From time to time a poem

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25 Jul 2016 11:24 #249219 by user15542
Replied by user15542 on topic From time to time a poem
Lights Out – Edward Thomas

I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.

Many a road and track
That, since the dawn’s first crack,
Up to the forest brink,
Deceived the travellers,
Suddenly now blurs,
And in they sink.

Here love ends,
Despair, ambition ends;
All pleasure and all trouble,
Although most sweet or bitter,
Here ends in sleep that is sweeter
Than tasks most noble.

There is not any book
Or face of dearest look
That I would not turn from now
To go into the unknown
I must enter, and leave, alone,
I know not how.

The tall forest towers;
Its cloudy foliage lowers
Ahead, shelf above shelf;
Its silence I hear and obey
That I may lose my way
And myself.
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30 Jul 2016 15:08 #250076 by Arkayik
Replied by Arkayik on topic From time to time a poem
Over the mountain
tall trails
brake lights and gas
speed to no avail
rocky bottom diving in
high mountain lakes
challenges arise too
situations in joy
signals made yet
decisions awry
life carries on wherein
calmness abide
inelegant solutions in
retrospect to evade
brute force or finesse
do aptitudes advise
peace and good order
illusions soon fade
Noblesse oblige
universally inferred
life is the path yet
no exit defers
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31 Jul 2016 13:30 #250186 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
I find myself thinking of this more often nowadays...

'Dulce Et Decorum Est' - Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

Understanding in the place of indifference
Compassion in the place of cruelty
Action in the place of apathy
Peace in the place of violence
Mercy in the place of vengeance
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31 Jul 2016 13:44 - 31 Jul 2016 14:28 #250188 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
Grateful

Thank you, for the times you bore some of my weight upon yourself
and helped me walk through the darkness
I couldn’t know how heavy each of my problems were
and how much they may have slowed you down,
but I know I would be further behind, if not for you.

Thank you, for seeing that I have failed to mould myself
into the shape in which others have fit so well
and for daring to throw all the rules out of the window
when I made the hardest decision,
the future doesn’t seem quite so arid now.

And
Thank you, for being honest with me regardless of my state
especially when I was refusing to be honest with myself,
and for not hiding your suffering when I was busy with my own
so that in return I could support you,
I am grateful to call you my friend.

Understanding in the place of indifference
Compassion in the place of cruelty
Action in the place of apathy
Peace in the place of violence
Mercy in the place of vengeance
Last edit: 31 Jul 2016 14:28 by Edan.
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07 Aug 2016 09:59 #251166 by Silas Mercury
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08 Aug 2016 20:24 #251330 by Brick
Replied by Brick on topic From time to time a poem
Holiday Memories (circa 1950) - Peter Dixon

Not for us the airport, charters to the sun
Marbella or Greek Islands
Benidorm and fun...
Not for us paella, octopus or squid
drinks as long as 'check-ins'
pizzas big as Spain.

No, we all went to Skinningrove
deep in Yorkshire land,
Yorkshire pud and gravy
Yorkshire wind and sand,
slag heaps grey as gasworks
beaches strewn with coal
fossils touched with mica
Brontosaurus old.

We played in ironstone culverts
we slalomed in the slag.
Caught fish in icy rockpools
anemone and crab -
we picnicked by lost railroads
viaduct and mine
built castles out of rockstone
red as autumn wine...
We hid in sheds of bramble
spun on rusted wheels
rims a rime of ochre
thistles, stings and squeals.

We caught the breath of mineshafts
their gape alive with fear
-attacked with hazel coppice
arrow, bow and spear.

So thank you for Minorca
where people go to play
but I remember Skinningrove
El Skinningrove
Olé!

Apprentice to Maitre Chevalier Jedi Alexandre Orion

IP Journal / AP Journal / Open Journal

'The only contest any of us should be engaged in is with ourselves, to be better than yesterday'

- Knight Senan
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10 Aug 2016 09:58 - 10 Aug 2016 10:02 #251624 by Brick
Replied by Brick on topic From time to time a poem
There was a young man of Japan
Whose limericks never would scan.
When asked why this was,
He replied "It's because
I always try to fit as many syllables into the last line as ever I possibly can."

:laugh:

Apprentice to Maitre Chevalier Jedi Alexandre Orion

IP Journal / AP Journal / Open Journal

'The only contest any of us should be engaged in is with ourselves, to be better than yesterday'

- Knight Senan
Last edit: 10 Aug 2016 10:02 by Brick.
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20 Aug 2016 20:46 - 20 Aug 2016 21:07 #253153 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
Well... finally another non-poem...

~~~~

The sound of a gong woke me from my sleep. It was not loud, but it was loud enough to fill the endless space with a perfect sound.
When the ringing of one ended, the gong would be struck again. The usually silent chamber had become a space made beautiful only through sound.

I could not remember having been tired, nor could I remember there being a cushion here on which to sleep; the space however always found a way to cater to one’s needs.
I lay there briefly, trying to remember if I had ever seen a gong or bowl in the cathedral, but darkness filled most corners both of the sanctuary and of my memory.

Raising myself from the cushion, I sought the direction of the sound. It was difficult to tell just how far away the gong was sounding, and from which direction, and it took walking in a circle to ascertain the direction from whence it came, but I followed it thereafter into a smaller space.

Beneath my bare feet were tiles, refreshingly cool after the warmth of the main sanctum, I stood for a moment to enjoy them.

The walls here could be seen too and were painted gold, glittering a little in the low light of a plain chandelier; five candles flickering. They felt appropriate for the warm tone of the gong that was still enveloping the room.

Before me, in the centre of the room, was a square and shallow pool, raised slightly from the ground and tiled as the rest of the room. I sat on the edge and looked down into the water… it was perfectly clear, but I noticed that it seemed to ripple slightly despite nothing touching it.

I watched it for several minutes, before it became clear that the sound of the gong within the room, echoing as it was off the tiles, was causing the water to undulate and move. It was as though the sound of the gong was emanating closely above the surface of the water, as every time the gong was ‘struck’ there would be a circle of ripples extending out from the origin of the noise.

The lack of a physical gong did not disturb me… things did not work exactly as one would expect within the cathedral, but it did cause me to ponder why it would bring me here. I was alone today, but for the noise.

Watching the ripple rings, I thought about the pastime of skimming stones across the water… each time the stone touches the surface a ripple would start, spreading further and further out, each ring eventually touching the next. Here, there was no stone, only sound… but things are connected, and whether they touch or not, one thing can still influence another… separated even by space or time.

The sound, the echoes, the water, the rings, me. All things connected, even when they do not touch. And the lessons I have received from Him, and others, will continue to cause ripples on the water of my life, even when I am alone.

Understanding in the place of indifference
Compassion in the place of cruelty
Action in the place of apathy
Peace in the place of violence
Mercy in the place of vengeance
Last edit: 20 Aug 2016 21:07 by Edan.
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24 Aug 2016 22:59 #253647 by Edan
Replied by Edan on topic From time to time a poem
You do not need me

You do not need me
Though I know you cling on
And hope I might lead the way
For you; and even though I walk behind,
Over your shoulder you look to see
If I am still in your shadow.

You do not need me
Though I know you call me
Whenever it gets tougher
For you; and alone silently pray
That I might be the solution
To take all that suffering away.

You do not need me
And I know you give me credit
For all the times you made it
Yourself; I didn’t actually do
It for you, only helped you find
The strength to bear it.

Understanding in the place of indifference
Compassion in the place of cruelty
Action in the place of apathy
Peace in the place of violence
Mercy in the place of vengeance
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30 Aug 2016 19:36 #254735 by Wescli Wardest
The Charge of the Light Brigade
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
“Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!” he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II
“Forward, the Light Brigade!”
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Someone had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV
Flashed all their sabres bare,
Flashed as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right through the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the sabre stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell.
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

Monastic Order of Knights
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