Today's poet

[Mossdog]

er...that's nice one, not nice on

[Mossdog]

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light

by William Shakespeare (supposedly?)

When thou shalt be dispos'd to set me light,
And place my merit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side, against myself I'll fight,
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn.
With mine own weakness, being best acquainted,
Upon thy part I can set down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted;
That thou in losing me shalt win much glory:
And I by this will be a gainer too;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries that to myself I do,
Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me.
Such is my love, to thee I so belong,
That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Absolutely love this and all that comes out of the haus of Ga-Ga really appeals to me and i like how Lady Ga-Ga is a creation like bowies ziggy and the whole image and world created around Lady Ga-ga also with the multimedia live experience it's great.


I can't believe what you said to me
Last night when we were alone
You threw your hands up
Baby you gave up, you gave up

I can't believe how you looked at me
With your James Dean glossy eyes
In your tight jeans with your long hair
And your cigarette stained lies

Could we fix you if you broke'
And is your punch line just a joke'

I'll never talk again
Oh boy you've left me Speechless
You've left me speechless, so speechless

I can't believe how you slurred at me
With your half wired broken jaw
You popped my heart seams
On my bubble dreams, bubble dreams

I can't believe how you looked at me
With your Johnnie Walker eyes
He's gonna get you and after he's through
There's gonna be no love left to rye

And I know that it's complicated
But I'm a loser in love
So baby raise a glass to mend
All the broken hearts
Of all my wrecked up friends

I'll never talk again
Oh boy you've left me speechless
You've left me speechless so speechless

I'll never love again,
Oh friend you've left me speechless
You've left me speechless, so speechless

Hooow'
Haaaa-oooo-wow'
H-ooow'
Wow

Haaaa-oooo-wow'
H-ooow'
Wow

And after all the drinks and bars that we've been to
Would you give it all up'
Could I give it all up for you'

And after all the boys and girls that we've been through
Would you give it all up'
Could you give it all up'

If I promise to you boy
That I'll never talk again
And I'll never love again
I'll never write a song
Won't even sing along

I'll never love again
So speechless
You left me speechless, so speechless
Why you so speechless, so speechless'

Will you ever talk again'
Oh boy, why you so speechless'
You've left me speechless

Some men may follow me
But you choose "death and company"
Why you so speechless' Oh oh oh

Great Stuff.

[XRunner]

Evening Solace

THE human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back ­ a faded dream;
Our own sharp grief and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress­
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.

(Charlotte Bronte)

[freckle]

Evening Solace

THE human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back ­ a faded dream;
Our own sharp grief and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress­
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.

(Charlotte Bronte)

I find this poem really moving thank you for posting it X runner, i like the phrase "tender grief" and the imagery associated with "hours of lonely musing"...i think it also ends on a more optimistic note which is a nice touch.

[freckle]

What luck to chance upon Freckle's poem and find
a precious image to soothe the mind
Having suffered the slings and arrows of the daily toil
It feet up now and watch the kettle boil
And drink in the evocative image and think
How pedestrian concerns disappear in a blink
When nature's secret treasures are presented in lovely verse
I can weather all life's problems, no matter how adverse.

Nice on Freckle, the Wage Slaves' Champion.

Mossy.....this is so sweet and well written...i like it a lot!

[Mossdog]

Evening Solace

THE human heart has hidden treasures,
In secret kept, in silence sealed;
The thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,
Whose charms were broken if revealed.
And days may pass in gay confusion,
And nights in rosy riot fly,
While, lost in Fame's or Wealth's illusion,
The memory of the Past may die.

But, there are hours of lonely musing,
Such as in evening silence come,
When, soft as birds their pinions closing,
The heart's best feelings gather home.
Then in our souls there seems to languish
A tender grief that is not woe;
And thoughts that once wrung groans of anguish,
Now cause but some mild tears to flow.

And feelings, once as strong as passions,
Float softly back * a faded dream;
Our own sharp grief and wild sensations,
The tale of others' sufferings seem.
Oh ! when the heart is freshly bleeding,
How longs it for that time to be,
When, through the mist of years receding,
Its woes but live in reverie !

And it can dwell on moonlight glimmer,
On evening shade and loneliness;
And, while the sky grows dim and dimmer,
Feel no untold and strange distress*
Only a deeper impulse given
By lonely hour and darkened room,
To solemn thoughts that soar to heaven,
Seeking a life and world to come.

(Charlotte Bronte)

Bloody brilliant XR and you've inspired me to track down another of our Char's. Boy did those sisters (and bro) live emotionally supercharged lives up there in that old parsonage!

APOSTASY

by: Charlotte Bronte (1816-1855)

THIS last denial of my faith,
Thou, solemn Priest, hast heard;
And, though upon my bed of death,
I call not back a word.
Point not to thy Madonna, Priest,--
Thy sightless saint of stone;
She cannot, from this burning breast,
Wring one repentant moan.

Thou say'st, that when a sinless child,
I duly bent the knee,
And prayed to what in marble smiled
Cold, lifeless, mute, on me.
I did. But listen! Children spring
Full soon to riper youth;
And, for Love's vow and Wedlock's ring,
I sold my early truth.

'Twas not a grey, bare head, like thine,
Bent o'er me, when I said,
"That land and God and Faith are mine,
For which thy fathers bled."
I see thee not, my eyes are dim;
But well I hear thee say,
"O daughter cease to think of him
Who led thy soul astray.

"Between you lies both space and time;
Let leagues and years prevail
To turn thee from the path of crime,
Back to the Church's pale."
And, did I need that, thou shouldst tell
What mighty barriers rise
To part me from that dungeon-cell,
Where my loved Walter lies?

And, did I need that thou shouldst taunt
My dying hour at last,
By bidding this worn spirit pant
No more for what is past?
Priest--MUST I cease to think of him?
How hollow rings that word!
Can time, can tears, can distance dim
The memory of my lord?

I said before, I saw not thee,
Because, an hour agone,
Over my eyeballs, heavily,
The lids fell down like stone.
But still my spirit's inward sight
Beholds his image beam
As fixed, as clear, as burning bright,
As some red planet's gleam.

Talk not of thy Last Sacrament,
Tell not thy beads for me;
Both rite and prayer are vainly spent,
As dews upon the sea.
Speak not one word of Heaven above,
Rave not of Hell's alarms;
Give me but back my Walter's love,
Restore me to his arms!

Then will the bliss of Heaven be won;
Then will Hell shrink away,
As I have seen night's terrors shun
The conquering steps of day.
'Tis my religion thus to love,
My creed thus fixed to be;
Not Death shall shake, nor Priestcraft break
My rock-like constancy!

Now go; for at the door there waits
Another stranger guest;
He calls--I come--my pulse scarce beats,
My heart fails in my breast.
Again that voice--how far away,
How dreary sounds that tone!
And I, methinks, am gone astray
In trackless wastes and lone.

I fain would rest a little while:
Where can I find a stay,
Till dawn upon the hills shall smile,
And show some trodden way?
"I come! I come!" in haste she said,
"'Twas Walter's voice I heard!"
Then up she sprang--but fell back, dead,
His name her latest word.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Where were you when i needed you.

Your words cut through me,
A rusty blade hacking away,
Carved open butterfly free,
Hurt me not with what you say.

Literary war never ends,
Like prometheus on the rock,
Protected by a shield of friends,
But still my parents laugh and mock.

Character strong but cracks show,
Mosaic like viral feelings burst,
Tossed about to and fro,
Let them do their worst.

Free now like the air,
Running like the stream,
Unbowed i no longer care,
Let there words escape as dreams.

By Matthew Harmston

[stevefoster]

Love your poems Tri-Mind

[Mossdog]

Another shocker for this evening by Joanna Russ - well it is after the watershed, chocksaway!

from _The Female Man_

In my other incarnation I live out such a plethora
of conflict that you wouldn't think I'd survive,
would you, but I do; I wake up enraged, go to sleep
in numbed despair, face what I know perfectly well
is condescension and abstract contempt, get into
quarrels, shout, fret about people I don't even
know, live as if I were the only woman in the world
trying to buck it all, work like a pig, strew my
whole apartment with notes, articles, books, get
frowsy, don't care, become stridently contentious,
sometimes laugh and weep within five minutes
together out of pure frustration. It takes me two
hours to get to sleep and an hour to get up. I
dream at my desk. I dream all over the place. I'm
very badly dressed. But O how I relish my
victuals! And O how I ****!

Ooophs! The FRA cyber censor has prudishly deleted the final word, but if I tell you that it referred to a franco-anglo clothes manufacturer called FCUK you'll know what she obviously intended. On that very point, censorship, do you think that we could argue that this particualrly thread should be granted a special dispensation from the cyber-censor filters given that it's all in the spirit of true art and nothing smutty like?