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Author Topic: Poems that Inspire  (Read 7686 times)

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Offline SealGunman

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #45 on: 10/29/15, 04:53:44 PM »
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A favorite of mine, the defining quote from it is one of the best of all times in my opinion.

The Old Astronomer (To His Pupil)
By Sarah Williams.

Reach me down my Tycho Brahé, – I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.

Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, ‘tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and wiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious smiles.

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”?

Well then, kiss me, – since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, – that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,–
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahé, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, 'twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,–
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.
Arf arf, bang bang!

Offline Crimsen

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #46 on: 11/11/15, 12:20:16 PM »
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Two Poems for Remembrance Day/Veteran's Day in Dedication to all those Who have and are now serving all of countries to protect us and ensure our way of life is preserved:


In Flander's Field, by John McCrae in May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Rememberance Day Poem, by me

Remember them now.
Do not wait till later, but now.
Remember who paid.

Freedom has a cost.
We remember who paid it.
Do not forget them.

They fought, bled, and died.
Some never saw home again.
Remember them now.

They fought in the trench;
They fought, not played, on the beach;
So we could be free.

We remember you.
We shall not forget your face.
We thank you today.

Remembrance day is today.
Remember Canada came at a price.
Thank all those who paid it with their lives.
May we never take them, or Canada, for granted.

Offline Esk

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #47 on: 12/15/15, 05:45:56 PM »
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Over in Montana
by William Stafford


Winter stops by for a visit each year.
Dead leaves cluster around. They know what is
coming. They listen to some silent song.

At a bend in the Missouri, up where
it’s clear, teal and mallards lower
their wings and come gliding in.

A cottonwood grove gets ready. Limbs
reach out. They touch and shiver.
These nights are going to get cold.

Stars will sharpen and glitter. They make
their strange signs in a rigid pattern
above hollow trees and burrows and houses—

The great story weaves closer and closer, millions of
touches, wide spaces lying out in the open,
huddles of brush and grass, all the little lives.


“Over in Montana” by William Stafford from Even In Quiet Places. © Confluence Press, 1996.

Imperial: Eskenah, Emlaira, Qoasha, Nochot, Linhua, Qorit
Republic: Etirza, Soori, Eswolyn, Annave, Foha, Nadimai, Yue-ming
Ialdon: Therem, Shilee
<The Koonto Legacy>

Offline Esk

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #48 on: 01/28/16, 07:09:43 PM »
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Blue
by Elizabeth Poliner



      Great Island, Harpswell, Maine

Clear windy day and
      the ocean’s waters rush ahead
            singing.

In the distance off the low islands
      the white splash of waves.
            The clouds,

huge white puffs, stationary
      in the bluest
            air, seem unreal,

as if imported
      and tacked up
            by some grand producer.

Oh, the blue
      we live in, bright sky
            blue, glossy silvery

ocean blue—the blue
      we’re permitted:
            our essential bed,

our daily blanket—
      it’s our home, this life in,
            through and around

blue—by plan or chance,
      by any account
            a wonder, a miracle,

day like today,
      the water busy,
            noisy and constant

as if no amount of praise
      were enough
            for our blue, brilliant world.

“Blue” by Elizabeth Poliner from What You Know In Your Hands. © David Robert Books, 2015.

Imperial: Eskenah, Emlaira, Qoasha, Nochot, Linhua, Qorit
Republic: Etirza, Soori, Eswolyn, Annave, Foha, Nadimai, Yue-ming
Ialdon: Therem, Shilee
<The Koonto Legacy>

Offline Esk

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #49 on: 03/08/16, 06:54:17 PM »
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Opinion
by Baron Wormser

Halfway to work and Merriman already has told me
What he thinks about the balanced budget, the Mets’
Lack of starting pitching, the dangers of displaced
Soviet nuclear engineers, soy products, and diesel cars.

I look out the window and hope I’ll see a swan.
I hear they’re bad-tempered but I love their necks
And how they glide along so sovereignly.
I never take the time to drive to a pond

And spend an hour watching swans. What
Would happen if I heeded the admonitions of beauty?
When I look over at Merriman, he’s telling Driscoll
That the President doesn’t know what he’s doing
With China. “China,” I say out loud but softly.
I go back to the window. It’s started snowing.

“Opinion” by Baron Wormser from Subject Matter: Poems. © Sarabande Books, 2004.

Imperial: Eskenah, Emlaira, Qoasha, Nochot, Linhua, Qorit
Republic: Etirza, Soori, Eswolyn, Annave, Foha, Nadimai, Yue-ming
Ialdon: Therem, Shilee
<The Koonto Legacy>

Offline Joshmaul

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #50 on: 03/08/16, 07:55:11 PM »
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The Passing Show
Ambrose Bierce (1842 - c.1914)

I know not if it was a dream. I viewed
A city where the restless multitude,
Between the eastern and the western deep
Had reared gigantic fabrics, strong and rude.

Colossal palaces crowned every height;
Towers from valleys climbed into the light;
O'er dwellings at their feet, great golden domes
Hung in the blue, barbarically bright.

But now, new-glimmering to-east, the day
Touched the black masses with a grace of gray,
Dim spires of temples to the nation's God
Studding high spaces of the wide survey.

Well did the roofs their solemn secret keep
Of life and death stayed by the truce of sleep,
Yet whispered of an hour when sleepers wake,
The fool to hope afresh, the wise to weep.
Circled tomb of a different age
Secret lines carved on ancient stone
Heroic kings laid down to rest
Forgotten is the race that no one knows


Offline Esk

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #51 on: 04/28/16, 09:14:44 PM »
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Places to Return
by Dana Gioia

There are landscapes one can own,
bright rooms which look out to the sea,
tall houses where beyond the window
day after day the same dark river
turns slowly through the hills, and there
are homesteads perched on mountaintops
whose cool white caps outlast the spring.

And there are other places which,
although we did not stay for long,
stick in the mind and call us back—
a valley visited one spring
where walking through an apple orchard
we breathed its blossom with the air.
Return seems like a sacrament.

Then there are landscapes one has lost—
the brown hills circling a wide bay
I watched each afternoon one summer
talking to friends who now are dead.
I like to think I could go back again
and stand out on the balcony,
dizzy with a sense of déjà vu.

But coming up these steps to you
at just that moment when the moon,
magnificently full and bright
behind the lattice-work of clouds,
seems almost set upon the rooftops
it illuminates, how shall I
ever summon it again?

“Places to Return” by Dana Gioia from The Gods of Winter. © Graywolf Press, 1991.

Imperial: Eskenah, Emlaira, Qoasha, Nochot, Linhua, Qorit
Republic: Etirza, Soori, Eswolyn, Annave, Foha, Nadimai, Yue-ming
Ialdon: Therem, Shilee
<The Koonto Legacy>

Offline Audaine

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #52 on: 05/05/16, 07:44:56 PM »
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This isn't necessarily poetry, and I didn't want to open a new thread (considering the last 5 pages of Outside Realm didn't have something suited for this), but I found a quote in one of my Fiction Writing readings for university, penned by Australia's own Kevin Brophy...


Writing is like hairdressing, one saying goes. It’s a job you can’t do for long unless you have a passion for it. Just as Kafka kept writing through the steps of his story of transformation despite misgivings about his ability, despite interruptions and his failure to achieve what he imagined could be written, every writer who completes a story knows the experience of being held to task by a vision and passion for it, and at the same time repeatedly forcing a reluctant self back to it.

—Brophy, K 2003, Explorations in Creative Writing, Melbourne University Press, Carlton. P. 142

[ ^ What? I actually update this link now? ^ ]

Offline blingdenston

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #53 on: 11/11/16, 05:50:11 AM »
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In Memory of W. B. Yeats
by W. H. Auden, 1907 - 1973

I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
And snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the
     Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly
     accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his
     freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.

What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

 

II

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.


III

Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice;

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress;

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountain start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

From Another Time by W. H. Auden, published by Random House. Copyright © 1940 W. H. Auden, renewed by the Estate of W. H. Auden.
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/memory-w-b-yeats
Pehn Qardaak - Captain of the Rodomontade
Ran-del Qardaak - Big Time Space Hero
Lastagir - Hunter for hire, no plans to retire
Hyse Qardaak - Scholar and Warrior of Peace

Offline Crimsen

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #54 on: 11/11/16, 06:04:16 AM »
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In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

- Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, 1915

Offline blingdenston

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #55 on: 11/13/16, 09:47:18 AM »
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Nothing's Gonna Stop Me Now
by Jesse Frederocl and Bennett Salvay

Sometimes the world looks perfect,
Nothing to rearrange.
Sometimes you get a feeling
Like you need some kind of change.
No matter what the odds are this time,
Nothing's going to stand in my way.
This flame in my heart,
And a long lost friend
Gives every dark street a light at the end.
Standing tall, on the wings of my dream.
Rise and fall, on the wings of my dream.
The rain and thunder
The wind and haze
I'm bound for better days.
It's my life and my dream,
Nothing's going to stop me now.

http://nothingsgonnastopmenow.com/
I really needed a good laugh.
Pehn Qardaak - Captain of the Rodomontade
Ran-del Qardaak - Big Time Space Hero
Lastagir - Hunter for hire, no plans to retire
Hyse Qardaak - Scholar and Warrior of Peace

Offline Esk

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #56 on: 03/07/17, 12:21:11 PM »
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A World of Singers

by Ralph Stevens

We live in a world of singers
and the song is loud or soft, sweet
or shrill, sometimes silent. But listen.
With a storm approaching someone
shelters a robin’s nest.
Another whistles to a black dog on the beach.
One laughs to herself, reading alone in the kitchen.
In the woodlot someone grunts as he swings the ax.
There’s the sound trees make
after the wind stops and there are those
who look into the eyes of nurses
coming off the night shift,
those greeting the undertaker when he arrives
with his unique instruments.
A man has just argued with his wife.
Now he stands alone on the dark porch,
watching the rain. One hums at the workbench,
carving a delicate bird (last night she
groaned with relief after a phone call).
One sighs as he imagines Odysseus
tied to the mast, and one
looks up when a bell rings
and a customer enters his shop.
One is astonished hearing the fox
bark its own peculiar song and one
just stands on the rocks,
listening to the sea.

“A World of Singers” by Ralph Stevens from At Bunker Cove. © Moon Pie Press, 2017.

Imperial: Eskenah, Emlaira, Qoasha, Nochot, Linhua, Qorit
Republic: Etirza, Soori, Eswolyn, Annave, Foha, Nadimai, Yue-ming
Ialdon: Therem, Shilee
<The Koonto Legacy>

Offline blingdenston

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Re: Poems that Inspire
« Reply #57 on: 08/07/18, 07:52:54 AM »
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The Song of the Happy Shepherd
By William Butler Yeats

The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? — By the Rood
Where are now the warring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.

Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass —
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs — the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell,
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be,
Rewarding in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.

I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
Pehn Qardaak - Captain of the Rodomontade
Ran-del Qardaak - Big Time Space Hero
Lastagir - Hunter for hire, no plans to retire
Hyse Qardaak - Scholar and Warrior of Peace