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Mori X
That girl your parents don't want you to become
Posts: 2532
Registered: Apr 2006 |
 Posted 05-10-09 01:19 AM IP   
I've been kind of the opposite. My mind is absolutely thundering with verse to the point that I'm unable to function normally most of the time, but the storm is so wild that I can't summon the will to write it down.
The belief that religion is a requirement of morality stinks of sociopathy...
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Aurora_Alighieri
Mr. Glows in the Dark
Posts: 2155
Registered: Apr 2006 |
Posted 05-11-09 01:26 AM IP
Ah, well, you can't have your cake and eat it I suppose. So long as I know you are still interested in the lyrical thread of the forum then I'm satisfied. We'll hear your voice again soon I'm sure.
~Dante~
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Eisenhorn
BACK ON TOPIC!!!!!
Posts: 4955
Registered: May 2006 |
Posted 05-11-09 02:00 PM IP
OBVIOSLY NOT MINE. It's the Lady of Shalott by Tennyson.
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
If a wood chuck could chuck wood.............would anyone care?
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Mori X
That girl your parents don't want you to become
Posts: 2532
Registered: Apr 2006 |
Posted 05-11-09 07:53 PM IP
That goes in 'poetry not the poetry game!' You've broken the chain of poetry bouncing that traces back two years! BAKA!!! I restart:
Regret is a dangerous mistress
Yet I flirt with her from time to time
Thinking time and again "if I had time again"
Thinking to tear at a stitch in time
Peering into the clockwork needlework to see which stitch I dropped
Peering into each thread to see where the fates may have severed it
Searching for the needle the yarn the hook the thread the way to undrop a stitch in time
Trying to avoid embarking upon the nine
Regret is a dangerous mistress and I should ignore her sweet nothings
Should ignore her as she points to the imperfection of my stitchcraft
Should ignore her as she tries to slip me needle yarn hook and thread
I know that while I prod my stitch in vain she unravels other tapestries
Regret is a dangerous mistress yet I entwine my lips with hers
Yet I revel in the sweetness of her nothings
Yet I prod in vain
The belief that religion is a requirement of morality stinks of sociopathy...
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antiklaus
Deviate Master and 10th degree Blackbelt of Gaming no Jutsu
Posts: 1084
Registered: Apr 2006 |
Posted 12-28-09 12:55 AM IP
A thread of thought often leaves me in stitches
Or needles my conscience
Or like a needle in vein
Injects me with a drug
As dangerous as Regret
But just as beloved
I pin my sweet hopes on her slender thread-
bare promises that race through my head-
strong heart that hurts from the tread-
mill grinding away at my bread-
th... tho... though... thought.
That tapestry has been tapped
That cloth has been cut
It's worn, and worn-out
But felt, not enough
I weave not in vain-
glory but in vane
aiming a wind-
ward and lonely path
still untrodden
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