Certainty?
What is certain in this life?
That change is inevitable;
That to love is always to risk loss;
That death is inevitable;
And that the proverbial bread always falls butter side down.
Certainty?
What is certain in this life?
That change is inevitable;
That to love is always to risk loss;
That death is inevitable;
And that the proverbial bread always falls butter side down.
Am Yisrael Chai
Stay in the game Tri, you've got a lot of support here. Good poetry by the way.Originally Posted by tri-mind
A strong narrative Tri. I particularly find the last two verses insightful and they have a broader resonance for many of us I think.
Am Yisrael Chai
Thanks Rodders. Appreciate it. Not feeling very good at the moment quite low.If i write it keeps my mind on something else then when i see my wife in an hour i have company.
Thanks Mossdog .
Tri you have written some beautiful poetry today, always moving and always very very good.....take care of yourself our laurete
Mossdog...as always I have really enjoyed your choices today, particularly the last little one about certainty.
I am feeling totally exhausted after all this xmas lark and might need a quiet one tonight to recover as in work tomorrow...but i look forward to an interesting read when I do return!
Inevitable train of thought.
Knife,Release,Joy,Deceased,
Life,Struggle,Emptiness,Pain,
Meds,Useless,Dishonest,Released,
Mad,Normal,InSane,Sane.
Me,Gone,Facsimile,Manufactured,
Emotion,Directed,Chemically,Created,
Love,Wife,Children,Enamored,
Bipolar,Up,Down,Hated.
By Matt Harmston
A poem about hope?
Our Singing Strength by Robert Frost
It snowed in spring on earth so dry and warm
The flakes could find no landing place to form.
Hordes spent themselves to make it wet and cold,
And still they failed of any lasting hold.
They made no white impression on the black.
They disappeared as if earth sent them back.
Not till from separate flakes they changed at night
To almost strips and tapes of ragged white
Did grass and garden ground confess it snowed,
And all go back to winter but the road.
Next day the scene was piled and puffed and dead.
The grass lay flattened under one great tread.
Borne down until the end almost took root,
The rangey bough anticipated fruit
With snowball cupped in every opening bud.
The road alone maintained itself in mud,
Whatever its secret was of greater heat
From inward fires or brush of passing feet.
In spring more mortal singers than belong
To any one place cover us with song.
Thrush, bluebird, blackbird, sparrow, and robin throng;
Some to go further north to Hudson's Bay,
Some that have come too far north back away,
Really a very few to build and stay.
Now was seen how these liked belated snow.
the field had nowhere left for them to go;
They'd soon exhausted all there was in flying;
The trees they'd had enough of with once trying
And setting off their heavy powder load.
They could find nothing open but the road.
Sot there they let their lives be narrowed in
By thousands the bad weather made akin.
The road became a channel running flocks
Of glossy birds like ripples over rocks.
I drove them under foot in bits of flight
That kept the ground. almost disputing right
Of way with me from apathy of wing,
A talking twitter all they had to sing.
A few I must have driven to despair
Made quick asides, but having done in air
A whir among white branches great and small
As in some too much carven marble hall
Where one false wing beat would have brought down all,
Came tamely back in front of me, the Drover,
To suffer the same driven nightmare over.
One such storm in a lifetime couldn't teach them
That back behind pursuit it couldn't reach them;
None flew behind me to be left alone.
Well, something for a snowstorm to have shown
The country's singing strength thus brought together,
the thought repressed and moody with the weather
Was none the less there ready to be freed
And sing the wildflowers up from root and seed.
Last edited by freckle; 29-12-2009 at 07:08 PM.
Hang in there Matt, feeling pretty low myself, christmas don't alter the fact i have no job and no income, in fact christmas has made the financial situation worse, waiting to hear about an interview but the waiting's getting to me, lots of other crap going on, some of it my own making, some of it other people's doing, feel like sh!t tonight
Matt and Steve and anyone else for that matter.
Never give up on hope
To Hope
John Keats
When by my solitary hearth I sit,
And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
And fright him as the morning frightens night!
Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer;
Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
O let me think it is not quite in vain
To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!
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