waxing poetic

[law]

The Hollow Men

T. S. Eliot (1925)
I


We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar


Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;


Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


II


Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.


Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --


Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


III


This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.


Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


IV


The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms


In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river


Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


V


Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.


Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow


For Thine is the Kingdom


Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow


Life is very long


Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the


This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

[law]

The Second Coming -- W. B. Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.



Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

[law]

A Noiseless Patient Spider a poem
by Walt Whitman



A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

[Ken]

The Fight
By Kenneth J. Nasi Jr.

Little flies,
little gnats,
running rampant
round my hat.
Through my hair,
getting snared,
they make my head their lair.

It's now a fight,
to set things right,
I must bring these bugs out
into the light!
I'll force my might,
onto this blight,
I'll eradicate them from my sight.

I drop the bomb,
now all those annoying bugs are gone!

[Rob G]

The Urge

As I lay upon my bed,
I feel a surge my face goes red
I know the call, I know it well
I search for lotion, grease or gel
It summons me, i dont how,
my hand responds, the time is now
my thoughts dwell on lands once traveled
mountains high and valleys narrow
the heart beat quickened, the barrell loaded
a well spring formed and all is coated
The urge is gone and slowly falling
but tomorro once again i'll hear its calling

[dave beck]

a winter ocean (by Dave Beck)

they float as ice on a winter ocean. they are carried bythe currents and the winds, carried through this ocean of blood. these people, these creatures, thirst for water. they remember its sweet taste in thier mouths, thier nostrils. it covers them. when the clouds build, they gather. they reach up from thier prison hoping for water to fall. cries of delight as the first raindrops are felt. they thrash in ecstasy, catching the precious nector in thier gaping mouths. soon it is over. the cloud disperse to the sound of angry bellowing. they are left in silence with only the pain of thier thirst to remind them. it reminds them of a time when they walked on land. a time when people cared for one and other and there was more to life then just blood. that is all gone now. now they float as ice on a winter ocean, an ocean of blood.

[Ken]

Tanks for the Memories

Tanks, tanks,
Rolling along,
Kicking up dust,
Singing a song.
Blast! Blast!
Boom! Boom!
Purveyors of
destruction,
Harbingers of
Doom!

Little squirrel,
Running along.
“I can’t look for nuts with this horrible song!”
Crush, crush
the little body of the squirrel
Is now a little bloody puddle.
“Ooooh, that’s horrible,” cried a spying crow.
A red-hot, supersonic shell crashed into its bow.
Oh no!
Dead
crow!

Canadian Geese flying in a wedge.
Nature’s dive-bombers.
Shit on a ledge.
Poop covered tanks rolling along.
Flame-thrower tank takes the Canadian Geese on.
Poor little
burnt,
incinerated
Canadian Geese.
Their little
burnt
bodies falling into the crease.

Nature ran that day,
lest it be crushed.
Blast! Blast!
Boom! Boom!
The song moved on and left a desiccated hush.

[Rob G]

That was great ken, Heres another one.

----------------------------------------------------
And now a nice Jewish Poem
----------------------------------------------------

Slaves
Hebrews born to serve, to the pharaoh
Heed
To his every word, live in fear
Faith
Of the unknown one, the deliverer
Wait
Something must be done, four hundred years

So let it be written
So let it be done
I'm sent here by the chosen one
So let it be written
So let it be done
To kill the first born pharaoh son
I'm creeping death

Now
Let my people go, land of goshen
Go
I will be with thee, bush of fire
Blood
Running red and strong, down the nile
Plague
Darkness three days long, hail to fire

Die by my hand
I creep across the land
Killing first born man
Die by my hand
I creep across the land
Killing first born man
I
Rule the midnight air the destroyer
Born
I shall soon be there, deadly mass
I
Creep the steps and flood final darkness
Blood
Lambs blood painted door, i shall pass

[Ken]

MANHOOD

A mans usefulness depends
upon living up to his ideals
In so far as he can.
It is hard to fail but it is
worse never to have tried to succeed.
All daring and courage,
all iron endurance, all misfortune
make for a finer nobler type
of manhood.
Only those are fit to live
who do not fear to die
and none are fit to die
who have shrunk from the
joy of life and the
duty of life.

Theodore Roosevelt

[Darth Deucedropper]

That was a great poem. I actually did an anylitical paper on that.

[Ken]

Melancholy

Chances missed, squandered.
Opportunities lost.
Times when I should have done things,
left undone.
Not wise enough,
too confused,
Disoriented,
Timid,
Scared,
Misunderstood,
Prejudiced and angry due to my fear.
Now I sit and look at pictures,
Alone,
in a white room.
I’ve built a life for myself but at what cost?
Too much
Apathy
led to too many
decisions
to sit on the
sidelines and experience.
Bitter
at the
lack of memories I don’t have that I want,
or memories I don’t want..
My fear,
naiveté,
and sometimes blind trust
helped keep me away.
Now I lament.
Now I’m
stuck
in this pattern.
It’s too late to change the
foundation.
I can build new memories,
but always
there is this
bitter Melancholy.

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by Kenneth Nasi