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Do you write poetry?
This is a thread for sharing and constructive criticism.
Here's one I came up with:
> Some folk like latex
> Some like leather
> She gets off on Gore-Tex
> And inclement weather
I'll crack wide open and burst out,
break security of soil and sprout,
and if rain should fail I'll come about
from roots reaching deeper
I'll not reflect until I've died,
I live to create a world allied
around nature's powers magnified
for Earth is still our keeper
over and over, they rotate
blades catching the wind
pockets of air forming on one side
then pulling them toward it
though the wind presses against the front, threatening the motion
the force of the lift is stronger than the drag, this ceaseless push and pull
turning the rotor
over and over — to the pride of
the lone watcher who
had no hand in its construction
made no profit from its completion
for this monument
is as much their creation
as any of the scientists, engineers and construction workers
who came together
and built the future
but under this exposure
a thought, a fear, strange yet familiar
is brought to light
more and more
those who stand here
after they have left
and are long gone
will find these pillars
dulled
by the sculptors of progress
chiseling it down
into a foundation
for what is to come
and in time
what once was a beacon
is now a monument
in a world they were barely able to hold on to
the wrongs that were needed to right the future,
the injustices to those who were unjust
are to be the crimes they will never be punished for
the shame they will never have to bear
for no one will ever know
and in time
no one will even understand
what had to be done
for the future
and though it burned, scalding them
they laughed it off
they laughed it all off
because they knew
a paradise like this
can only be built
by people like them
and so
the blades are pushed on
against the wind
turning
over and over
a new chapter in our history
each a little brighter than the last
A seasonal favorite of mine:
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
From the akathist hymn Glory to God for All Things:
O Lord, how lovely it is to be Thy guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun's golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. Birds and beasts of the forest bear the imprint of Thy love. Blessed art thou, mother earth, in thy fleeting loveliness, which wakens our yearning for happiness that will last for ever, in the land where, amid beauty that grows not old, the cry rings out: Alleluia!
The breath of Thine Holy Spirit inspires artists, poets and scientists. The power of Thy supreme knowledge makes them prophets and interpreters of Thy laws, who reveal the depths of Thy creative wisdom. Their works speak unwittingly of Thee. How great art Thou in Thy creation! How great art Thou in man!
Glory to Thee, showing Thine unsurpassable power in the laws of the universe
Glory to Thee, for all nature is filled with Thy laws
Glory to Thee for what Thou hast revealed to us in Thy mercy
Glory to Thee for what Thou hast hidden from us in Thy wisdom
Glory to Thee for the inventiveness of the human mind
Glory to Thee for the dignity of man's labour
Glory to Thee for the tongues of fire that bring inspiration
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age
What sort of praise can I give Thee? I have never heard the song of the Cherubim, a joy reserved for the spirits above. But I know the praises that nature sings to Thee. In winter, I have beheld how silently in the moonlight the whole earth offers Thee prayer, clad in its white mantle of snow, sparkling like diamonds. I have seen how the rising sun rejoices in Thee, how the song of the birds is a chorus of praise to Thee. I have heard the mysterious mutterings of the forests about Thee, and the winds singing Thy praise as they stir the waters. I have understood how the choirs of stars proclaim Thy glory as they move forever in the depths of infinite space. What is my poor worship! All nature obeys Thee, I do not. Yet while I live, I see Thy love, I long to thank Thee, and call upon Thy name.
Glory to Thee, giving us light
Glory to Thee, loving us with love so deep, divine and infinite
Glory to Thee, blessing us with light, and with the host of angels and saints
Glory to Thee, Father all-holy, promising us a share in Thy Kingdom
Glory to Thee, Redeemer Son, who hast shown us the path to salvation!
Glory to Thee, Holy Spirit, life-giving Sun of the world to come
Glory to Thee for all things, Holy and most merciful Trinity
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age
William Morris is hugely underrated as a political thinker IMO, overshadowed by the twee wallpaper prints.
I heard men saying, Leave hope and praying,
All days shall be as all have been;
To-day and to-morrow bring fear and sorrow,
The never-ending toil between.
When Earth was younger mid toil and hunger,
In hope we strove, and our hands were strong;
Then great men led us, with words they fed us,
And bade us right the earthly wrong.
Go read in story their deeds and glory,
Their names amidst the nameless dead;
Turn then from lying to us slow-dying
In that good world to which they led;
Where fast and faster our iron master,
The thing we made, for ever drives,
Bids us grind treasure and fashion pleasure
For other hopes and other lives.
Where home is a hovel and dull we grovel,
Forgetting that the world is fair;
Where no babe we cherish, lest its very soul perish;
Where our mirth is crime, our love a snare.
Who now shall lead us, what god shall heed us
As we lie in the hell our hands have won?
For us are no rulers but fools and befoolers,
The great are fallen, the wise men gone.
I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying,
The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep;
Are we not stronger than the rich and the wronger,
When day breaks over dreams and sleep?
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere the world grows older!
Help lies in nought but thee and me;
Hope is before us, the long years that bore us
Bore leaders more than men may be.
Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry,
And trembling nurse their dreams of mirth,
While we the living our lives are giving
To bring the bright new world to birth.
Come, shoulder to shoulder ere earth grows older
The Cause spreads over land and sea;
Now the world shaketh, and fear awaketh
And joy at last for thee and me.
I.
As the Liberty lads o’er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd!
II.
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding sheet
O’er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has pour’d.
III.
Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd!
Breaking every law except the one
for Go, rolling its porpoise way, the rocket
staggers on its course; its feelers lock
a stranglehold ahead; and-rocking-finders
whispering “Target, Target,” back and forth,
relocating all its meaning in the dark,
it freezes on the final stage. I know
that lift and pour, the flick out of the sky
and then the power. Power is not enough.
Bough touching bough, touching … till the shore,
a lake, an undecided river, and a lake again
saddling the divide: a world that won’t be wise
and let alone, but instead is found outside
by little channels, linked by chance, not stern;
and then when once we’re sure we hear a guide
it fades away toward the opposite end of the road
from home; a world that goes wrong in order to have revenge.
Our lives are an amnesty given us.
There is a place behind our hill so real
it makes me turn my head, no matter. There
in the last thicket lies the cornered cat
saved by its claws, now ready to spend
all there is left of the wilderness, embracing
its blood. And that is the way that I will spit
life, at the end of any trail where I smell any hunter,
because I think our story should not end
or go on in the dark with nobody listening.
Utopian Futures by Kimya Dawson
Somewhere the bombing all has stopped
And people begin to sit and talk
And somewhere insomniatic stockbrokers can rest their bloodshot eyes
'cause there's nothing left to buy or sell
Or kill or die for anymore
We're living inside eternal moments that we've searched for all our lives
There's nobody living by the clock
And every door is left unlocked
'cause property died all alone and capitalism lost its home
There's plenty of fresh air here in town
And plants are growing on the cars
And all of the streets are used for dancing
And at night you see all the stars
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Ya da da da, da da da da
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Ya da da da, da da da da
We're searching for something that was lost
And centuries all have covered up
We're flailing to find the smallest fragments of our liberated lives
And every tiny piece we find
We pick up and glue together
Collectively working for our utopian futures to collide
In snuggly beds and midnight talks
In wandering bike rides and wayward walks
Making up all of our own music, art, myth, food and news
It's happening everywhere we go
Collective bookstores and basement shows
Sharing a song that we all know or making up new ones as we go
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Ya da da da, da da da da
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Da da da da, da da da da
I'm a dream, this is real
I'm a dream, you are here
I'm a dream, you are me
I'm a dream, we are free
I'm a dream, this is real
I'm a dream, you are here
I'm a dream, you are me
I'm a dream, we are free
Now can't you feel the ice caps grow?
Now can't you hear the forests laugh
At piles of nicely packaged toothpicks all in processed warehouse rows
'cause the only processing we do now
Is with one another in our homes
With people we'll fight, fuck, laugh and cry with
Until the day we die
Here where we share all that we've won
Here where we grieve for what is lost
Here where the children grow with names they chose and genders all their own
Here where we celebrate each other
Here where you've never had a boss
Here where we sing like restless kids with half-chewed food inside our mouths
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Da da da da, da da da da
Ya da da da di ya, ya da da da da
Ya da da da, da da da da
Here in the place outside the box
There are no more borders left to cross
From each according to ability and to each based on need
Here in the place where dreams aren't dead
Here in the space between our heads.
Well I grew up in the client-state of a petro king with a complicated take on things like human rights, But baby that's the sacrifice, for bringing joy to the world
And I learned young how the west was won, with Christ's big heart and a bigger gun
But it wasn't enough so we took the moon
Because nazi rocket science too, can bring joy to the world
The war on drugs, this righteous cause
To clear our streets of criminals, now civilized by an opioid, so the Sackler family can enjoy
Spreading joy around the world
New York City, the world loves you and retribution was surely duе
To the zealots who brought you hell, boy thе heroes in Langley taught them well
How to infiltrate joy into the world
Can’t we all just get along like Amazon and Raytheon
Coming together to make a drone
To bring us lunch and kill their sons in a synergistic 2-for-1
Ballistic joy to the world
Please stop resisting all the joy in your world
Just a car full of celebrities singing about the joy in your world
A string of bad luck, in this final turn, we gathered around and watched our cities burn
“Who could have possibly predicted this?!” said everyone
So we'll boldly venture into the black, guided by a Grimes soundtrack
We'll liberate some foreign stars and stick a flag on the face of mars
There’s beauty in starting again, patient zero of original sin
As the mantra rings across the land “how clever, look at us, we've done it again!”
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