Poems - Tribute to the greatest.

[Don Draper]

For Anyone who has ever lost a Loved One

[SIZE=+2]"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die."[/SIZE]

~ Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004)​

 

[Yoga Face]

dark and mysterious lyrics by the greatest rock star poet of our day David Bowie


We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed

I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died alone, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

 

[Don Draper]

Lord Byron has a place here as much as Brother Lenny

[SIZE=+2]"The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it’s done –
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it’s real,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,
I’m back on Boogie Street.
You lose your grip, and then you slip
Into the Masterpiece.
And maybe I had miles to drive,
And promises to keep:
You ditch it all to stay alive,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

Confined to sex, we pressed against
The limits of the sea:
I saw there were no oceans left
For scavengers like me.
I made it to the forward deck.
I blessed our remnant fleet –
And then consented to be wrecked,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

I’m turning tricks, I’m getting fixed,
I’m back on Boogie Street.
I guess they won’t exchange the gifts
That you were meant to keep.
And quiet is the thought of you,
The file on you complete,
Except what we forgot to do,
A Thousand Kisses Deep.

And sometimes when the night is slow,
The wretched and the meek,
We gather up our hearts and go,
A Thousand Kisses Deep."[/SIZE]​

 

[Don Draper]

Speaking of the Refined and Distinguished Mr. David Robert Jones (aka Bowie)

[SIZE=+2]

"Time - He's waiting in the wings
He speaks of senseless things
His script is you and me, boy

Time - He flexes like a whore
Falls wanking to the floor
His trick is you and me, boy

Time - In Quaaludes and red wine
Demanding Billy Dolls
And other friends of mine
Take your time

The sniper in the brain, regurgitating drain
Incestuous and vain, and many other last names
I look at my watch it say 9:25 and I think "Oh God I'm still alive"

We should be on by now
We should be on by now

You - are not a victim
You - just scream with boredom
You - are not evicting time

Chimes - Goddamn, you're looking old
You'll freeze and catch a cold
'Cause you've left your coat behind
Take your time
Breaking up is hard, but keeping dark is hateful
I had so many dreams, I had so many breakthroughs
But you, my love, were kind, but love has left you dreamless
The door to dreams was closed, your park was real and greenless
Perhaps you're smiling now, smiling through this darkness
But all I have to give is guilt for dreaming

We should be on by now
We should be on by now."​

[/SIZE]

 

[Yoga Face]

"Lord Byron has a place here as much as Brother Lenny" Don Draper


not sure what you mean

i thought Brother Lennys poem was interesting but simplistic in its meter and rhyming

myself i am not a Lord Byron fan but he was totally commited to sexual exploration and wrote his memoirs while dying of sex desease

S and M, women, boys , orgies and when he could not get it for free he paid for it

indeed, a lot of his poetry was written while on a european sex trip

and the women back home adored his wild (for the day)and romantic poetry and treated him like a rock star

 

[Yoga Face]

The Lake Isle Of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats



I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.




my three favorite lines of poetry are highlighted


"noon a purple glow" is meant to be taken literally as he is referring purple flowers i believe

 

[buttercup]

"Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die."
~ Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004)

But O! for the touch of your vanished hand,
For the sound of your voice that is still.

 

[Don Draper]

"Lord Byron has a place here as much as Brother Lenny" Don Draper

not sure what you mean. I thought Brother Lennys poem was interesting but simplistic in its meter and rhyming...and the women back home adored his wild (for the day)and romantic poetry and treated him like a rock star

I daresay that if Byron were alive today, he'd be a fan of Brother Lenny's as I'm sure he is reciprocally.

In the same fashion that Cohen presents himself in concert and is greeted with cheers and applause much as a rock star is, I find that the compliment fits the both of them.

 

[Ben Hogan]

I also enjoy good writing in all its forms. Some of the best stuff has been set to music. Here's one of my favourites (lyrics by Tony Asher; music by Brian Wilson).

If you're not familiar with this Beach Boys classic. I urge you to see it out.

"God Only Knows"

I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I'll make you so sure about it

God only knows what I'd be without you

If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me

God only knows what I'd be without you

God only knows what I'd be without you

If you should ever leave me
Well life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me

God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows what I'd be without you
God only knows
God only knows what I'd be without you

 

[Yoga Face]

poetry is

an echo

dripping morning dew

from the


veils of the evening

into the heart of a

shadow


i hi jacked this quote, changed it to make it my own


now do not ask me what it means it just sounds good

yet it seems to work

poetry does not have to make sense any more than a Rothco painting

learn to enjoy the absence of rules and let the colours wash over you


this one sold for 70 million $ and is called white center (should be called fools and their money are soon parted)

 

[Yoga Face]

i think this is an amazing poem in many ways

 

[LuxeLadyAmber]

I never thought I'd be sharing poetry here, but a couple of my faves...

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief

turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.

-- David Whyte
from Where Many Rivers Meet


Stanyan Street,
Rod McKuen
1.
You lie bent up in embryo sleep
below the painting of the blue fisherman
without a pillow.
The checkered cover kicked and tangled on the floor
the old house creaking now
a car going by
the wind
a fire engine up the hill.

I've disentangled myself from you
moved silently,
groping in the dark for cigarettes,
and now three cigarettes later
still elated
still afraid
I sit across the room watching you -
the light from the street lamp coming through
the shutters
hysterical patterns flash on the wall sometimes
when a car goes by
otherwise there is no change.
Not in the way you lie curled up.
Not in the sounds that never come from you.
Not in the discontent I feel.

You've filled completely
this first November day
with Sausalito and sign language
canoe and coffee
ice cream and your wide eyes.
And now unable to sleep**
because the day is finally going home
because your sleep has locked me out
I watch you and wonder at you.

I know your face by touch when it's dark
I know the profile of your sleeping face
the sound of you sleeping.

Sometimes I think you were all sound
kicking free of covers
and adjusting shutters
moving about in the bathroom
taking twenty minutes of our precious time.

I know the hills
and gullys of your body
the curves
the turns.

I have total recall of you
and Stanyan Street
because I know it will be important later.

It's quiet now.
Only the clock,
moving toward rejection tomorrow
breaks the stillness.

 

[Yoga Face]

I never thought I'd be sharing poetry here, but a couple of my faves...

The Well of Grief

Those who will not slip beneath
the still surface on the well of grief

turning downward through its black water
to the place we cannot breathe

will never know the source from which we drink,
the secret water, cold and clear,

nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins
thrown by those who wished for something else.

-- David Whyte
from Where Many Rivers Meet

i spent a weekend with david whyte


i enjoyed his readings but found his quiet and cold personality somewhat intimidating

so i never read my poetry in the shared reading group

he was supposed to teach us to write poetry but did no such thing IMHO


he would make a bad teacher


when he read that poem it was called the well of desire

 

[LuxeLadyAmber]

Yes, I suppose poetic brilliance does not necessarily translate into teaching abilities! Still, would have been great to hear some of his lesser known works....

i spent a weekend with david whyte


i enjoyed his readings but found his quiet and cold personality somewhat intimidating

so i never read my poetry in the shared reading group

he was supposed to teach us to write poetry but did no such thing IMHO


he would make a bad teacher


when he read that poem it was called the well of desire

 

[Yoga Face]

Yes, I suppose poetic brilliance does not necessarily translate into teaching abilities! Still, would have been great to hear some of his lesser known works....

contact many rivers for upcoming dates

he read this by yeats


i interpret the " the fire in his head" as his desire to write poetry
and the trout is inspiration and the girl is a poem the inspiration evolved into


The Song of Wandering Aengus


I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

 

[Yoga Face]

there is one of the reason I don't post much here, because of stupid replies.



Nope not british at all lol...

u have to learn to ignore them or u can actually put them on a ignore list then their comments are blocked from your view

 

[Don Draper]

Master Auden, yet again...

[SIZE=+2]

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.​

[/SIZE]

 

[Yoga Face]

[SIZE=+2]

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.​

[/SIZE]

never appreciated auden

why do u like him so much?

 

[Don Draper]

never appreciated auden

why do u like him so much?

Personally, I refer to Auden as a "Realistic Romantic". I very much admire his sense of humor and adoration that says: "Love is magnificent but please be aware that it'll also kick the shit out of you."

He never forgot to remind you of how tough life is but that it's also worth living fully. Astute social commentary and never afraid of 'ugly', he saw that existence is epic and even sitting on the toilet can be memorably comic.

 

[buttercup]

The Golden Journey to Samarkand. James Elroy Flecker


The Merchants (together)
Away, for we are ready to a man!
Our camels sniff the evening and are glad.
Lead on, O Master of the Caravan:
Lead on the Merchant-Princes of Bagdad.

The Pilgrims
White on a throne or guarded in a cave
There lives a prophet who can understand
Why men are born: but surely we are brave,
Who take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

A Merchant
We travel not for trafficking alone:
By hotter winds our fiery hearts are fanned:
For lust of knowing what should not be known
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.

The Watchman (consoling the women)
What would ye, ladies? It was ever thus.
Men are unwise and curiously planned.
A Woman
They have their dreams, and do not think of us.

Voices of the Caravan (in the distance, singing)
We take the Golden Road to Samarkand.




Samarkand, the most romantic place-name on earth, is in Uzbekistan. The modern Samarkand has a McDonalds - but it's a fake.