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You don't have to make comments on it. You can if you want. Give us something to ponder as we embark upon a brand new week of true love and high adventure (or, if you prefer, "the old grind"). I'll start with one that always makes me feel peaceful and confident:

The Waking
Theodore Roethke

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
"Forgot" that I have herpes,
And now you do, too.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Mr. T told me,
That he pities the foo'.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I am posting this,
As I take a poo.
*flush*

Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run
back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come
with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,
& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point
the bridge will give, who will swim to safety
& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff
he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.

"Accidentally
Broke a teacup--
reminds me
how good it feels
to break things"

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse -- and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness --
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

- from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (11th c. Persian)




And now for something completely different: Porilaisten marssi ('March of the Men of Pori'), lyrics by our national poet Johan Ludvig Runeberg and translated from Swedish by Paavo Cajander. The honorary march of the Finnish Defence Forces.

Pojat, kansan urhokkaan,
mi Puolan, Lützin, Leipzigin
ja Narvan mailla vertaan vuoti,
viel' on Suomi voimissaan,
voi vainolaisten hurmehella peittää maan.
Pois, pois rauhan toimi jää,
jo tulta kohta kalpa lyö
ja vinkuen taas lentää luoti.
Joukkoon kaikki yhtykää,
meit' entisajan sankarhenget tervehtää.

Kauniina välkkyy muisto urhojemme,
kuolossa mekin vasta kalpenemme.
Eespäin rohkeasti vaan,
ei kunniaansa myö
sun poikas milloinkaan!

Uljaana taistolippu liehu,
voitosta voittohon
sä vielä meitä viet!
Eespäin nyt kaikki, taisto alkakaa,
saa sankareita vielä nähdä Suomenmaa!

Rough English translation
Sons, of the brave nation,
who bled at the lands of
Poland, Lützen, Leipzig and Narva,
still has Finland her power,
can cover the ground with her enemies' blood.
Away, away with the acts of peace,
soon will swords strike fire,
and bullets will fly howling.
Everybody, unite!
The heroic spirits of the past salute us.

The memory of our heroes shines beautifully,
only death will make us pale, too.
Forward, bravely now,
never will give up
your sons their honour!

Flutter bravely, battle flag,
from victory to victory
you will take us again!
Forward now everybody, let the fight begin,
soon will Finland see heroes again!

Traditionally only the melody is performed, save on two occasions: for the President of Finland, and at the Declaration of Christmas Peace at Turku on Christmas Eve. Here, the song, with images from the Winter War (1939-1940) and the Continuation War (1941-44):

Early one morning in the middle of the night,
two dead boys came out to fight.

Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.

The deaf policeman heard the noise,
he went and killed the two dead boys.

If you believe this lie is true,
just ask the blindman, he saw it too.

Dusty668 said:

Early one morning in the middle of the night,
two dead boys came out to fight.

Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.

The deaf policeman heard the noise,
he went and killed the two dead boys.

If you believe this lie is true,
just ask the blindman, he saw it too.

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hm. it just dawned on me now that this one makes perfect sense when considered in the bounds of the warhammer 40k universe.

Cutting

My Simple Plan CD plays in the 100 disk changer,
My parents downstairs watching the news.
I hear their laughter through the heating vent.
They don't understand me.

My iPod plays some random songs about loss
I cry as it plays out my life.
I hurt so much I can hardly finish my Burger King.
The toy sucks.

My mom drives me to school in shame.
Her minivan is like a moving pit of hell.
Sounds of love and affection mock me.
Who the fuck is Barry Manilow?

I woke up crying again this morning.
My friends are smiling but I can't bring myself to.
The wardens make me clean my room and take out trash.
God, I hate going to camp.

I HAVE FOUND MY MUSE AND IT IS THE CAPLOCKS KEY

FOR IN THE TWILIGHT DEPTHS OF TIME IT IS THE SPARKLING SHOUT
AT THE TOP OF THE INTERNET LUNGS THAT DEFINES TIMELESS FORMLESS AND WIRELESS EXPLOSIONS OF SOUNDS THAT RIP OFF THE GROUND OUT TO MAKE A TRIP AROUND

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AT THE VERY TOP OF MY LUNGS
AT THE VERY TOP OF MY LUNGS
AT THE VERY TOP OF MY LUNGS

I AM A BLIND MAN THROWING FEATHERS IN THE HURRICANE OF THE INTERNET

I AM LOUD LOUD LOUD AND YET YOU CANNOT HEAR ME, YOU CANNOT HEAR ME, YOU CANNOT HEAR ME

AT THE VERY TOP OF MY LUUUUUUUUUUUNGS!!!!!!!!!!!!

LALALALALALALALALALAAAAAAAAAAAA I CAN'T HEEEEEEEEAR YOU

NR, that's great, if a little ... militaristic. 'Away with acts of peace'? Really? Or is that a mistranslation?

One of my current favorites is Holy Sonnet XIV, which I fell in love with when it was in the Libretto of Doctor Atomic.

John Donne said:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

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And as for nationalist poems ... here's one about the Royal Newfoundland Regiment (aka: The Blue Puttees) which was essentially wiped out in the first world war. It's a song called "The Recruiting Seargent" by a Newfoundland band called Great Big Sea.

Great Big Sea said:

Two recruiting sergeants came to the CLB, (Church Lads Brigade)
For the sons of the merchants, to join the Blue Puttees
So all the hands enlisted, five hundred young men...
Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

They crossed the broad Atlantic in the brave Florizel,
And on the sands of Suvla, they entered into hell
And on those bloody beaches, the first of them fell...
Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

CHORUS:
So it's over the mountains, and over the sea
Come brave Newfoundlanders and join the Blue Puttees
You'll fight the Hun in Flanders, and at Galipoli
Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

The call came from London, for the last July drive
\"To the trenches with the regiment, prepare yourselves to die\"
The roll call next morning, just a handful survived.
Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

CHORUS

The stone men on Water Street still cry for the day
When the pride of the city went marching away
A thousand men slaughtered, to hear the King say
Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

CHORUS (x2)

Enlist ye Newfoundlanders and come follow me

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Here's a YouTube video:

I can't remember poetry to save my life, and I have almost never written any poems even if I always loved to write... The onw I remember most fondly, even if I have forgotten the words, was a little poem that told the story of a troll. It started describing how ugly, smelly and dumb he was. He got out from his cave, to have a walk, but he was so stupid the poem ended with him looking curiously at the sky asking to himself "what's happenning" as the rising sun transforms him into stone.

Gurpel said:

cartoon physics 101

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love dis poem

I just saw a movie named after this poem about the romance between the author and the woman thought to inspire this.

Bright Star

John Keats

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

A little something by Leonard Cohen

God is alive, magic is afoot
God is alive, magic is afoot
God is alive, magic is afoot
God is afoot, magic is alive
Alive is afoot, magic never died
God never sickened
Many poor men lied
Many sick men lied
Magic never weakened
Magic never hid
Magic always ruled
God is afoot, God never died
God was ruler
Though his funeral lengthened
Though his mourners thickened
Magic never fled
Though his shrouds were hoisted
The naked God did live
Though his words were twisted
The naked magic thrived
Though his death was published
Round and round the world
The heart did not believe
Many hurt men wondered
Many struck men bled
Magic never faltered
Magic always lead
Many stones were rolled
But God would not lie down
Many wild men lied
Many fat men listened
Though they offered stones
Magic still was fed
Though they locked their coffers
God was always served
Magic is afoot, God is alive
Alive is afoot
Alive is in command
Many weak men hungered
Many strong men thrived
Though they boast of solitude
God was at their side
Nor the dreamer in his cell
Nor the captain on the hill
Magic is alive
Though his death was pardoned
Round and round the world
The heart would not believe
Though laws were carved in marble
They could not shelter men
Though altars built in parliaments
They could not order men
Police arrested magic and
magic went with them
for magic loves the hungry
But magic would not tarry
It moves from arm to arm
It would not stay with them
Magic is afoot
It cannot come to harm
It rests in an empty palm
It spawns in an empty mind
But magic is no instrument
Magic is the end
Many men drove magic
But magic stayed behind
Many strong men lied
They only passed through magic
And out the other side
Many weak men lied
They came to God in secret
And though they left Him nourished
They would not tell who healed
Though mountains danced before them
They said that God was dead
Though his shrouds were hoisted
The naked God did live
This I mean to whisper to my mind
This I mean to laugh within my mind
This I mean my mind to serve
Til' service is but magic
Moving through the world
And mind itself is magic
Coursing through the flesh
And flesh itself is magic
Dancing on a clock
And time itself
The magic length of God

Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun;
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender ties,
Our race of existence is run!
Thou grim King of Terrors; thou Life's gloomy foe!
Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know
No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik'st the dull peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;
Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark;
He falls in the blaze of his fame!
In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands,
Our King and our country to save;
While victory shines on Life's last ebbing sands, -
O! who would not die with the brave!

It is an appropriate time to post this.

John McCrae said:

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

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