Poems

[lovemygirl]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/ ... y-brain-34
Emily Dickinson...


I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,
And Mourners to and fro
Kept treading–treading–till it seemed
That Sense was breaking through–

And when they all were seated,
A Service, like a Drum–
Kept beating–beating–till I thought
My Mind was going numb–

And then I heard them lift a Box
And creak across my Soul
With those same Boots of Lead, again,
Then Space–began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,
And Being, but an Ear,
And I, and Silence, some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here–


And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down–
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing–then–

[lovemygirl]

...I wrote a melody to these words. The lyrics alone have the potential in my mind to be a number one hit song!....

[five2one]

...I wrote a melody to these words. The lyrics alone have the potential in my mind to be a number one hit song!....

Lol.. very good poem, surprises me, though recently was exposed to one of her poems, and felt it was very good. (Some tv show, I think.)

Not envious of those in the music business, and do not recommend it.

OTOH, there are really good groups that stay relatively local, like here in Texas, one of my favorite groups is Butthole Surfers. Incredible songs, and incredible stage play, yet all without the ... being thrown to the masses bit.

Personally, I like to write, but stay anonymous. Most I throw out. I feel the writings which stay on the internet are good, though I have hundreds of names behind them. Doing poetry readings in Austin, about 20 years ago, was a blast. While not music, there are similar musical opportunities out there, depending on your city. (Austin was very good at this.)

As for internet, you can start your own youtube channel, just for your music. Probably would take some time to catch on.

[lovemygirl]

Thursday, March 8, 2012 - 3:13 pm
Image by Esâm Khattak / Flickr

THE POETRY RADIO PROJECT
“Song of the Reed”
BY RUMI
As translated by Coleman Barks:

Listen to the story told by the reed,
of being separated.

"Since I was cut from the reedbed,
I have made this crying sound.

Anyone apart from someone he loves
understands what I say.

Anyone pulled from a source
longs to go back.

At any gathering I am there,
mingling in the laughing and grieving,

a friend to each, but few
will hear the secrets hidden

within the notes. No ears for that.
Body flowing out of spirit,

spirit up from body: no concealing
that mixing. But it's not given us

to see the soul. The reed flute
is fire, not wind. Be that empty."

Hear the love fire tangled
in the reed notes, as bewilderment

melts into wine. The reed is a friend
to all who want the fabric torn

and drawn away. The reed is hurt
and salve combining. Intimacy

and longing for intimacy, one
song. A disastrous surrender

and a fine love, together. The one
who secretly hears this is senseless.

A tongue has one customer, the ear.
A sugarcane flute has such effect

because it was able to make sugar
in the reedbed. The sound it makes

is for everyone. Days full of wanting,
let them go by without worrying

that they do. Stay where you are
inside such a pure, hollow note.

Every thirst gets satisfied except
that of these fish, the mystics,

who swim a vast ocean of grace
still somehow longing for it!

No one lives in that without
being nourished every day.

But if someone doesn't want to hear
the song of the reed flute,

it's best to cut conversation
short, say good-bye, and leave.

[jamestkirk]

Phil Ochs-The Highwayman (poem by Alfred Noyes)


a wonderful live performance by Phil..!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9fWjzYiRUE


Lyrics
The wind was a torrent of darkness
Among the gusty trees
The moon was a ghostly galleon
Tossed upon cloudy seas
And the road was a ribbon of moonlight
Over the purple moor
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding
Yes, the highwayman came riding
Up to the old inn door
Over the cobbles he clattered
And clashed in the darkened yard
And he tapped with his whip at the window
But all was locked and barred
So he whistled a tune to the window
And who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black eyed daughter
Bess the landlord's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love knot
Into her long black hair
One kiss, my bonny sweetheart
For I'm after a prize tonight
But I shall be back with the yellow gold
Before the morning light
Yet if they press me sharply
Harry me through the day
Oh, then look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
And I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell should bar the way
He did not come at the dawning
No, he did not come at the noon
And out of the tawny sunset
before the rise of the moon
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon
Looping the purple moor
Oh a redcoat troop came marching, marching, marching
King George's men came marching
Up to the old inn door
And they bound the landlord's daughter
with many a sniggering jest
And they bound the musket beside her
With the barrel beneath her breast
Now keep good watch and they kissed her
She heard the dead man say
"Oh look for me by moonlight
Watch for me by moonlight
And I'll come to thee by moonlight
Though Hell should bar the way"
Look for me by moonlight
Hoof beats ringing clear
Watch for me by moonlight
Were they deaf that they did not hear
For he rode on the gypsy highway
She breathed one final breath
Then her finger moved in the moonlight
Her musket shattered the moonlight
And it shattered her breast in the moonlight
And warned him with her death
Oh he turned; he spurred on to the west
He did not know who stood
Out with her black hair a flowing down
Drenched with her own red blood
Oh not 'til the dawn had he heard it
And his face grew gray to hear
How Bess the landlord's daughter
The landlord's black eyed daughter
Had watched for her love in the moonlight
And died in the darkness there
Back he spurred like a madman
Shrieking a curse to the sky
With the white road smoking behind him
And his rapier brandished high
Blood red were his spurs in the golden noon
Wine red his velvet coat
When they shot him down on the highway
Down like a dog on the highway
And he lay in his blood on the highway
With a bunch of lace at his throat
And still on a winter's night they say
When the wind is in the trees
When the moon is a ghostly galleon
Tossed upon cloudy seas
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight
Over the purple moor
Oh the highwayman comes riding, riding, riding
Yes the highwayman comes riding
Up to the old inn door.
Songwriters: Phil Ochs
The Highwayman lyrics © The Bicycle Music Company

[jamestkirk]

Loreena McKennitt's brilliant music set to The Highwayman...powerfully beautiful

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qI_PMcFnZZw

[jamestkirk]

Loreena's music set to The Lady Of Shalott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson...love this one

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJHA8uzvXS0

[jamestkirk]

Emily Dickenson's "Because I Could Not Stop For Death"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nPoVzH20ZeA


Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Reprinted by permission of the publishers and the Trustees of Amherst College from THE POEMS OF EMILY DICKINSON: READING EDITION, edited by Ralph W. Franklin, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Copyright © 1998, 1999 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College. Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by R.W. Franklin (Harvard University Press, 1999)

[jamestkirk]

Phil Ochs "The Bells" (Edgar Alan Poe)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p3FzveBu_34

[jamestkirk]

Bells
Edgar Allan Poe, 1809 - 1849



Hear the sledges with the bells--
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
II.

Hear the mellow wedding bells
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
III.

Hear the loud alarum bells--
Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now--now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear, it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows ;
Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells--
Of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!
IV.

Hear the tolling of the bells--
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy meaning of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people--ah, the people--
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone--
They are neither man nor woman--
They are neither brute nor human--
They are Ghouls:--
And their king it is who tolls ;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A pæan from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the pæan of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the pæan of the bells--
Of the bells :
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the sobbing of the bells ;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
From The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, vol. II, 1850. For other versions, please visit The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore site: http://www.eapoe.org/works/poems/index.htm#B.

[five2one]

Maybe

We speak and write and live in a code
No one else sees
but Us

because we are Jacob "the deceiver"
"the supplanter"
the Fake Rival
the Adversary

Struggling with our own self
on The Hill

Until...
male and female alike we discover
that singular new name
we were always looking for

Maybe...
in a Thousand Years
hiding
maybe...
the thousand years is over

-- By Ambiguous (aka, "Anonymous")

[five2one]

Noah got his shovel and started digging
down in Texas
Austin
Corpus Christi

In the 90s

He dug a hole for the Necronomicon of Old
Not a word added
Not a word taken away
That is how he reads it

no interpretation
just
what
it
says

I call forth the Zombie Army
to scatter backwards flesh onto their bones

the Blood Red Moon
of the ancient site
Two Thousand Seven
or
Eight
I forget

Drums

Secret Teleportation

by Anonymous

[five2one]

I Work for Heavenly Central Intelligence


Is the struggle now with Dream
with Creation
Its' self
My Old Friend

Or is it with Satan
Donald Trump
and his
Skeleton Crew
of Devil Daniels
Gobbles
and
Drew

I am Morpheus
Shaper of Form
I am Hypnos
God of the Underworld

God of Dream

A Two Faced God
of
The Doors

Creation
I Plead with You
Will Trump Fire that Missile
and Destroy the World
to Save His Soul?

Or will Kim Jung Un

Two Fools with Two Bad Haircuts


The Beast & the False Prophet, Perhaps?
Or, Which is Which?

North Korea Holding Fast to the Communist Lies
of a
New Tomorrow
That is Never Going to Come

or
Donald Trump
and His Thousand Year Reich

He Already Gave Up On

All This

Happens
Fifteen Hundred Years Ago
A Thousand Years Ago
Five Hundred Years Ago

Do I Have
Just a Little
How Does That Song Go
Of That
Bill Cosby
Singing His Tune
The Eighties
Born Again

Satan Activists
Hypnosis
Milton Ericskon
Five Four Three

That Is My Name

But
Wait A While

Let Me Make It Off to Peru
with My Wife

The Keeper of Insanity

The Cops Are Coming
They Believe Roswell Is Real
We Persuaded the Russian Government
That UFOs Are Real

And Lizard People Have Taken Over

There Is Plenty of Evidence

They Swear
Mad

Impeachment

Hell

No

A Woman's Wrath
Is Worse
Than
Hell

And You Know What That Means
My Dear

Let's Go To Peru

[five2one]

Forces of Fire and Darkness


Come to Me
Water
My Old Friend

I Summon You
to

Listen to My Voice

I Bring You Sacrificial Offerings
to Chew on
For Awhile

A Cosmic Close Call
A Red
A
Blue

The Full Moon Rises Over the High Wheat

The Children Hold Out Their Fingers
With Long Scorpion Hair
Not Knowing
What
It Means

Darkness, Water
Fire
My Old Friend
Come to Me

Until We Meet Again

Bring Forth Now Our Children's Edible Sweets
Call to the Winds

We Walk With Dark Birds

Screaming in the Wind

Bring Us Their Hearts in Their Claws
Bring Us Their Eyes

Sing Us A Song

Hello Water
Hello Darkness

Bring Me Their Heads

We Bring to You This Knight
Under the Moon
Endless Fields of Burning Pumpkins
Smiling

Bring Us Your Due

Burning Man