Larian Studios Forums General Chat Chat (Anything) Favorite Poems (any language)

And here one of my favourite that fits well in this cold winter season ... <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/cry.gif" alt="" />

Rêvé pour l'hiver

L'hiver, nous irons dans un petit wagon rose
Avec des coussins bleus.
Nous serons bien. Un nid de baisers fous repose
Dans chaque coin moelleux.
Tu fermeras l'oeil, pour ne point voir, par la glace,
Grimacer les ombres des soirs,
Ces monstruosités hargneuses, populace
De démons noirs et de loups noirs.
Puis tu te sentiras la joue égratignée...
Un petit baiser, comme une folle araignée,
Te courra par le cou...
Et tu me diras : « Cherche ! » en inclinant la tête,
— Et nous prendrons du temps à trouver cette bête
— Qui voyage beaucoup...

by Arthur Rimbaud (1870)

I tried to work on a translation but I gave up !
Sorry...

Here's my attempt at a translation.

Dreamed of Winter - Arthur Rimbaud

This winter, we will go in a little pink carriage
With blue cushions.
We will be fine. A nest of insane kisses rest
In every soft corner.
You will close your eye, so as not to see, by the ice,
The faces of the evening shadows
The horrible monstrosities, the mob
Of black demons and black wolves.
Then you will feel your cheek scratched
A small kiss, like an insane spider
Will run down your neck...
And you will say to me, "Look!", while inclining your head,
-And we will take time to find this beast
-Who travels so much...

Okay - very long...but my favorite...
And, for Robbie Burn's day tomorrow, figured it is appropriate. (Saw his house in Scotland - and did the Tam O'Shanter walk!)

Tam O' Shanter
A Tale
1790
Type: Poem

"Of Brownyis and of Bogillis full is this Buke."
Gawin Douglas.

When chapman billies leave the street,
And drouthy neibors, neibors, meet;
As market days are wearing late,
And folk begin to tak the gate,
While we sit bousing at the nappy,
An' getting fou and unco happy,
We think na on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Where sits our sulky, sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter:
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonie lasses).

O Tam! had'st thou but been sae wise,
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market-day thou was na sober;
That ilka melder wi' the Miller,
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on
The Smith and thee gat roarin' fou on;
That at the Lord's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday,
She prophesied that late or soon,
Thou wad be found, deep drown'd in Doon,
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld, haunted kirk.

Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises!

But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right,
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi reaming sAats, that drank divinely;
And at his elbow, Souter Johnie,
His ancient, trusty, drougthy crony:
Tam lo'ed him like a very brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The Landlady and Tam grew gracious,
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and precious:
The Souter tauld his queerest stories;
The Landlord's laugh was ready chorus:
The storm without might rair and rustle,
Tam did na mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy.
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious!

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the Rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm. -
Nae man can tether Time nor Tide,
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And sic a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd;
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.

Weel-mounted on his grey mare, Meg,
A better never lifted leg,
Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles holding fast his gude blue bonnet,
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scots sonnet,
Whiles glow'rin round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Where ghaists and houlets nightly cry.

By this time he was cross the ford,
Where in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Where drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Where hunters fand the murder'd bairn;
And near the thorn, aboon the well,
Where Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'.
Before him Doon pours all his floods,
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods,
The lightnings flash from pole to pole,
Near and more near the thunders roll,
When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees,
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze,
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing,
And loud resounded mirth and dancing.

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn!
What dangers thou canst make us scorn!
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil;
Wi' usquabae, we'll face the devil!
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle,
Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle,
But Maggie stood, right sair astonish'd,
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd,
She ventur'd forward on the light;
And, wow! Tam saw an unco sight!

Warlocks and witches in a dance:
Nae cotillon, brent new frae France,
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in their heels.
A winnock-bunker in the east,
There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large,
To gie them music was his charge:
He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl,
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. -
Coffins stood round, like open presses,
That shaw'd the Dead in their last dresses;
And (by some devilish cantraip sleight)
Each in its cauld hand held a light.
By which heroic Tam was able
To note upon the haly table,
A murderer's banes, in gibbet-airns;
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristened bairns;
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape,
Wi' his last gasp his gabudid gape;
Five tomahawks, wi' blude red-rusted:
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted;
A garter which a babe had strangled:
A knife, a father's throat had mangled.
Whom his ain son of life bereft,
The grey-hairs yet stack to the heft;
Wi' mair of horrible and awfu',
Which even to name wad be unlawfu'.
Three lawyers tongues, turned inside oot,
Wi' lies, seamed like a beggars clout,
Three priests hearts, rotten, black as muck,
Lay stinkin, vile in every neuk.

As Tammie glowr'd, amaz'd, and curious,
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious;
The Piper loud and louder blew,
The dancers quick and quicker flew,
The reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit,
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit,
And coost her duddies to the wark,
And linkit at it in her sark!

Now Tam, O Tam! had they been queans,
A' plump and strapping in their teens!
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flainen,
Been snaw-white seventeen hunder linen!-
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies!
But wither'd beldams, auld and droll,
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal,
Louping an' flinging on a crummock.
I wonder did na turn thy stomach.

But Tam kent what was what fu' brawlie:
There was ae winsome wench and waulie
That night enlisted in the core,
Lang after ken'd on Carrick shore;
(For mony a beast to dead she shot,
And perish'd mony a bonie boat,
And shook baith meikle corn and bear,
And kept the country-side in fear);
Her cutty sark, o' Paisley harn,
That while a lassie she had worn,
In longitude tho' sorely scanty,
It was her best, and she was vauntie.
Ah! little ken'd thy reverend grannie,
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie,
Wi twa pund Scots ('twas a' her riches),
Wad ever grac'd a dance of witches!

But here my Muse her wing maun cour,
Sic flights are far beyond her power;
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,
(A souple jade she was and strang),
And how Tam stood, like ane bewithc'd,
And thought his very een enrich'd:
Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,
And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main:
Till first ae caper, syne anither,
Tam tint his reason a thegither,
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"
And in an instant all was dark:
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied.
When out the hellish legion sallied.

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,
When plundering herds assail their byke;
As open pussie's mortal foes,
When, pop! she starts before their nose;
As eager runs the market-crowd,
When "Catch the thief!" resounds aloud;
So Maggie runs, the witches follow,
Wi' mony an eldritch skreich and hollow.

Ah, Tam! Ah, Tam! thou'll get thy fairin!
In hell, they'll roast thee like a herrin!
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin!
Kate soon will be a woefu' woman!
Now, do thy speedy-utmost, Meg,
And win the key-stone o' the brig;^1
There, at them thou thy tail may toss,
A running stream they dare na cross.
But ere the keystane she could make,
The fient a tail she had to shake!
For Nannie, far before the rest,
Hard upon noble Maggie prest,
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettle;
But little wist she Maggie's mettle!
Ae spring brought off her master hale,
But left behind her ain grey tail:
The carlin claught her by the rump,
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump.

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read,
Ilk man and mother's son, take heed:
Whene'er to Drink you are inclin'd,
Or Cutty-sarks rin in your mind,
Think ye may buy the joys o'er dear;
Remember Tam o' Shanter's mare.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Footnote 1: It is a well-known fact that witches, or any evil spirits, have no power to follow a poor wight any further than the middle of the next running stream. It may be proper likewise to mention to the benighted traveller, that when he falls in with bogles, whatever danger may be in his going forward, there is much more hazard in turning back.-R. B.]

okay maybe this is an old thread...but i couldn't resist just adding something in...it's alot better then just making a new one




The moon dances in the sky,
while the night gently passes by,
while the world falls asleep on the rythm of the dance,
the stars create the finest set of romance,
Allthough we are not together anymore,
this night is for me and you and all that we have been through,
and i realise that i love you more then ever before...
i know that time doesn't touch you any longer,
But it touches me..and i am getting older,
I will live untill i die but,
until then watch me from the sky and love me as i love you,
cause i know..our love is true

YOU

You'll never know
how much
your smile lights up the room
or your laughter fills my soul,
making all the little problems of the day disappear.

You'll never know
how much it means to me
when you do or say something
thoughtful and totally unexpected —
usually just at the moment I need it most.

You'll never know
how much pride I hold in my heart
for the person you are and the things you do —
for your strength and your gentleness,
your courage and your determination,
your accomplishments and your dreams.

You'll never know
how much I need you by my side —
in the best of times and the worst of times
and all the times in between.
It really doesn't matter where we are
or what we're doing,
as long as we're together to share it all.
I love you with all my heart and soul.

You'll never know how much.

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/shame.gif" alt="" />

awwww...... seth, u look cute when u blush. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/evilgrin1.gif" alt="" /> i'm sure your woman feels fortunate to have such a romantic guy like u. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/up.gif" alt="" />

I KNOW
by ME

I know
The feeling of a fantasy
A chemical dependency
The feeling of a bruised knee
Envy and jealousy,
cause nothing belongs to me
I must remember memories,
before they become discrete
And strive for dreams that seem unseen.

Like a rose on a cloud

Oh baby, you're an angel in heaven,
like a rose on a cloud,

A beauty beyond recognition,
I'd like to try describing you,
but it's only a foolish ambition,

I'm not a poet nor am i a writer,
I'm not romantic, i don't have beautiful words,
I'm not perfect, i'm not like you,

And still you loved me,
And with that you made me happy,
You were a dream,
far beyond reality,

And i can say with proud,
Baby, i love you,
You're an angel in the sky,
like a rose on a cloud,

Kabuti

Here is a poem I made for a friend on a bet. I didnt know where else to post it:

Blood flows freely from me,
To the beat of distant drums.
They still keep close behind me,
Despite how fast I run.

My breath comes ragged to me,
My blood it soaks my coat
The idol heavy in my hand,
a scream trapped in my throat.

Arrows clatter near me,
the tribe still seeks my skin.
I am truly weak and tired,
as the canyon begins to thin.

It opens up before me,
my heart begins to lift.
Then it stills inside me,
as I reach the edge of the cliff.

The jungle sprawls below me,
a green and untamed sea.
I hear the cries behind me,
To be or not to be.

I clutch the idol to me,
what pleasures it will buy.
I close my eyes and leap,
wishing I could fly.

I flail at the coming trees,
I clutch at every vine.
Amazingly I slow myself,
the idol still is mine.

They scream their hatred,
from atop the cliff,
As I wander homeward,
Very bruised and stiff.

Later in the city,
where hope it will be sold.
The broker says with a sad smile,
My friend this is not gold.

So here I sit in a bar,
drinking all alone.
Beside my only companion,
a painted piece of stone.

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/kitty.gif" alt="" />

sounds like mandrake stole a kid's action figure & hunted down by the parents. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/evilgrin1.gif" alt="" />

serves u right, u sick pussy!! <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/tongue.gif" alt="" /> <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/biggrin.gif" alt="" /> <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/silly.gif" alt="" />

Actually a friend bet me I couldnt write a poem from scratch in 10 minutes. <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/winkwink.gif" alt="" />

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/kitty.gif" alt="" />

Edit: She should have bet me I couldnt make a post without typos

<img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/kitty.gif" alt="" />

This is my most favorite poem, but it's very sad.
It was created by John Clare, titled: I Am

I Am

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am, and live - like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
Even the dearest, that I loved the best,
Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smiled or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling, and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below - above the vaulted sky.

Damn, where did I put my old 'Ode to Kitties' poem from way back in my Div Div days...should probably be changed to 'Ode to Tibars' for the <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/beyond.gif" alt="" />

Found it....

Ode to Kitties!!
Oh were have all the kitties gone,
there are no more, in Rivellon,
'Tis not my fault they attacked me thus,
I no choice, but to crush the puss!

With sharpened sword and shield of steel,
I turn the kitties into a meal,
They claw and scrape, meow and hiss,
They are not something I shall quickly miss!

Oh were have all the kitties gone,
there are no more, in Rivellon,
Oh well tis not a total loss,
Least I showed them who's the boss!!

My contribution to the poem thread... <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/evilgrin1.gif" alt="" />

@ plowking -> <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/delight.gif" alt="" />

@ kyra_ny -> very nice <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Thank you janggut <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Here's another poem I really like.
It's by 'John Donne' and it's called 'The Flea'.


THE FLEA.
by John Donne

MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

Kyra_Ny <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Ah, auld Emily Dickinson...has she ever been so upbeat...

Not In Vain

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.



and



I'm Nobody! Who Are You


I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us--don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

Song of Secret Love
by John Clare (1793-1864)

I hid my love when young while I
Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly
I hid my love to my despite
Till I could not bear to look at light
I dare not gaze upon her face
But left her memory in each place
Where ere I saw a wild flower lie
I kissed and bade my love goodbye

I met her in the greenest dells
Where dew drops pearl the wood bluebells
The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye
The bee kissed and went singing by
A sunbeam found a passage there
A gold chain round her neck so fair
As secret as the wild bee's song
She lay there all the summer long

I hid my love in field and town
Till e'en the breeze would knock me down
The bees seemed singing ballads l'er
The fly's buss turned a Lion's roar
And even silence found a tongue
To haunt me all the summer long
The riddle nature could not prove
Was nothing else but secret love


Kyra_Ny <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Kubla Khan
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Kyra_Ny <img src="/ubbthreads/images/graemlins/smile.gif" alt="" />

Ja det är livet
som går förbi på gatan utanför med sina stora kliv
Ja det är livet
som går förbi på gatan utanför med sina stora kliv
så varför känns det inte som att man lever
utan bara håller sig vid liv?

Ronny Eriksson (even though it's refrain to a song it pretty much summons up my life, and I don't like the rest of the lyrics so...)

Übereil