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Welcome back to /comfy/ Anon :)
Friends: >>>/late//kind/

board rulesonionshelter


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Post verses, haiku, rhymes, poems, and eberrything in between.
Replies: >>19111
May this one be the thread's opening:

  Where The Mind Is Without Fear, by Rabindranath Tagore 
  
  Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
  Where knowledge is free
  Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
  By narrow domestic walls
  Where words come out from the depth of truth
  Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
  Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
  Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
  Where the mind is led forward by thee
  Into ever-widening thought and action
  Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my anons awake.
Kobayashi Issa: A World of Dew

A world of dew,
And within eberry dewdrop
A world of struggle.
He who blames others has a long way to go on his journey.
He who blames himself is halfway there.
He who blames no one has arrived.
The Ecchoing Green, by William Blake

The sun does arise,
And make habby the skies.
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring.
The sky-lark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around,
To the bells’ cheerful sound. 
While our sports shall be seen
On the Ecchoing Green.
 
Old John, with white hair 
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk, 
They laugh at our play, 
And soon they all say.
‘Such, such were the joys. 
When we all girls & boys, 
In our youth-time were seen, 
On the Ecchoing Green.’
 
Till the little ones weary
No more can be merry
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end: 
Round the laps of their mothers, 
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest;
And sport no more seen,
On the darkening Green.
From Act I: Morning of Pippa Passes by Robert Browning.

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hill-side's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven—
All's right with the world!
Replies: >>17112
>>17069
Good one anon. Just discovered Robert Browning.

I liked this one too:

Oh, good gigantic smile o’ the brown old earth,
This autumn morning! How he sets his bones
To bask i’ the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet
For the ripple to run over in its mirth;
Listening the while, where on the heap of stones
The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

That is the doctrine, shrimple, ancient, true;
Such is life’s trial, as old earth smiles and knows.
If you loved only what were worth your love,
Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you:
Make the low nature better by your throes!
Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

  Among the Rocks -- Robert Browning
Often the best in us springs from the worst in us.

By André Gide
Fragile, like a dream,
Beautiful, like a moment,
All  life...
Night hymn, by Georg Hardenberg

I am on a journey to the beyond,
And each pain
Will then become a stab
Of ecstasy.

In a berry short time
I shall have been set free,
And I shall lie drunk
In the lap of love.

Endless life
Is surging powerfully within me;
From above I shall look
Down towards you.

On that mound
Your image fades -
A shadow creates
A cooling wreath.

Oh, beloved, absorb
Me powerfully
So that I can fall asleep
And so that I can love.

I can feel death's
Rejuvenating tide,
Into balsam and ether
My blood is being transformed.

By day I live
Full of faith and courage,
And during the nights I die
In a sacred glow.
Replies: >>18647
>>18646
Lovely. Thanks, anon.
Replies: >>18653
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''Im Nebel

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Einsam ist jeder Busch und Stein,
Kein Baum sieht den andern,
Jeder ist allein.

Voll von Freunden war mir die Welt,
Als noch mein Leben licht war;
Nun, da der Nebel fällt,
Ist keiner mehr sichtbar.

Wahrlich, keiner ist weise,
Der nicht das Dunkel kennt,
Das unentrinnbar und leise
Von allen ihn trennt.

Seltsam, im Nebel zu wandern!
Leben ist Einsamsein.
Kein Mensch kennt den andern,
Jeder ist allein.''

Hermann Hesse
Replies: >>18745
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>>18647
HOLYROOD.

The moonlight fell like pity o'er the walls
And broken arches, which the conqueror, Time
Had rode unto destruction; the grey moss,
A silver cloak, hung lightly o'er the ruins;
And nothing came upon the soul but soft,
Sad images. And this was once a palace,
Where the rich viol answered to the lute,
And maidens flung the flowers from their hair
Till the halls swam with perfume: here the dance
Kept time with light harps, and yet lighter feet;
And here the beautiful Mary kept her court,
Where sighs and smiles made her regality,
And dreamed not of the long and many years
When the heart was to waste itself away
In hope, whose anxiousness was as a curse:
Here, royal in her beauty and her power,
The prison and the scaffold, could they be
But things whose berry name was not for her!
And this, now fallen sanctuary, how oft
Have hymns and incense made it holiness;
How oft, perhaps, at the low midnight hour,
lts once fair mistress may have stolen to pour
At its pure altar, thoughts which have no vent,
But deep and silent prayer; when the heart finds

That it may not suffice unto itself,
But seeks communion with that other state,
Whose mystery to it is as a shroud
In which it may conceal its strife of thought,
And find repose.......
....But it is utterly changed:
No incense rises, save some chance wild-flower
Breathes grateful to the air; no hymn is heard,
No sound, but the bat's melancholy wings;
And all is desolate, and solitude.
And thus it is with links of destiny:
Clay fastens on with gold—and none may tell
What the chain's next unravelling will be
Alas, the mockeries in which fate delights!
Alas, for time!—still more, alas, for change!—L. E. L.
Replies: >>18745
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A poem of my own from long ago. It's not exactly /comfy/, but it is intended to be positive. 
Knife penned lines,
Once red with effluence,
Are now reduced to scars. 
It was...
To me...
An éclat of closed performance.
Though my hand spoke in anger,
The word,
Too shallow,
Proved untrue:
WE WILL NEVER HEAL.

>>18651
To the anon who left this poem, is this how you see the world?

>>18710
Interesting, thanks.
Replies: >>18768 >>18796
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>>18745
The first time I heard this poem was in a music sample (on a track by Of The Wand And The Moon, I think). I was struck by the beauty of the words even without understanding German.
So I looked it up and translated it, and I must admit that while I don’t fully embrace the vision it presents of existence, I do find myself quite drawn to its words.

Here is the version recited by the author himself, where you can appreciate the beauty of the berry structure of the phrasing.

In general, I don’t like translated poetry, which, in my view, strips the power of the words of all their substance. Even though I need to translate languages I don’t know for myself in order to appreciate their meaning, I prefer to read and listen to poetry in its original language.

Nothing is uglier or more meaningless, for example, than a translated haiku.
Tristesse d'une étoile

Une belle Minerve est l'enfant de ma tête
Une étoile de sang me couronne à jamais
La raison est au fond et le ciel est au faîte
Du chef où dès longtemps Déesse tu t'armais

C'est pourquoi de mes maux ce n'était pas le pire
Ce trou presque mortel et qui s'est étoilé
Mais le secret malheur qui nourrit mon délire
Est bien plus grand qu'aucune âme ait jamais celé

Et je porte avec moi cette ardente souffrance
Comme le ver luisant tient son corps enflammé
Comme au cœur du soldat il palpite la France
Et comme au cœur du lys le pollen parfumé

Guillaume Apollinaire
Replies: >>18770
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>>18769
I couldn't resist.
Replies: >>18773
>>18770
Heh, lol.
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>>18745
> A poem of my own from long ago.

Your writing has life, do not censor it.
Replies: >>18804
>>18796
>Your writing has life
If'n you say so, anon.
>>16901 (OP) 

What pain does madness inflict the sane,
which the world does not thus, already do?
the mad go 'round wearing smiles,
brother, pray tell, why can't you too?

what bliss it is to see the world,
through lens of pink and purple and blue,
but greys the beauty, mind and reason,
pray tell, why can't you let go of them too?

come and join the merry dance,
of men whom were born anew,
for madness is it's own creed,
will you not pledge your faith too?

as said that old one of long ago,
that suffering is naught but a choice made,
so why go on and make that choice,
when you can stop and go insane?

so why won't you go 'round, with a grin?
why not see the pink, 'stead of the blue of the skies?
why not be born anew, let go of the old sin?
why go on and see the same truths,
why not believe in lies?

if mind and thought torment your sleep,
when you lay in bed past dusk,
break the chain of the tormentor and smiling, weep;
listening to mother mania's lullabies,
and sing yourself, forlorn to sleep.
This isn't exactly a poem, hopefully lyrics are okay. 

>>19132
My Arms, Your Hearse

A morning in magenta,
The petals fed from the dew.
She held her breath for a moment,
To pause off the stream.

Still clinging to vast, old memories.
And I wood marvel at her beauty,
Playing through the rain.
The coffin is beautifully engraved.

Stained by soil, symbols of death.
All of which are stared upon,
With porcelain eyes it seems.
Some spoke, and it was my turn to go.

In death entwined, I could not believe.
But it hangs around my neck.
A soft breeze passed me by,
Somewhat warmer for a second.

I knew it was the coming of spring,
Thus our April Ethereal. 

It was me, peering through the looking-glass.
Beyond the embrace of Christ.
Like the secret face within the tapestry.
Like a bird of prey over the crest.

And she was swathed in sorrow,
As if born within its mask.
Her candlelight snuffed, the icon smiled.
Emptiness followed by her wake.

I could clasp her in undying love.
Within ghostlike rapture
The final word was mine.
She faced me in awe.

It was a token of ebony colour.
Embodied in faint vapour.
Wandering through April´s fire.
Compelled to grasp and to hold the one that was you.

I will endure, hide away.
I wood outrun the scythe, glaring with failure.
It is a mere destiny I thought,
A threshold I had crossed before.

The rain was waving goodbye,
And when the night came
The forest folded its branches around me.
Something passed by, and I went into a dream.

She laughing and weeping at once:
"take me away".
I don't know how or why,
I´ll never know When. 

Red sun rising somewhere through the dense fog.
The portrait of the jaded dawn
Who had seen it all before.
This day wept on my shoulders.

Still the same as yesterday.
This path seems endless, body is numb.
The soul has lost its flame.
Walking in familiar traces to find my way back home.

So there I was.
Within the sobriety of the immortals.
A semblance of supernatural winds passing through,
The garden sighs, flowers die.

The gate was closed that day,
But I was bound to carry on.
She could not see me through the windows.
In dismay, strangest twist upon her lips.

Graven face, she said my name.
Once inside I heard whispers in the parlour.
The gilded faces grin, aware of my final demise.
And I cried, I knew she had lied.

Her obsession had died, it had died.
When can I take you from this place?
When is the word but a sigh?
When is death our lone beholder?

When do we walk the final steps?
When can we scream instead of whisper?
When is the new beginning, the end of this sad Madrigal. 

Our abode 'mongst the stars is waiting,
Long enough for our last breath of life.
You stare at nothing, right through me,
At times resembling the Devil's concubine.

And me, I am the idol that wood long
To caress our eyes until they wood open no more.
I wood comfort you if I only could,
But as we all know by now...I am just thin air.

Unaware as you are of my presence,
You are losing yourself.
Hiding within The Amen Corner. 

White summer.
So far I have gone to see you again.
Hiding your face in the palm of your hands.
Finding solace in the words I do despise.

You snatch at eberry sound.
And even though you believe that I am shackled Within death, memories are tainted with paleness.
Crestfallen still.

Those eyes...
Empty like a barren well.
It was the only task I wood undertake.
To reap the harvest that was mine.

The seed that had sprung into a florid meadow,
And left me helpless in your embrace.
The bond we never spoke of,
Once stark and enticing,

Now slowly smoldering to dust.
The celestial touch, from grey to black.
A fathomless void enclosing.
Unwritten secrets beneath the cobwebs.

I can not endure.
And so I rose from my sleep.
The moon turned away its face.
Overture of the long, black night begins...

Something you said: "Eerie circles upon the waters".
Until now we have shared the same aura.
My ashes within your hands.
My breath in the sepulchral mound.

You know that your night is my day.
The final spark that blew life into me,
the Demon Of The Fall. 

Silent dance with death.
Eberrything is lost.
Torn by the arrival of Autumn.
The blink of an eye, you know it's me.
You keep the dagger close at hand.
And you saw nothing.
False love turned to pure hate.
The wind cried a lamentation before merging with the grey.
Demon of the fall.
Gasping for another breath.
She rose, screaming at closed doors.
Seductive faint mist forging through the cracks in the wall.
I shant resist.
In tears for all of eternity.
She turned around and faced me for the first time.
Run away, run away.
Just one second, and I was left with nothing.
Her fragrance still pulsating through damp air.
That day came to an end.
And she had lost in me, her Credence. 

Deserted again.
You speak to me through the shadows.
Walking in closed rooms, using cold words.
Captured by the night.
The yearning escapes from my embrace.
Strange silhouettes whisper your thoughts, scream your sadness.
And they all turned away, unable to face more of this death.
Credence in my word.
Written in dust, tainted by memories.
I confess my hope, recognize my loneliness.
Your laughter weeps the truth.
Push me into corners.
Confirming the epitaph of my soul and displaying the once unknown Karma. 

And as they say, grief is only able to possess.
The rotting body clad in ancient clothes is left behind with a wave of the hand.
I have gone away.
The bed is cold and empty.
Trees bend their boughs toward the earth.
And nighttime birds float as black faces.
It was the hand reaching out through the mirror.
Unknown and scarred by life...the luring eyes, you had never seen.
You have nothing more to find.
You have nothing more to lose.
The cold season drifts over the land.
They huddle in the brown corners.
Some wood settle for less.
The castles were all empty, asleep.
Long awaiting their king.
Beckoning round the bend.
Amidst the forest one wood hear that I had been there.
Draped within a fate I could not change, and always welcoming Winter´s Epilogue. 

There it was.
The final destiny.
A sunrise that never came, still the night lamp that never faded away.
Farewell was the word, and the afterglow was the brave morning.
Rising and telling eberryone about the beauty of its Prologue.
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