Poems
Sweet Release
Whispering among the innocence of none…
My heart set before me…
Holding out my hand to emptiness
Yet death takes my hand instead…
Touching my face with his bony hand,
Whispering sweet sentiments of ambrosia…
Calling my name as if in dream
I take a step forward… my hand out still…
Biting my lip to seek my blood
as he enfolds me in his clammy embrace..
his soulless eyes delving into mine,
seeking my sorrow…
pulling it from within my soul
My hands shake as I greet him
hiding nothing…
Nothing left to give
One last look at the existence I had been
Then I step forth again…
Seeking oblivion..
Moving towards darkness..
And
Perhaps finding the peace I seek
By:
Zail
THE RAVEN
Once upon a midnight dreary, while i pondered, weak and weary
over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
while i nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'tis some visiter," i muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
only this and nothing more."
ah, distinctly i remember it was in the bleak december;
and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
eagerly i wished the morrow; — vainly i had sought to borrow
from my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the last lenore —
for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore.
nameless here for evermore.
and the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
so that now, to still the beating of my heart, i stood repeating
"'tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door —
some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
this it is and nothing more.
presently, my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"sir," said i, "or madam, truly your forgiveness i implore;
but the fact is i was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
and so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
that i scarce was sure i heard you" — here i opened wide the door; —
darkness there and nothing more.
deep into that darkness peering, long i stood there wondering, fearing,
doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
but the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
and the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "lenore!"
this i whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "lenore!"
merely this and nothing more.
back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
soon again i heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"surely," said i, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
'tis the wind and nothing more!"
open here i flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter
in there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
but, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
perched upon a bust of pallas just above my chamber door —
perched, and sat, and nothing more.
then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
by the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," i said, "art sure no craven,
ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore —
tell me what thy lordly name is on the night's plutonian shore!"
quoth the raven "nevermore."
much i marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
for we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
with such name as "nevermore."
but the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
nothing farther then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered —
till i scarcely more than muttered "other friends have flown before —
on the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
then the bird said "nevermore."
startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"doubtless," said i, "what it utters is its only stock and store
caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "never — nevermore."
but the raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
straight i wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
then, upon the velvet sinking, i betook myself to linking
fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
what this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
meant in croaking "nevermore."
this i sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
to the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
this and more i sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp — light gloated o'er,
but whose velvet violet lining with the lamp — light gloating o'er,
she shall press, ah, nevermore!
then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
swung by seraphim whose foot — falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"wretch," I cried, "thy god hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of lenore;
quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost lenore!"
quoth the raven "nevermore."
"prophet!" said i, "thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil! —
whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
on this home by horror haunted — tell me truly, i implore —
is there — is there balm in gilead? — tell me — tell me, i implore!"
quoth the raven "nevermore."
"prophet!" said i, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil!
by that heaven that bends above us — by that god we both adore
tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant aidenn,
it shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name lenore —
clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name lenore."
quoth the raven "nevermore."
"be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" i shrieked, upstarting —
"get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore!
leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door!
take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
quoth the raven "nevermore."
and the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
on the pallid bust of pallas just above my chamber door;
and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
and the lamp — light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
shall be lifted — nevermore!
(Edgar Allan Poe)
This Poem was written in memory of a girl who died my freshman year of high school.
Good Bye Young One,
You Will Truly Be Missed
As All Of Us Stand Clinnching Our fists.
I Did Not Know You Well
But I Knew Your Face.
A Cheerful Smile, Gone From This Place.
A Body In Motion,
One With Spirit And Drive.
the Glow Of Youth That Makes This School Thrive.
Among Us, Your Peers, You Are Surely Respected,
Happy Memories Of You, Will Never Be Rejected.
Somewhere You've Gone,
Not Far Away,
We All Will See You Again, Hopefully, Some Day.
Your Spirit Is Within Us All Forever,
This Fact, Not Even Time Can Sever.
If You Can See Us Now,
Please Don't Cry,
Our Loving Memory Of You Will Never Die.
God Bless You Where Ever You Are.
Amen.
By:
Scott Pilkey
10/27/87
The Lockless Door
IT went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.
I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.
But the knock came again
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.
Back over the sill
I bade a "Come in"
To whoever the knock
At the door may have been.
So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.
By:
Robert Frost
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
By:
Robert Frost
A Dream
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
By:
Edgar Allen Poe
The Valley of Unrest
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,
To keep watch above the flowers,
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 are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Uneasily, from morn till even,
Over 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 their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.
By:
Edgar Allen Poe
American Night
Welcome to the American Night
Where dogs bite
to find th voice
the face the fate the fame
to be tamed
by the night
in a quiet soft luxuriant
car
Hitchhikers line the Great Highway
By:
Jim Morrison
The grand highway
is
crowded
w/
lovers
&
searchers
&
leavers
so
eager
to
please
&
forget.
Wilderness
By:
Jim Morrison
Explosion
The mushroom
The unfolding
instant of creation(fertilisation)
not an instant seperate from breakfeast
it all flows down & out, flowing
but that instant:
not fire & fusion(fission)but a moment
of jellied ice, crystal, vegatative mating
merging in cool slime splendour
a crushing of steel & glass & ice
(instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide)
far-out splendour
heat & fire are outwards signs of a
Small dry mating
By:
Jim Morrison
Matchbox
Are you more real than me
I'll burn you, & set you free
Wept bitter tears
Excessive courtesy
I won't forget
By:
Jim Morrison
IT HAS BEEN SAID...
It has been said that
on birth we are rying
to find a proper womb
for the growth of our
Buddha nature, & that
on dying we find a
womb in the tomb of the
earth. thi is my
fahter's greatest
fear. It shouldn't be.
instead, he should
be trying to find me
a better tomb.
By:
Jim Morrison
Please Note:
That all poetry on this page is copyrighted by there respective poets. This page is my way of honoring them and thier works.
