble.
[8] They will govern nations and rule over peoples,
and the Lord will reign over them for ever.
[9] Those who trust in him will understand truth,
and the faithful will abide with him in love,
because grace and mercy are upon his elect,
and he watches over his holy ones....
-Book of Wisdom 3
This is the 3rd poem:
[1] But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
[2] In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be an affliction,
[3] and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
[4] For though in the sight of men they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
[5] Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good,
because God tested them and found them worthy of himself;
[6] like gold in the furnace he tried them,
and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them.
[7] In the time of their visitation they will shine forth,
and will run like sparks through the stubble.
[8] They will govern nations and rule over peoples,
and the Lord will reign over them for ever.
[9] Those who trust in him will understand truth,
and the faithful will abide with him in love,
because grace and mercy are upon his elect,
and he watches over his holy ones....
-Book of Wisdom 3
sms
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Shayri ko ghas samajh kar ... sab gadhe charne lage.......
.
Shayri ko ghas samajh kar ... sab gadhe charne lage.......
.
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Shayri ko ghas samajh kar ... sab gadhe charne lage.......
Shayri aati nahi Shyar banne lage!!
.
Shayri ko ghas samajh kar ... sab gadhe charne lage.......
.
.
Shayri ko ghas samajh kar ... sab gadhe charne lage.......
Shayri aati nahi Shyar banne lage!!
halupridol
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@Nihonjin1051
strange for a Japanese to open a poetry thread yet not post any haiku....
nihonjin my request,, post some quality haikus,,,with explanation offcourse
not one of those haikus in English,,,but the authentic Japanese stuff,,,likes of Basho
strange for a Japanese to open a poetry thread yet not post any haiku....
nihonjin my request,, post some quality haikus,,,with explanation offcourse
not one of those haikus in English,,,but the authentic Japanese stuff,,,likes of Basho
Last edited:
Joe Shearer
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Joe Sir,
He (Baba Bulleh Shah) is a Sufi Punjabi Poet! Do you understand Punjabi?
(Parul)
I was in Ludhiana for eighteen months in 1976-77, then again in 2007. There were a dozen tapes of sufi music and poetry purely for my car audio.
My favourite couplet is probably everybody else's as well; it is such a universal -
Dha dein masjid dha dein mandir
Dha dein jo kuchh deinda
Par kisi da dil na dhain
Rab dilaan vich rehnda.
I am an atheist, but this brings a lump to my throat.
Very nice, but do read Psalm 23, if you haven't already done so.
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Sir, this one is one of my favorite too, infact all his poetry is Gem...I believe this world needs more poets like him to make it a better place....
Chal Way Bullehya Chal O’thay Chaliyay
Jithay Saaray Annay
Na Koi Saadee Zaat PichHanay
Tay Na Koi Saanu Mannay
***
O’ Bulleh Shah let’s go there
Where everyone is blind
Where no one recognizes our caste (or race, or family name)
And where no one believes in us
***
Ab to jaag Musaffir pyare
Raeen gayi latke taare
Kar le aj karni da weera
Mod na ho si aawen tera
***
Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
Do what you have to do, do it today.
You will never be back this way.
Your companions are calling.
Let us go.
***
Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
A pearl, a ruby, the touchstone and dice
With all that you thirst by the waterside.
Awake, dear traveller, you’ve got to move on.
Trailing its stars, the night is gone.
Past, Present, Future
by: Emily Bronte
Tell me, tell me, smiling child,
What the past is like to thee ?
'An Autumn evening soft and mild
With a wind that sighs mournfully.’
Tell me, what is the present hour ?
'A green and flowery spray
Where a young bird sits gathering its power
To mount and fly away.’
And what is the future, happy one ?
'A sea beneath a cloudless sun ;
A mighty, glorious, dazzling sea
Stretching into infinity.’
by: Emily Bronte
Tell me, tell me, smiling child,
What the past is like to thee ?
'An Autumn evening soft and mild
With a wind that sighs mournfully.’
Tell me, what is the present hour ?
'A green and flowery spray
Where a young bird sits gathering its power
To mount and fly away.’
And what is the future, happy one ?
'A sea beneath a cloudless sun ;
A mighty, glorious, dazzling sea
Stretching into infinity.’
A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.
Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.
And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.
- Sheelagh Lennon -
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.
Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.
And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.
- Sheelagh Lennon -
The Road Not Taken
by: Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
by: Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
