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Ageless Stranger
10-22-2008, 09:26 PM
To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life,
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.


What say you?

BenPanced
10-22-2008, 09:28 PM
Sorry. Using the one I got, then kew.

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:30 PM
Alas, poor Hamlet! I knew him well.

Kitrianna
10-22-2008, 09:31 PM
I prefer Edgar Allen Poe, especially at this time of year...

Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered weak and weary
O'er a many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
As I sat there nearly napping
Suddenly there came a rapping
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my chamber door

That's all I remember off the top of my head right now...sorry folks :)

Shadow_Ferret
10-22-2008, 09:31 PM
I'd love to quietus a bare bodkin. :)

Ageless Stranger
10-22-2008, 09:34 PM
I prefer Edgar Allen Poe, especially at this time of year...

Once upon a midnight dreary
While I pondered weak and weary
O'er a many quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore
As I sat there nearly napping
Suddenly there came a rapping
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my chamber door

That's all I remember off the top of my head right now...sorry folks :)

Bravo!


Alas, poor Hamlet! I knew him well.

Yes.

Perhaps, too well.

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:35 PM
Ah, but will that his quietus make?

Ageless Stranger
10-22-2008, 09:35 PM
I'd love to quietus a bare bodkin. :)


You would.

JoNightshade
10-22-2008, 09:37 PM
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Vainly I had sought to borrow from my books surcease of sorrow
Sorrow for the lost Lenore
Nameless here, forevermore.

Okay, who can recite the next stanza???

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:38 PM
I would not be thy executioner.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee…

Phebe from As You Like It

Ageless Stranger
10-22-2008, 09:40 PM
I would not be thy executioner.
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers.
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee…

Phebe from As You Like It

You charmer, you.

Pagey's_Girl
10-22-2008, 09:40 PM
I'll stick with H.P. Lovecraft.

"It is said that in Ulthar, which lies beyond the banks of the River Skye, no man may kill a cat, and this I believe as I gaze upon he who sitteth purring before the fire..."

Or Poe:
"But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of many far older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Could ever dissever my soul from the soul
of the beautiful Annabel Lee..."

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:41 PM
What can I say? At least I didn't insult you by pulling out Romeo and Juliet.

Ageless Stranger
10-22-2008, 09:42 PM
What can I say? At least I didn't insult you by pulling out Romeo and Juliet.


Indeed. I would have lost all faith.

Shadow_Ferret
10-22-2008, 09:46 PM
I've always preferred cheerful, happy, upbeat poetry.

Like:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove
At recess, in the ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

Or rather, be passed us;
The dews grew quivering and chill,
For only gossamer my gown,
My tippet only tulle.

We paused before house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.

--Emily Dickinson, Ferret's Poetical Heart Throb

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:48 PM
Not me. I like poetry written in the throes of opium dreams:

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge--Kubla Khan

Shadow_Ferret
10-22-2008, 09:51 PM
I used to have all these memorized in college.

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

--Andrew Marvell

Kitrianna
10-22-2008, 09:53 PM
Ok, the entire poem. A belated birthday gift for Mr. Poe. His was Monday :)


The Raven


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering,
fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and
flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed
he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no
craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown
before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and
door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or
devil!-
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or
devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked,
upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

JoNightshade
10-22-2008, 09:54 PM
Repetitive rhyme and alliteration FTW.

Gaily bedight, a gallant knight
In sunshine and in shadow
Had journeyed long, singing a song
In search of El Dorado.

When his strength failed him at length
He met a pilgrim shadow.
Shadow, said he, where can it be?
This land of El Dorado?

Over the mountains of the moon
Down the valley of the shadow
Ride, boldly ride, the shade replied
If you seek for El Dorado.

- Poe

mscelina
10-22-2008, 09:54 PM
Wow, Ed. That piece by Marvell is lovely.

Shadow_Ferret
10-22-2008, 09:57 PM
Wow, Ed. That piece by Marvell is lovely.
One of my favorites.

Pagey's_Girl
10-22-2008, 09:58 PM
"All that I know of a certain star
Is that it can throw, like an angled spar
Now a spark of red, now a spark of blue
Until my friends say they would gladly see too
My star that sparkles the red and the blue
But it stops like a bird, like a flower hangs furled
they must solace themselves with the Saturn above it
What matters to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me
Therefore, I love it"
-Robert Browning

JoNightshade
10-22-2008, 09:59 PM
Wow, Ed. That piece by Marvell is lovely.

The loveliest version of "Hey baby, let's do it in the back seat!" I know. ;)

mscelina
10-22-2008, 10:08 PM
Definitely a lot more seductive too. I'm a sucker for poems like that.

BenPanced
10-23-2008, 12:08 AM
Ah, but will that his quietus make?
You usually need two cups of flour, a cup of water, and a teaspoon of vanilla extract for that to happen.

Mela
10-23-2008, 12:25 AM
Fair is foul, and foul is fair,
hover through the fog and filthy air

Ageless Stranger
10-23-2008, 12:26 AM
Skull? Anybody got a skull? Skull folks? Looking for a skull here! Not Scully, as you may have believed, but a skull! Not skillz, I has those, but a skull! Skull? Skull? Skull?

Pep pills. What a mind job.

Shadow_Ferret
10-24-2008, 05:27 AM
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

--John Keats

C.bronco
10-24-2008, 06:04 AM
"To be" is preferable, even though when sorrows come, they come not single spies but in battalions.

MaryMumsy
10-24-2008, 06:59 AM
As a matter of fact: yes.
Alas, it is some fake material, not real.

MM

Pagey's_Girl
10-24-2008, 04:34 PM
No skull, but I do have the head of the last sales rep who annoyed me up on a pole in the lobby. You want to borrow that instead?

(Okay, not really, but sometimes I wish....)

samgail
10-24-2008, 04:42 PM
I have an entire skeleton, including the skull, does that count?

Great poetry guys, thank you

Priene
10-24-2008, 05:27 PM
If we're going to get scary, here's the Commander's Footsteps by Aleksandr Blok:


A thick, heavy curtain at the door,
Beyond the window at night, there is mist.
What price your hateful freedom
Now that you know fear, Don Juan?

Cold and empty is the lavish bedroom,
Servants sleep and the night is still.
From a blissful, foreign, distant land
You hear a rooster's song.

What are sounds of bliss to a traitor?
Life's moments ebb away
Donna Anna sleeps, arms crossed above her heart,
Donna Anna is dreaming

Whose cruel features are frozen,
Reflected in these mirrors?
Anna, Anna, is it sweet to sleep in the grave?
Is it sweet to have unearthly dreams?

Life is empty, insane, fathomless.
Step out to the battle, ancient fate
And in answer - enamoured and triumphant -
A horn sounds in snowy darkness...

Splashing light into the night, a car
Speeds by, black and quiet, like an owl.
With quiet, heavy footsteps
The Commander steps inside the house...

The door widens. Through the excessive frost
The hoarse tolling of the midnight clock -
The clock strikes: "You invited me to dinner.
I have come. Are you prepared?.."

To this brutal question there's no answer,
There is no answer - only silence.
Fearsome at daybreak is the lavish bedroom,
Servants sleep, and the night is pale.

At daybreak, it is cold and strange
At daybreak, the night is dim
Bride of Light! Where are you, Donna Anna?
Anna! Anna! Silence.

Only in the horrifying morning mist
The clock will toll for the final time:
Donna Anna will rise in your dying hour
Anna will rise in the hour of your death.

Shadow_Ferret
10-24-2008, 05:53 PM
A Poison Tree

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears,
And I sunned it with smiles
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright,
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole;
In the morning, glad, I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

-William Blake

mscelina
10-24-2008, 06:10 PM
But oh, the night! oh, bitter-sweet! oh, sweet!
O dark, O moon and stars, O ecstasy
Of darkness! O great mystery of love,–
In which absorbed, loss, anguish, treason's self
Enlarges rapture,–as a pebble dropt
In some full wine-cup, over-brims the wine!
While we two sate together, leaned that night
So close, my very garments crept and thrilled
With strange electric life; and both my cheeks
Grew red, then pale, with touches from my hair
In which his breath was; while the golden moon
Was hung before our faces as the badge
Of some sublime inherited despair,
Since ever to be seen by only one,–
A voice said, low and rapid as a sigh,
Yet breaking, I felt conscious, from a smile,–
'Thank God, who made me blind, to make me see!
Shine on, Aurora, dearest light of souls,
Which rul'st for evermore both day and night!
I am happy.'

Elizabeth Barrett Browning--Aurora Leigh Book Nine

Haggis
10-25-2008, 02:07 AM
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly-
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Woe!

That motley drama- oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!- it writhes!- with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out- out are the lights- out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

-Poe

Love it.

HeronW
10-25-2008, 04:32 PM
Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity. Surely so
revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

wb yeats

Ageless Stranger
10-26-2008, 12:53 AM
The Ghost

Softly as brown-eyed Angels rove
I will return to thy alcove,
And glide upon the night to thee,
Treading the shadows silently.

And I will give to thee, my own,
Kisses as icy as the moon,
And the caresses of a snake
Cold gliding in the thorny brake.

And when returns the livid morn
Thou shalt find all my place forlorn
And chilly, till the falling night.

Others would rule by tenderness
Over thy life and youthfulness,
But I would conquer thee by fright!

Charles Baudelaire

Mr Flibble
10-26-2008, 12:56 AM
I haz a skull

But I'm using it at the moment. Can you wait a few years?

PS - if we're just quoting rhyming verse / poetry - you may have my fave few lines ever:

The Universe exists without a why
It does not tick, there are no grinding gears
.....
I do not bind my universe so tight
So I allow that fairies dance by night

Copyright - Shweta :)

Ageless Stranger
10-26-2008, 12:58 AM
I haz a skull

But I'm using it at the moment. Can you wait a few years?


A few? Yes. Yes. I can wait, exactly that long.

Mr Flibble
10-26-2008, 01:06 AM
I'll post it soon as it's done drying out. K?

Might be a bit muddy though and don't mind the smell of beer.

Ageless Stranger
10-26-2008, 01:16 AM
Since I now have a skull ( or shall soon), I have a second query, this one is pressing so try to keep up. Answers to be written on the back of your hands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! You've read about it in the papers! Now witness, before your very eyes, that most rare and tragic of nature's mistakes! I give you: the average man. Physically unremarkable, it instead possesses a deformed set of values. Notice the hideously bloated sense of humanity's importance. Also note the club-footed social conscience and the withered optimism. It's certainly not for the squeamish, is it? Most repulsive of all, are its frail and useless notions of order and sanity. If too much weight is placed upon them... they snap. How does it live, I hear you ask? How does this poor pathetic specimen survive in today's harsh and irrational environment? I'm afraid the sad answer is, "Not very well". Faced with the inescapable fact that human existence is mad, random, and pointless, one in eight of them crack up and go stark slavering buggo! Who can blame them? In a world as psychotic as this... any other response would be crazy!"

"In fact, let us not mince words… the management is terrible! We’ve had a string of embezzlers, frauds, liars, and lunatics making a string of catastrophic decisions. This is plain fact. But who elected them? It was you! You who appointed these people! You who gave them the power to make decisions for you! While I’ll admit that anyone can make a mistake once, to go on making the same lethal errors century after century seems to me to be nothing short of deliberate. You have encouraged these malicious incompetents, who have made your working life a shambles. You have accepted without question their senseless orders. You have allowed them to fill your workplace with dangerous and unproven machines. All you had to say was “No.” You have no spine. You have no pride. You are no longer an asset to the company."

"Thermodynamic miracles... events with odds against so astronomical they're effectively impossible, like oxygen spontaneously becoming gold. I long to observe such a thing.
And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle."

"I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence."

"If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it. Anything you want to, do it. Want to change the world? There's nothing to it."

"Thus every action must be due to one or other of seven causes: chance, nature, compulsion, habit, reasoning, anger, or appetite."

"Nothing will come of nothing: speak again."

"A gramme is better than a damn."

"Is it over? Did I win?"

Shadow_Ferret
10-27-2008, 08:06 AM
So now you've got me thinking about poems and the many I had memorized during college. The following poem by Christopher Marlowe comes to mind. I memorized it specifically for a girl named Helen that was in my English class. She also worked as a bartender at my favorite watering hole. So here I am, memorizing poetry and destroying my liver for this woman and I got essentially squat in return. Such is life.

Anyways...

Helen

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?--
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.--
Her lips suck forth my soul: see where it flies!--
Come Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena. . .
Oh thou art fairer than the evening air
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;
Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter
When he appeared to hapless Semele;
More lovely than the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa's azured arms;
And none but thou shalt be my paramour.

Haggis
10-27-2008, 03:24 PM
And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle."


'Fifth Philosophers Song'

A million million spermatozoa
All of them alive;
Out of their cataclysm but one poor Noah
Dare hope to survive.

And among that billion minus one
Might have chanced to be
Shakespeare, another Newton, a new Donne--
But the One was Me.

Shame to have ousted your betters thus,
Taking ark while the others remained outside!
Better for all of us, froward Homunculus,
If you'd quietly died!

Aldous Huxley (1920)

Priene
10-27-2008, 04:03 PM
Shame to have ousted your betters thus,
Taking ark while the others remained outside!
Better for all of us, froward Homunculus,
If you'd quietly died!

But on the other hand:


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

(Résumé, by Dorothy Parker)

Ageless Stranger
10-27-2008, 04:17 PM
But on the other hand:


Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

(Résumé, by Dorothy Parker)

We have a winner! Reward youself, have a Pepsi.