Ulysses by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It always struck me as both humble and proud and it only becomes more meaningful as I age.
Little potato when it is born Spreads its branches on the ground Little girl when she sleeps Puts her hand on her heart I am tiny The size of a button I carry daddy in my pocket And mommy in my heart The pocket got a hole And daddy fell on the ground Mommy who is the dearest Stayed in my heartHeh, my lemmy client is formatting this poem like it’s SQL code
Pale Fire, because I’m a try hard poser I think
Invictus by William Ernst Henley
When I was younger I clung to it’s message of perseverance. It ended up being the first poem that I ever memorized.
Out of the night that covers me Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate I am the captain of my soul.I was just trying to remember this today, thank you!
Baudelaire- la beauté
It’s a beautifully worded sonnet on the nature of beauty, but meta as in how the poet is swayed by it and how he both loves that and is annoyed by the ease with with he’s enthralled
Teeny tiny axolotl
There is really not a lotl
Of you. Not a jot or tittle
So I’ll call you axolitl
— anon
The Charge Of The Light Brigade by Alfred, Lord Tennyson!
Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred.
It’s been my mantra and my battlecry for the past few years now. Love it.
Rainer Maria Rilke
Der Panther/ The Panther.
(I don’t really feel the english translation does the poem justice. In german the words create a certain rhythm, nearly like a melody, that I find utterly enchanting)_His gaze against the sweeping of the bars has grown so weary, it can hold no more. To him, there seem to be a thousand bars and back behind those thousand bars no world.
The soft the supple step and sturdy pace, that in the smallest of all circles turns, moves like a dance of strength around a core in which a mighty will is standing stunned.
Only at times the pupil’s curtain slides up soundlessly — . An image enters then, goes through the tensioned stillness of the limbs — and in the heart ceases to be._
----- The original German‐------
_Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe so müd geworden, daß er nichts mehr hält. Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.
Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte, der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht, ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte, in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.
Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille sich lautlos auf –. Dann geht ein Bild hinein, geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille – und hört im Herzen auf zu sein._
Billy Connolly’s “Mary Rose”
Mary Rose
Sat on a pin
Mary rose“The View From Halfway Down” by Alison Tifel has always resonated with me:
The weak breeze whispers nothing
The water screams sublime
His feet shift, teeter-totter
Deep breath, stand back, it’s timeToes untouch the overpass
Soon he’s water bound
Eyes locked shut but peek to see
The view from halfway downA little wind, a summer sun
A river rich and regal
A flood of fond endorphins
Brings a calm that knows no equalYou’re flying now
You see things much more clear than from the ground
It’s all okay, it would be
Were you not now halfway downThrash to break from gravity
What now could slow the drop
All I’d give for toes to touch
The safety back at topBut this is it, the deed is done
Silence drowns the sound
Before I leaped I should’ve seen
The view from halfway downI really should’ve thought about
The view from halfway down
I wish I could’ve known about
The view from halfway downI like these two a lot. Mainly because they’re the only two that stuck with me.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L(a
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Love_Song_of_J._Alfred_Prufrock
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturitions are to me,
As plurdled gabbleblotchits,
On a lurgid bee,That mordiously hath blurted out,
Its earted jurtles,
Into a rancid festering confectious organ squealer. [drowned out by moaning and screaming]Now the jurpling slayjid agrocrustles,
Are slurping hagrilly up the axlegrurts,
And living glupules frart and slipulate,
Like jowling meated liverslime,Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turling dromes,
And hooptiously drangle me,
With crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or else I shall rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon,See if I don’t.
– Prostetnic Vogon Jeltz
So wie die Ordnung stets in Chaos geht, wenn keine Kraft dagegen steht, so herrscht das Chaos nie allein: Es braucht die Ordnung, um zu sein.Das Chaos, das sich selbst bezwingt, indem es langsam Ordnung bringt, gebiert aus Dunkelheit und Dreck schön langsam, aber stetig, Form und Zweck, kurz: Leben, das sich selbst erhält, und auch im Sturme Kraft behält, um nach dem Regen neu zu blühn, so wie auch wir es alle tun.
There was a young lady from Venus, Whose body was shaped like a - DATA!
-Star Trek TNG & Picard
