Any poets? - Comments, CONSTRUCTIVE critisism, ideas.

clark · 2004-11-01 11:10:40

Stars twinkle due to the light being refracted by the atmosphere from the directed light; planets shimmer (IIRC) because of the reflected light, which is slightly dimmed.

The poem "Twinkle Twinkle" is about the star, and was written by Ann and Jane Taylor, first published in 1806 in a collection of nursery rhymes for children. Generally, the form of nursery rhymes are lyrical and simple, and the compliation of poems by the Taylor's all involved imparting some basic lesson or knowledge about the world. Basically, explaining behavior, nature, or imparting a bit of explanation to young children.

The version you quoted is not the original, but one of the many variations that exsist. A bit like folk lore or folk songs that change the telling or the singing ever so slightly to fit with the times or the tastes of the audience.

clark · 2004-11-01 14:05:40

Trees once green burn red or gold
With leaves that fall before winters cold,
And blanket earth in autumns snow
While shadows bloom on branches woe,

Come rain with winds and stormy sky
Causing clear nights of summer to fly,
To pass this season in southern bed
Where frost does never fall nor spread,

Farewell, farewell, till next we meet
When sun does shine and new buds do greet,
And then and there I will fondly recall
These passing colors of autumns fall.

Leaves will turn with no thought of man,
Who measure themselves between their span.

BWhite · 2004-11-01 14:23:54

Full quote - its too big for my sig:

An imperialism of grammarians? The imperialism of grammarians runs deeper and endures longer than that of generals. An imperialism of poets? Yes, of poets. The phrase sounds ridiculous only to those who defend the old and ridiculous kind of imperialism. The imperialism of poets endures and wins out; that of politicians passes on and is forgotten, unless the poet remembers it in his songs.

Fernando Pessoa (translated by Richard Zenith)

= = =

[ ] or < > why can't all our HTML just get along together?

clark · 2004-11-01 14:35:57

Oscar Wilde, A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

BWhite · 2004-11-01 14:58:13

Oscar Wilde, A poet can survive everything but a misprint.

I'm just too big for my sig, maybe there is a rap song in there somewhere.

clark · 2004-11-01 15:06:44

Why just rap? :laugh:

I'm too sexy for this sig
too sexy for this sig,
too sexy for this sig,
I'm too sexy for this sig
too sexy for this sig,
too sexy for this sig,
No way I'm disco dancing.

Okay... maybe not.

Here is a poem by Percy Shelly, which follows along the lines of the quote you posted Bill.

Ozymandias of Egypt,

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

John Creighton · 2004-11-01 15:41:14

Well I think this more or less fits the sonet style. Whether or not it makes sence is another question.

I call it:

The Harsh World Calls

Made of flesh but warmed by fire
Clothed by hides though beast in wild
Torching germs for four legged child
Power burns in the food chain he is higher

Deadly weapons enforce his laws
Science feeds his engineering dreams
For Conquest of nature and man it seems
Fuelled through Rhetoric echoed thorough the halls

The cradle rocks but seldom falls
Missiles and rockets fill the sky
The cradle shakes and the baby balls

For one day the nursing will stall
A challenge of survival the child will try
It is the harsh world that will soon call

clark · 2004-11-01 17:29:10

"Made of flesh but warmed by fire
Clothed by hides though beast in wild"

I especially like the opening on this poem John- powerful imagery through the use of contrasting ideas creates a synergy that improves a poem. Well done!

I can see the contrasting idea of mortality and innocence that must face its own eventual development and inherent conflict in exsistence. Growing up is never easy, eh?

clark · 2004-11-02 15:02:17

Star fire burning ever bright
Long throughout infinities night,
Unwavering untouched dreams to be
Remain unmoved by mortal plea,

Stay till this grasp exceeds your place,
Linger yet till we touch your face,
Hold such secrets until that day
When feet do fall to ever stay,

Give true bearings to gaze upon
Where we may find your waiting dawn,
And we shall be true to our call
Reaching heights we may never fall.

Such wonders wait in burning fire,
Such is the heights we do aspire.

clark · 2004-11-03 10:27:27

There seems to be a silence of depression. I can't say it's misplaced, but, let it go.

Sweet sunshine shine for me
And warm these hands and face
Bring good cheer to fallen hearts
And give bad humor chase

Let not the rising spirit drown
Hold all tears at bay
Benevolent sun do ever light
So we may find our way

dicktice · 2004-11-04 13:04:24

Clark: Here's a variation I learned before I could drive:

Twinkle, twinkle one-eyed car,
How I wonder where you are. . . .

[Are you a motorcycle? in other words. Back then, before centre lines, every motorist's nightmare was two motorbikes passing right and left. Heart failure would have been yet another conceivable cause of automobile accidents, back then.)

Re. twinkling: Stars twinkle due to refraction variations in the atmosphere because they are "point sources," whereas planets being disc sources average-out refractionwise and appear stationary.

Josh Cryer · 2004-11-13 17:31:32

Sorry for not writing this sooner clark, something came up about a week and a few odd days ago and I hadn't touched a computer until yesterday...

oh great clark, wisest of men
he writes great larks, using his pen
many pages thence he's written his prose
his nack for the future; a wonder he knows
he's correct most of the time which worries me most
for I have a bet with him a bit more costly than toast
but it seems he has a secret or two
he has a hobo friend who knows more than you
is this cheating or is it not?
was I unwise to bet a lot?
soon we shall see, in less than a year
but truely I need not fear
for if he is right, noble as he
a trip to Mars may soon be for we!
so I leave this poem with his greatness laid out
humble I bow, and I will not pout

clark · 2004-11-15 08:34:14

LOL!

Brilliant. :laugh:

clark · 2004-11-15 13:51:16

Scarlet shimmer of ancient old
Awaits with treasure not of gold,
Nor sparkling emeralds, or scented spice,
With virgin beauty it does entice
Not greed or fill of material wealth,
It promises no boon to mortal health;
Ruinous adventure awaits those shores
With unsung hero’s to live new lore’s,
That has yet to breathe and be heard
Recorded, recounted by pen and word,
For this be the richness that lies in wait,
Bequeathed to them who tie their fate
Upon the glimmering glowering jewel,
Whose dead countenance is ever cruel,
Waiting still for those who seek only glory,
Those that hunger for an unmade story.

clark · 2004-11-17 12:58:01

Where lies the path never tread
On distant world of Martian red,
We set our sight to those far-off peaks,
And so lives on ancient god of Greeks
And Romans, and all peoples left unnamed,
A shared worship by time never tamed;
Until this day that finds the age
When ruby light becomes our gauge,
To measure how far we have come,
To determine how much further from,
Achieving all that man may dream-
Such is the beauty of unearthly gleam.

clark · 2004-11-17 13:54:14

Words, cruel mistress
This page a cage,
My pen, a chain
That shows no age.

BWhite · 2004-11-17 13:57:20

Words, cruel mistress
This page a cage,
My pen, a chain
That shows no age.

The metal which fashions our cage also fashions the key.

clark · 2004-11-17 14:07:42

Words, cruel mistress-
This page a cage,
My pen, a chain
That shows no age.

Freedom waits
In now penned verse
Where words do open
This caged curse.

BWhite · 2004-11-17 14:23:49

The poet always wins.

clark · 2004-11-17 14:29:31

The poet always wins.

Generally.

In the war of words
Poets win their share,
Yet when silence comes
They have no prayer.

BWhite · 2004-11-17 14:48:26

That which captivates us sets us free?

If we create the other to create ourselves, isn't that like a tautology?

Dude.

Hey Cobra, your buddy have extra, ahem, plant material?

clark · 2004-11-17 15:09:51

I didn't make the circle, I just pointed it out.

Remember, pass on the left hand side.

clark · 2004-12-08 15:07:13

What noon finds shade in eternal rock
Unaware of times tick tick tock
Resting here and there, now there
To know what secrets in sun left bare
No sound but whistling silence by
No more audible than mournful sigh
For wind is weak and never moves
But fine dust sand from slumbering grooves
Until dunes are formed to cast a pall
Where sun does linger and shadows fall
To pool cool night upon the day
And shelter what we seek from ray
Of life I speak that noon does know
With life, towards life, let us go.

clark · 2005-01-05 08:44:39

In silent spaces between the lines
Where text and prose recede,
Oceans drift with sea foam dreams
Where hope does ever lead,

Lettered verse becomes the chain
While un-penned thought is free,
In words now left long unsaid
Comes roar of unseen sea,

Delight which born from fingered hand
To live in minds unknown,
Is but a glimpse of story told
With ending never known.

Cobra Commander · 2005-01-05 09:34:31

I see them moving 'cross the plains, a day I know shall come
a frontier world with people bearing hope and dreams and guns
for all they build will not endure, through storms of fire and war
they'll bomb and maim, kill and die as their fathers did before
indeed there will be horrors out there, and many millions fall
The only thing more vile to dream is no one there at all.

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Re: Any poets? - Comments, CONSTRUCTIVE critisism, ideas.

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