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Poetry.
Dec 8, 2006 22:39:10 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 8, 2006 22:39:10 GMT -5
The Valley Of Unrest.
Once it smiled a silent dell Where the people did not dwell; They had gone unto the wars, Trusting to the mild-eyed stars, Nightly, from their azure towers, To keep watch above the flowers, In the midst of which all day The red sunlight lazily lay. Now each visitor shall confess The sad valley's restlessness. Nothing there is motionless- Nothing save the airs that brood Over the magic solitude. Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees That palpitate like the chill seas Around the misty Hebrides! Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven That rustle through the unquiet Heaven Uneasily, from morn till even, Over the violets there that lie In myriad types of the human eye- Over the lilies there that wave And weep above a nameless grave! They wave:- from out their fragrant tops Eternal dews come down in drops. They weep:- from off their delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems.
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Poetry.
Dec 10, 2006 3:56:04 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Dec 10, 2006 3:56:04 GMT -5
I don't have any words left for that. I guess that's what constitutes a good one.
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Poetry.
Dec 10, 2006 11:56:15 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 10, 2006 11:56:15 GMT -5
It sure is.
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Poetry.
Dec 13, 2006 22:48:32 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 13, 2006 22:48:32 GMT -5
The stars jumped from the seventh floor towards our door and paid a visit to our basements down below, all whiskey bottles and shots you can find they brought.
-Viktor Kaldalóns.
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Poetry.
Dec 18, 2006 12:42:04 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 18, 2006 12:42:04 GMT -5
Edgar Allan Poe - The city in the sea.
Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not!) Resemble nothing that is ours. Around, by lifting winds forgot, Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently- Gleams up the pinnacles far and free- Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls- Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls- Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers- Up many and many a marvellous shrine Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine. Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadows there That all seem pendulous in air, While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down.
There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves; But not the riches there that lie In each idol's diamond eye- Not the gaily-jewelled dead Tempt the waters from their bed; For no ripples curl, alas! Along that wilderness of glass- No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea- No heavings hint that winds have been On seas less hideously serene.
But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave- there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide- As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow- The hours are breathing faint and low- And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
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Poetry.
Dec 18, 2006 12:42:55 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 18, 2006 12:42:55 GMT -5
Read and learn, people!
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Poetry.
Dec 18, 2006 12:44:06 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 18, 2006 12:44:06 GMT -5
Edgar Allan Poe - Evening Star.
'Twas noontide of summer, And mid-time of night; And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, thro' the light Of the brighter, cold moon, 'Mid planets her slaves, Herself in the Heavens, Her beam on the waves. I gazed awhile On her cold smile; Too cold- too cold for me- There pass'd, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar, And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light.
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Poetry.
Dec 19, 2006 15:24:11 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Dec 19, 2006 15:24:11 GMT -5
So apparently I like his poems better than his stories.
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Poetry.
Dec 19, 2006 22:33:20 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 19, 2006 22:33:20 GMT -5
Sure. That could be it.
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Poetry.
Dec 20, 2006 3:20:13 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Dec 20, 2006 3:20:13 GMT -5
I guess because I was forced to read his stories in school that I secretly hated him, but I really kind of like these. And I was also forced to read Frankenstein, and it ended up being one of my favourite books. Odd. Anyway, here semi-poetry-like, is my review of the new album:
The Birth and Death of the Day is hope in seven minutes.
Welcome, Ghosts is audio ecstasy.
It's Natural To Be Afraid is chilling and triumphant all at once.
What Do You Go Home To? is a beautiful question.
Catastrophe and the Cure is the reason my pulse is redefined.
So Long, Lonesome is tentative and eloquent.
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Poetry.
Dec 20, 2006 22:43:45 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 20, 2006 22:43:45 GMT -5
The new album is heartwarming indeed, good way to describe it.
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Poetry.
Dec 25, 2006 12:55:40 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 25, 2006 12:55:40 GMT -5
I just wanted to wake this one up for all of those who love poetry as much as myself , and apparently Metaphors, and .. blahh.
Feel free to post any of your works here.
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Poetry.
Dec 25, 2006 16:50:11 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Dec 25, 2006 16:50:11 GMT -5
Yes please. I mean, everyone knows our duo is fabulous, but there's always room for one more...
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Poetry.
Dec 25, 2006 16:58:29 GMT -5
Post by snoolli on Dec 25, 2006 16:58:29 GMT -5
Yes please. I mean, everyone knows our duo is fabulous, but there's always room for one more... Yea, of course they could never live up with ours , but give it a try anyway. Sarcasm is great. Knock yourself out, lit up the town, paint it red, make the last sunset.. Blablabla ...
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Poetry.
Dec 25, 2006 17:03:32 GMT -5
Post by lovelymetaphors on Dec 25, 2006 17:03:32 GMT -5
Red's overrated. Let's paint it yellow this time.
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