Let's pause for poetry. (62)
Circlip: My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
There, now don't you feel better for that?
"I drank what?" Socrates My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
There, now don't you feel better for that?
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Circlip: My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
There, now don't you feel better for that?
Put this piece on the poem forum My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
There, now don't you feel better for that?
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Mercedes_00: Put this piece on the poem forum
It's a bit too lovey dovey in there for me, Merc. 
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Circlip: I daresay I would if I was as uncouth as you.
please write some more poetry...............best laugh i,ve had for weeks......
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truheart1941: please write some more poetry
What do you mean, "some more"? I haven't written any. 
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Circlip: What do you mean, "some more"? I haven't written any.
the truth is much funnier.------ This thread is Archived ------
No chord of music has yet been found
To even equal that sweet sound
Which to my mind all else surpasses:
The clink of ice in crystal glasses
To even equal that sweet sound
Which to my mind all else surpasses:
The clink of ice in crystal glasses
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rohaan:
The clink of ice in crystal glasses
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenThe clink of ice in crystal glasses
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
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Circlip: O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
When I am dead, and ‘neath the peat—Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Lay a jug of punch at me head and feet-
And say a word ‘bout this han’some rover-
Whiskey was ‘is darlin’-
Drunk or sober!
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I once joineth a dating a site
In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
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LmiDkC: I once joineth a dating a site
In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
What a canopy a King Cobra possesses. Gorgeous, brilliantly colored and arrayed; quiet. Yet so ungodly deadly. Many have conceded that the King Cobra is here to teach acuity in awareness. Learn it. A wise man once said there is only one in a hundred men who are noble, kind, honest, and fair. This is an understatement. Be careful.In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
------ This thread is Archived ------
LmiDkC: I once joineth a dating a site
In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
That's good In the hopes I wille meeth
A special somebodie.
Instead I found a bum who used me
and still lived with his mom.
What a tragedie.
I should have knoweth better
What u join for free
Will cost you and arm and a leggie.
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Circlip: Is that Shakespeare, Tulefell?
It's Pearshake, Circlip :)------ This thread is Archived ------
Tulefell: It's Pearshake, Circlip :)
Is that a type of poetry, or a fruity drink? ------ This thread is Archived ------
Circlip: Is that a type of poetry, or a fruity drink?
Well... as you asked.There was a hype on the Russian part of net a few years ago, called "Pirozhok" (plural "Pirozhki"). A type of 4-liners that meets some special requirements, of with I remember only some:
* Iambic meter
* No rhythm
* No punctuation (I violated this one)
* No capitals (I violated this one too)
* No profanity
There was a lot of pearls, a total pleasure if you are into this type of literature. I am and I tried my pen too. Without success :)
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Tulefell: Well... as you asked.
There was a hype on the Russian part of net a few years ago, called "Pirozhok" (plural "Pirozhki"). A type of 4-liners that meets some special requirements, of with I remember only some:
* Iambic meter
* No rhythm
* No punctuation (I violated this one)
* No capitals (I violated this one too)
* No profanity
There was a lot of pearls, a total pleasure if you are into this type of literature. I am and I tried my pen too. Without success :)
It just shows that it is possible to get a meaningful answer from a flippant question, Tule. There was a hype on the Russian part of net a few years ago, called "Pirozhok" (plural "Pirozhki"). A type of 4-liners that meets some special requirements, of with I remember only some:
* Iambic meter
* No rhythm
* No punctuation (I violated this one)
* No capitals (I violated this one too)
* No profanity
There was a lot of pearls, a total pleasure if you are into this type of literature. I am and I tried my pen too. Without success :)
It's much more usual for it to be the other way round.
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Well... as a poet once said:
Everybody chooses for himself
His religion, loyalties and women.
Service to a prophet, or a demon,
Everybody chooses for himself.
Everybody chooses on his own
The word for loving and the word for praying,
A dueling foil, a sword for dragonslaying.
Everybody chooses on his own.
Everybody takes what fits him best
In shield and armor, walking staff and sandals,
In the final jury, judge and sentence,
Everybody takes what fits him best.
Everybody chooses for himself,
I, too, try the best I can envision.
I blame no-one else for my decisions.
Everybody chooses for himself.
Yury Levitansky (1976)
Translated by Tanya Wolfson
Everybody chooses for himself
His religion, loyalties and women.
Service to a prophet, or a demon,
Everybody chooses for himself.
Everybody chooses on his own
The word for loving and the word for praying,
A dueling foil, a sword for dragonslaying.
Everybody chooses on his own.
Everybody takes what fits him best
In shield and armor, walking staff and sandals,
In the final jury, judge and sentence,
Everybody takes what fits him best.
Everybody chooses for himself,
I, too, try the best I can envision.
I blame no-one else for my decisions.
Everybody chooses for himself.
Yury Levitansky (1976)
Translated by Tanya Wolfson
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Tulefell: Well... as a poet once said:
Everybody chooses for himself
His religion, loyalties and women.
Service to a prophet, or a demon,
Everybody chooses for himself.
Everybody chooses on his own
The word for loving and the word for praying,
A dueling foil, a sword for dragonslaying.
Everybody chooses on his own.
Everybody takes what fits him best
In shield and armor, walking staff and sandals,
In the final jury, judge and sentence,
Everybody takes what fits him best.
Everybody chooses for himself,
I, too, try the best I can envision.
I blame no-one else for my decisions.
Everybody chooses for himself.
Yury Levitansky (1976)
Translated by Tanya Wolfson
Quite a bit in there to think about, if you take the trouble. Everybody chooses for himself
His religion, loyalties and women.
Service to a prophet, or a demon,
Everybody chooses for himself.
Everybody chooses on his own
The word for loving and the word for praying,
A dueling foil, a sword for dragonslaying.
Everybody chooses on his own.
Everybody takes what fits him best
In shield and armor, walking staff and sandals,
In the final jury, judge and sentence,
Everybody takes what fits him best.
Everybody chooses for himself,
I, too, try the best I can envision.
I blame no-one else for my decisions.
Everybody chooses for himself.
Yury Levitansky (1976)
Translated by Tanya Wolfson
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Created: Mar 2022
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My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
There, now don't you feel better for that?