An outlet for players whose creativity extends beyond the board. Post your original works here!
The posting of song lyrics is not the purpose of this board and as such please refrain from doing so. Exceptions can be made to this rule if you are the copyrighted owner of the lyrics and the lyrics are not found offensive by the majority of the population. This board is a place to post your original works of poetry and prose and also a place for discussion of poetry and related areas.
We have received word from Fencer that other's poetry can be posted to this board. These are the two conditions: 1) When someone posts a known copyrighted poem, he must add the author's name as well 2) If the author is not known, the poem can be posted without problems
Véčet klobu na mloveni
Néni tě dovoleny datlovat do toďteho klobo. Abes mohl datlovat do toďteho klobo, mosiš mit némiň členstvi Brain šiml.
Hear the sledges with the bells--
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.
2
Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Throught the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens,
while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
3
Hear the loud alarum bells--
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
How they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor
Now--now to sit, or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale of their terror tells
Of despair!
How they clang and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows;
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells--
Of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells--
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!
4
Hear the tolling of the bells--
Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their melody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people--ah, the people--
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All alone,
And who tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone--
They are neither man nor woman--
They are neither brute nor human--
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells--
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the tolling of the bells--
Of the bells, bells, bells--
Bells, bells, bells--
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell:
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly from their azure towers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless--
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Ove the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye--
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:--from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:--from off the delicate stems Perennial tears descend in gems.
What are we fighting for,
We fellows who go to war?
fighting for Freedom's sake!
(You give me the belly-ache.)
Freedom to starve or slave!
Freedom! aye, in the grave.
Fighting for "hearth and home"
Who haven't an inch of loam?
Hearth? Why even a byre
Can only be ours for hire.
Dying for future peace?
Killing that killing cease?
To hell with such tripe, I say.
"Sufficient unto the day."
It isn't much fun being dead
Better to lie in bed
Cuddle up to the wife
Making, not taking life
To the corpse that stinks in the clay
Does it matter who wins the day?
What odds if tyrants reign?
They can't put irons on the brain
One always can eat one's grub
Smoke and drink in a pub
There's happiness in a glass
A pipe and the kiss of a lass
It's the best we get anyhow
In the life we are living now
Who's wanting a hero's fate?
To the dead cheers come too late
Flesh is softer than steel;
Wounds are weary to heal
In the maniac hell of the fray
Who is there dares to say?
"Hate will be vanquished by Love;
God's in His Heaven above."
When those who govern us lead
The lads they command to bleed;
When rulers march at the head
And statesmen fall with the dead;
When Kings leap into the fray
Fight in the old-time way
Perish beside their men
Maybe, O maybe then
War will be part of the past
Peace will triumph at last
Meantime such lads as I
Who wouldn't have harmed a fly
Have got to get out and kill
Lads whom we bear no ill;
As simple as we, no doubt
Who seek what it's all about;
Who die in defence of - what?
Homes that they haven't got;
Who perish when all they ask
is to finish the daily task;
Make bread for the little ones
Not feed the greed of the guns
When fields of battle are red
And diplomats die in bed
O čem je toďten plk:Memoirs of an Officer and a Gentleman
- Prologue-
Walking through the city after recent rain
heard ancient stones all shining murmur where are they?
How long before next hero's day
and the splendid show of drum and gun.
Walking by the river one September eve
saw questions rise in circles on that old dark stream.
Where now are those who dared to dream they would leave one jewel in England's hand.
Gone to sleep they lie in flowered graves
for the visitors and Guidebook saved.
But come the trumpet shattered dawn
will the spirit they shared be reborn.
Comrades in arms, may they rise, fight and shine again,
till "who goes there", will be answered with friend again.
Once there stood a man, alone, sword in his hand.
In the face of the teeth and flame -
and it was all in England's name.
I was told how she grew, she alone shone her light on everyone.
And if you made the first eleven then you'd be sure to get to heaven,
like the captain of the school.
I was taught how to win
and to lose with that "get you next time" smile,
Learned Latin verbs in fear of a beating
and for years thought central heating,
was for just old people's homes.
I was raised on the past, the Tower and Saint Paul's and Westminster
escorted well-bred girls to dances, and learned to drive a horse in harness,
through the English countryside.
I was taught to behave, like an officer and a gentleman,
and when I finally marched from Sandhurst
I learned to put my fellow man first
and there was daily talk of war.
I spent 1938 in the United States of America,
I grew to love its many faces, and they had built some amazing places,
and I thought they´d come in on our side.
- Love at first sight -
Girls, oh there were girls
but they were just part of the social whirl
and I never took much notice
until the night that I met you.
Standing out there alone
out on the terrace under the moon
from the moment that I kissed you
my life turned into a dream.
I knew I loved you at first sight
and that you loved .. me.
Was it really happening, or was it a dream ?
I asked if you'd be mine
feeding the white doves by the Serpentine and when you said forever
I know that I almost cried.
You all in white
the tears and the laughing
nearly losing the damn ring
Yes, I do ... Yes, I will... keep you from harm.
Those few short days
we spent together
remembered forever
all the plans - for the house and for the children.
I know I loved you at first sight
and that you loved..me.
Did it really happen then, or was it a dream ?
I knew when I saw your face
opening orders, the time and the place
oh, don't worry it won't last long
and I won't be far away
I'll try to write every day.....
- Letters from the front -
Got your letters at the front today
if you like the house we´ll buy it straight away.
Yes, it´s great now you´re a full-time nurse
but do be careful with the air-raids - getting worse.
Must end now .. the push is on...we´re moving out...
all my love...see you soon.
I'm writing to you on a convoy moving west
it's hell out here but we´re all trying to do our best.
I learned today that I get two weeks leave in June
this time I promise you a real honeymoon.
Must end now...take care my love...you're all the world
to me my love...see you soon.
The telegram...dropped from my hand
she was all I had...I just don't understand
I see her now...in that white dress she wore
Those eyes and that smile
no one else...nevermore.
Decorations and respect inside the club aren't compensation when you lose the one you love.
But in the end, all that is left
Is the regiment and what it means
to be...an officer and a gentleman...
It's a world of laughter
A world of tears
It's a world of hopes
And a world of fears
There's so much that we share
That it's time we're aware
It's a small world after all
There is just one moon
And one golden sun
And a smile means
Friendship to ev'ryone
Though the mountains divide
And the oceans are wide
It's a small world after all
It's a small world after all
It's a small world after all
It's a small world after all
It's a small, small world
Plastic people!
You gotta go
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Plastic people!
You gotta go
A fine little girl She waits for me
She's as plastic as she can be
She paints her face With plastic goo
And wrecks her hair With some shampoo
Plastic people!
You gotta go
Plastic people!
You gotta go
Sure gonna miss ya
Take a day And walk around
Watch the Nazis Run your town
Then go home And check yourself
You think we're singing
'Bout someone else
But you're plastic people
You gotta go
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Plastic people!
You gotta go
Three nights and days I walked the streets
This town is full of Plastic creeps
Their shoes are brown to match their suits
They got no balls, they got no roots
Because they're plastic people
You gotta go
Sure gonna miss ya, bop-bop-bop
Plastic people!
You gotta go
Me see a neon Moon above
I searched for years And found no love
I'm sure that love Will never be
A product of Plasticity
Aragon: Perhaps the 'baiting of mods' was caused by their practice of good old-fashioned Censorship. Those who think their opinion is the only one that's right.
This board is supposed to be for everyone to express themselves through verse is it not? You're contradicting the meaning of this board by singling out those whom you personally find intolerable. The moderation here isn't based on what is fair, but what is the acceptable material according to a small group of individuals.
Přetvořeny oževatelem The Listener (29. března 2005, 20:29:16)
Bruno Jesus: Talking to these people about Liberty, Freedom of Speech, or even Fair Justice is as futile and pointless as trying to teach an insect how to use a spoon :P
Přetvořeny oževatelem The Listener (25. ledna 2005, 04:52:59)
He's a Drugstore Truck Drivin' Man
He's the head of the Klu Klux Klan
When Summer comes rollin' around
You'll be lucky to get outta town
He's been like a Father to me
He's like the only DJ you can hear after 3
I'm an all-night singer in a Country band
And if he don't like me, he don't understand
He's a Drugstore Truck Drivin' Man
He's the head of the Klu Klux Klan
When Summer comes rollin' around
You'll be lucky to get outta town
He's got him a house on the hill
And he can play Country records 'til you've had your fill
He's a lawman's friend
He's an all-night DJ
And he sure don't think much like the records he plays
He don't like resistance, I know
And he said it last night, on a big TV show
He's got him a medal that he won in the war...
Weighs 500 pounds and it sleeps by the door
He's a Drugstore Truck Drivin' Man
He's the head of the Klu Klux Klan
When Summer comes rollin' around
We'll be lucky to get outta town
We'll be lucky to get outta town...
Přetvořeny oževatelem The Listener (20. ledna 2005, 04:03:38)
All dressed in uniforms so fine
They drank and killed to pass the time
Wearing the shame
Of all their crimes
With measured steps they walked in line
They walked in line
They carried pictures
Of their wives
And number tags
To prove their lies
And made it through the whole machine
With dirty hearts and hands washed clean
They walked in line
Full of a glory never seen
They made it through the whole machine
Turn never questioned anymore
Hypnotic trance
They never saw
Stardust: Excuse me, but the rule for Poetry is the same as for Lyrics. All Poems and Lyrics are subject to copyright law. However, if you look at that post regarding the law, you will see that under 'Fair Use', it is permissable to post ANY Lyrics or Poems, unless you are making money from it, or being derogatory towards the copyright owner.
As for the length issue. This board runs up against the same problem of 'flooding'.
So, I don't think everyone should post giant novels of material, as it uses up everyone else's space.
The real point here is there shouldn't be hypocracy in the Music Board if people are allowed to post copyrighted poetry on this board.
The following is the portion of the U.S. Copyright Office - 'Fair Use' page, that pertains to posting lyrics on discussion boards. This is the law, still in effect:
:
The 1961 Report of the Register of Copyrights on the General Revision of the U.S. Copyright Law cites examples of activities that courts have regarded as fair use: "quotation of excerpts in a review or criticism for purposes of illustration or comment; quotation of short passages in a scholarly or technical work, for illustration or clarification of the author's observations; use in a parody of some of the content of the work parodied; summary of an address or article, with brief quotations, in a news report; reproduction by a library of a portion of a work to replace part of a damaged copy; reproduction by a teacher or student of a small part of a work to illustrate a lesson; reproduction of a work in legislative or judicial proceedings or reports; incidental and fortuitous reproduction, in a newsreel or broadcast, of a work located in the scene of an event being reported."
Another four years to fulfill his satanic reign
A reign of destruction, death, and poverty
the American people to fund it
The sheepily Americans will now see
what indigenous cultures have long experienced,
neglect and totalitarian rule
Surely there is at least one wiseman who agrees
unfortunately, they do not reside in Gods Country
Oklahoma is the worst state ever
not because of its failing statistics
on every level of every aspect in society,
but because the people themselves support it
through the blind aspirations and dark spirit of the church
A den of thieves and a harlots haven
A homeless family cannot enter
because Gods spirit is not there
He has abandoned his church to seek refuge on the sidelines
With his popcorn and beer,
he cheers on the wealthy
and becomes angry at the poor
God Bless America!
Land of the Freaks and Homos of the Brave
where you are free to leave and brave to stay
Unless you are a creature of the forest and say nothing but witness all
Witness all and relive the perversity and molestation endured from a
Whore from Babylon
She has indoctrinated you with rape as God shouts from the sidelines
Shouts that cannot be heard above a roaring crowd
This is the center of Eden
This is American freedom
If you wander the feast you are a guest in white
but if you try to find the heart
Its only open at night
As I left the garden
Resurrected at dawn
I turned to look back just to see where I was
The trees spoke and then whispered
As they moaned and they bled
And they formed into a bush
to reveal faces of the dead
Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell:
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly from their azure towers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sunlight lazily lay.
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley's restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless--
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Ove the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye--
Over the lilies there that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:--from out their fragrant tops Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:--from off the delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace--
Radiant palace--reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion--
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This--all this--was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A wingčd odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tunčd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!--for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh--but smile no more.
Wo ist zu diesem Innen
ein Außen? Auf welches Weh
legt man solches Linnen?
Welche Himmel spieglen sich drinnen
im dem Binnensee
dieser offenen Rosen, dieser sorglosen, sieh:
wie sie lose im Losen
liegen, als könnte nie
eine zitternde Hand sie verschütten.
Sie können sich selber kaum
halten; vielen ließen
sich überfüllen und fließen
über von innenraum
in die Tage, die immer
voller und voller sich schließen,
bis der ganze Sommer ein Zimmer
wird, ein Zimmer in einem Traum.
-------------------------------------------
The Inner Rose
Where is there for this inner
an outer? Upon which hurt
does one lay such fine linen?
And which heavens are reflected within them,
upon the interior seas
of these open roses, these carefree ones, see:
how loose in looseness
they lie, as if a trembling hand
could never tip them over.
They can hardly hold themselves
erect; many allow themselves
be filled all too full and flow
over from inner space
into the days, which, ever
more and more full, close in upon themselves,
until the entire summer becomes
a chamber, a chamber in a dream.
Music: breathing of statues.
Perhaps: silence of paintings.
You language where all language ends.
You time standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.
Feelings for whom? O you the transformation
of feelings into what?--: into audible landscape.
You stranger: music.
You heart-space grown out of us.
The deepest space in us, which, rising above us, forces its way out,--
holy departure:
when the innermost point in us stands
outside, as the most practiced distance, as the other side of the air:
pure, boundless,
no longer habitable.