Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.



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Fairy Land i by William Shakespear

OVER hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moone's sphere;

And I serve the fairy queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green:

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours:

I must go seek some dew-drops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

by WILLIAM Shakespeare

• Fairy Land v by William Shakespeare
• Fairy land iii by William Shakespeare 
• Fairy land ii by William Shakespear
• Fairy land by William Shakespear
• fairy land iv by Williams shakespear 

Side note:
Shakespeare... Ive often wondered if that was his real name or a stage name. like Chris Chaos.. because shakespeare often makes me think of shaking ones penis at someone. For a creative pothead like Bill Shakespeare i think it to be entirely possible.

i wonder if this is what he had in mind..

Funny side note:
 I needed a picture for this post, so i went to google and googled "fairies" and the first pic that poped up was justin bieber .. lmmfao. stupid fairy.

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Alchemist by Christopher Franko

Poetry borrowed from Christopher Franko

Alchemist

I,
an umbral alchemist by the time the sun betrays the day,
pound away at the arcane elements,
forging bits into nibbles,
nibbles into arrays,
busy delivering broken bytes bound by the unforgiving babel of sinister syntax,
I become the pragmatic pagan who embraces the idolatry of objects whole heartedly,
simply because I need them all to be,
identicly faithful,
yet as variable as their parameters ought to be,
Betrayal would prove a price too painful.

 

by Christopher Franko

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O Captian! My Captain! by Walt Whitman

1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.



2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here Captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.



3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

Poems By Walt Whitman

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I Taught Myself To Live Simply by Anna Akhmatova

I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.

by Anna Akhmatova

Sorry for the quick post guise!! Good to see yall tho ^_^ 


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Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas

 Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

by Dylan Thomas
 

Dylan Thomas

1. The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas: The Original Edition
2. The Poems of Dylan Thomas, New Revised Edition [with CD]
3. The Collected Stories (New Directions Paperbook)
4. Selected Poems 1934-1952, New Revised Edition
5. Dylan Thomas: The Caedmon Collection

futz

\ FUHTS \  , verb;

1.

To pass time in idleness (usually followed by around).

noun:

1.

A fool; a simpleton.

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Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.



Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.



Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.



Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.



Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.



You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.



Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?



Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

by Maya Angelou

Still I Rise
like a high rise
every time thy lies
demise my nine lives

Poetry Review:
To all those females in the world looking for that ultimate, "yea im still doing good" poem, this is it. Even tho im not sure if my ancestors were slaves, it doesnt matter. We could leave that line out and the poem still be that "YEA IM STILL AWESOME". I love the simplicity of the message she is casting out.

Word of the day:

abstemious

\ ab-STEE-mee-uhs \  , adjective;

1.

Sparing in eating and drinking; temperate; abstinent.

2.

Sparingly used or consumed; used with temperance or moderation.

3.

Marked by or spent in abstinence.

 

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