Reaper's Poetry Minute - Printable Version

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Printable Version

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Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-14-2010

I Have A Rendezvous With Death

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the airâ
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breathâ
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-14-2010

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - squirt - 05-14-2010

Somewhat dark, but not bad.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-14-2010

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-14-2010

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead mean naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Through they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - squirt - 05-14-2010

You know what? I just finished watching The Big Lebowski and I gotta say -- those poems summed it up nicely. Death.

What a shitty fucking movie. Why the FUCK does everyone rave about that piece of shit movie?

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-14-2010

I liked it. It's nothing spectacular, mind you, but it's no Zoolander.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - BIRD33 - 05-14-2010

squirt Wrote:You know what? I just finished watching The Big Lebowski and I gotta say -- those poems summed it up nicely. Death.

What a shitty fucking movie. Why the FUCK does everyone rave about that piece of shit movie?

You are too stupid to get it.No shock.Great movie.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - squirt - 05-14-2010

Reaper Wrote:I liked it. It's nothing spectacular, mind you, but it's no Zoolander.

Jeff was also in Men Who Stare at Goats. Another total shit movie.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

When the Reaper comes calling

When the reaper comes calling on that fateful day
How shall I react, whatever shall I say?
Will I invite him in as I would an old friend?
Perhaps rail at him “From my body, my soul you’ll have to rend!”

Will he have pity and just let me be?
Or stoically carry out his eternal duty?
Will I try to cheat him as others have tried?
Or simply submit as everything else that has died?

Will he rather just come as a thief in the night?
Making it unable for me to put up a fight?
Maybe I’ll give a sly smile for only him to see
And see him in return smiling right back at me

Reaper's Poetry Minute - BIRD33 - 05-15-2010

I'm not Robin Williams and this isnt Dead Poets Society.Seriously.Take you angst elsewhere.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

BIRD33 Wrote:I'm not Robin Williams and this isnt Dead Poets Society.Seriously.Take you angst elsewhere.

You'd much rather read the 15 million threads having to do with the Blondie situation?

Thank you for your comments. Kindly don't let the door hit you on the way out of the thread.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - BIRD33 - 05-15-2010

I admire your sticktoituvnous but give me a fucking break, sir.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

BIRD33 Wrote:I admire your sticktoituvnous but give me a fucking break, sir.

/shrug

I tire of reading the same thing over...and over...and over....

This place could use something different. If you disagree with the majority of the content, feel free to contribute. Limericks, haikus, whatever floats your boat.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

I strove with none

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm'd both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - BIRD33 - 05-15-2010

Reaper Wrote:/shrug

I tire of reading the same thing over...and over...and over....

This place could use something different. If you disagree with the majority of the content, feel free to contribute. Limericks, haikus, whatever floats your boat.

true in a certain respect but this place is famous for its quality over quantity ratio. Lets not throw shit on a wall and hope it sticks. We arent JCW after all are we? Ha Ha! Anyway give me some other thought that may be provocative.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

BIRD33 Wrote:true in a certain respect but this place is famous for its quality over quality ratio. Lets not throw shit on a wall and hope it sticks. We arent JCW after all are we? Ha Ha! Anyway give me some other thought that may be provocative.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

[Image: 1241636329-wintersend.jpg]

Reaper's Poetry Minute - BIRD33 - 05-15-2010

Man you didnt tell me you were going to provide images!

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

BIRD33 Wrote:Man you didnt tell me you were going to provide images!

That Kinkade goes really well with Frost.

Reaper's Poetry Minute - Reaper - 05-15-2010

XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.