Reply
Fri 10 Jun, 2005 08:54 am
the bells never stop in varanasi
everyone's dying
everyone's dying to die
everyone's in my way
on my way to die
it's too hot and dusty to die
I am eating the ashes of the dead
I am eating the exhaust of cars
I am dying to die
I am an image sacrifice
I am looking for a boat to take me to heaven
namastey
your boat has bad karma
out of the way
I am burning inside of shame
I am at the seat of the ash -
of time,
of guatama,
of a boat to nowhere,
burning inside
I am the end of time
shiva orange
rat queen
goddess of money
sleeping in time to die at the hands of doms
sunrise to sunrise from the beginning of time
alone at the end of time
rowing nowhere to wash my soul
lost in serpentine alleys and back ways
amongst the amputees and water buffalows
amongst entrepreneurs that will cut your throat
amongst the dust breathing souls
looking in the eyes of the ones
looking back
for anything
not burning
i dont believe no one liked this poem !!!
Brahmin
Is this an original poem? YOu should post it in Original writing, perhaps there it will be critiqued.
The writing is fine, by the way (to me)
wops sorry.... i forgot all about this thread i started.
no its not original.
thats why its here.
i guess it would make any sense only to people who have seen the place themselves.
I liked it, it's quite appropriate for the times we live in. Who wrote it?
Haiku Death Poetry
Arimaru
Running shallow Kawa no se ni
with a year's end sound: shiwasu no oto no
river rapids. nagarekeri
Asei
Flowers of the grass: Nora ni saku
scarcely shown, and withered na wa kore made zo
name and all. kusa no hana
Atsujin
Earth and metal... Tsuchi kane ya
although my breathing ceases iki wa taete mo
time and tide go on. tsukihi ari
Baiko
Plum petals falling Chiru ume ni
I look up...the sky, miaguru sora no
a clear crisp moon. tsuki kiyoshi
Baisei
Island of Eternity: Horai ya
a turtle dries its shell out kame mo ko hosu
in the rays of a new sun. hatsu-hinata
Banzan
Farewell... Mame de iyo
I pass as all things do mi wa narawashi no
dew on the grass. kusa no tsuyu
Basho
On a journey, ill: Tabi ni yande
my dream goes wandering yume wa kareno o
over withered fields. kakemeguru
Bokusui
A parting word? Jisei nado
The melting snow zansetsu ni ka mo
is odorless. nakarikeri
Chiboku
The running stream Yuku mizu to
is cool...the pebbles tomo ni suzushiku
underfoot. ishi kawa ya
Chikuro
Butterflies in flight: Cho tobu ya
the journey's end... miateshi tabi wa
Suma Akashi Suma Akashi
Chirin
In earth and sky Ametsuchi ni
no grain of dust... chiri naki yuki no
snow on the foothills. fumoto kana
Chogo
I long for people... Hito koishi
then again I loathe them: hito mutsukashishi
end of autumn. aki no kure
Choko
This final scene I'll not see Sue ikki
to the end...my dream mi hatenu yume no
is fraying. hotsure kana
Dohaku
Cargoless, Tsumimono ya
bound heavenward, nakute jodo e
ship of the moon tsuki no fune
Enryo
Autumn waters Yoizame no
of this world wake me kore ya konoyo no
from my drunkenness. aki no mizu
Fufu
My companion in the skies Tsure mo ari
of death, imawa no sora no
a cuckoo. hototogisu
Fukyu
A bright and pleasant Kokochiyoshi
autumn day to make aki no hiyori o
death's journey. shide no tabi
Fuso
Upon the lotus flower Asatsuyu no
morning dew is usura kiekeri
thinning out. hasu no hana
Gansan
Blow if you will, Fukaba fuke
fall wind...the flowers hana wa sunda zo
have all faded. aki no kaze
Ginka
I leap from depths Shakusen no
of debt into the skies: fuchi kara tenjo
autumn of the dragon. tatsu no aki
Gokei
Fields dying off: Kiete yuku
the underside of grasses frozen no mo uragare no
hour of my death. hotoke kana
MARY ELIZABETH FRYE
Mary Elizabeth Frye was born in Baltimore, Maryland in 1904
DO NOT STAND AT MY GRAVE AND WEEP (the whole poem)
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there -- I do not die.
©Copyright 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye
This moving poem first came to public attention after a copy was left in an envelope for his parents by Steven Cummins, a soldier killed on active service in Northern Ireland, to be opened in the event of his death. In the weeks that followed the first broadcast, some 30,000 copies were requested from the British Radio Programme: The Bookworm.
Above is the whole poem. I hope the soldier's family received the whole poem, it's very beautiful, and I'm sure the soldier would have wanted it that way.
DÉCIMA MUERTE
A Ricardo de Alcázar
I
¡Qué prueba de la existencia
habrá mayor que la suerte
de estar viviendo sin verte
y muriendo en tu presencia!
Esta lúcida conciencia
de amar a lo nunca visto
y de esperar lo imprevisto;
este caer sin llegar
es la angustia de pensar
que puesto que muero existo.
II
Si en todas partes estás,
en el agua y en la tierra,
en el aire que me encierra
y en el incendio voraz;
y si a todas partes vas
conmigo en el pensamiento,
en el soplo de mi aliento
y en mi sangre confundida,
¿no serás, Muerte, en mi vida,
agua, fuego, polvo y viento?
III
si tienes manos, que sean
de un tacto sutil y blando,
apenas sensible cuando
anestesiado me crean;
y que tus ojos me vean
sin mirarme, de tal suerte
que nada me desconcierte
ni tu vista ni tu roce,
para no sentir un goce
ni un dolor contigo, Muerte.
IV
Por caminos ignorados,
por hendiduras secretas,
por las misteriosas vetas
de troncos recién cortados,
te ven mis ojos cerrados
entrar en mi alcoba oscura
a convertir mi envoltura
opaca, febril, cambiante,
en materia de diamante
luminosa, eterna y pura.
V
No duermo para que al verte
llegar lenta y apagada,
para que al oír pausada
tu voz que silencios vierte,
para que al tocar la nada
que envuelve tu cuerpo yerto,
para que a tu olor desierto
pueda, sin sombra de sueño,
saber que de ti me adueño,
sentir que muero despierto.
VI
La aguja del instantero
recorrerá su cuadrante,
todo cabrá en un instante
del espacio verdadero
que, ancho, profundo y señero,
será elástico a tu paso
de modo que el tiempo cierto
prolongará nuestro abrazo
y será posible, acaso,
vivir después de haber muerto.
VII
En el roce, en el contacto,
en la inefable delicia
de la suprema caricia
que desemboca en el acto,
hay un misterioso pacto
del espasmo delirante
en que un cielo alucinante
y un infierno de agonía
se funden cuando eres mía
y soy tuyo en un instante.
VIII
¡Hasta en la ausencia estás viva!
Porque te encuentro en el hueco
de una forma y en el eco
de una nota fugitiva;
porque en mi propia saliva
fundes tu sabor sombrío,
y a cambio de lo que es mío
me dejas sólo el temor
de hallar hasta en el sabor
la presencia del vacío.
IX
Si te llevo en mí prendida
y te acaricio y escondo,
si te alimento en el fondo
de mi más secreta herida;
si mi muerte te da vida
y goce mi frenesí,
¡qué será, Muerte, de ti
cuando al salir yo del mundo,
deshecho el nudo profundo,
tengas que salir de mí?
X
En vano amenazas, Muerte,
cerrar la boca a mi herida
y poner fin a mi vida
con una palabra inerte.
¡Qué puedo pensar al verte,
si en mi angustia verdadera
tuve que violar la espera;
si en vista de tu tardanza
para llenar mi esperanza
no hay hora en que yo no muera!
Poemas de Xavier Villaurrutia - Poemas del Alma
WHO can leave out "ANNABELLE LEE"
With a little death, a little putrifaction and a little dread all in one poem.
Charlie, is it the one I posted? That is good to know! And, if it is not, please post the one by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
Thanks
My favorite poem by Hungry-Coyote (NEZAHUALCOYOTL), King of Texacoco (1431-72)
All the earth is a grave
All the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it, nothing is so perfect
that it does not descend to its tomb. Rivers, rivulets, fountains and
waters flow, but never return to their joyful beginnings; anxiously
they hasten on the vast realms of the rain god. As they widen their
banks, they also fashion the sad urn of their burial.
Filled are the bowels of the earth with pestilential dust once flesh and bone, once animate bodies of man who sat upon thrones, decided cases, presided in council, commanded armies, conquered provinces, possessed treasure, destroyed temples, exulted in their pride, majesty, fortune, praise and power. Vanished are these glories, just as the fearful smoke vanishes that belches forth from the infernal fires of Popocatepetl. Nothing recalls them but the written page.
Farmerman, please post it.
Got it, thanks Charlie, I will give her credit in my post.
For Farmerman:
Annabel Lee
by Edgar Allan Poe, 1849
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
on of my all time favourite poems -
Song
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
-- Christina Rosetti
.
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