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Stiggy

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Everything posted by Stiggy

  1. ...caught a whiff of something, and raised his eyebrows, when a man came stumbling by with a burning twig in his hand circling Dex in dance, and those at the party began to chant. Come to find out it was some sort of incense for some voodoo ritual that evidently...
  2. When the Bullet Hits the Bone - Golden Earring (the song is called 'the twilight zone' but is aka When the Bullet hits the bone)
  3. ...the wall fell down from all the fans pushing on it, and he found himself...
  4. I know how he feels. I once ate Hells Bells (Datura) and had a trip to outer space overnight
  5. mine is from thinking about the crucifixion of Christ, mirrored in a near death experience for me. Stiggy comes from 'stigmata' and 'stigma'. Don't tell anyone. here's the full story of why i relate to stigmata http://incubusview.com/messboard/viewtopic.php?t=31535
  6. just learning to take the real, imagine it as clothed in nature, and let the symbols carry affect to express that..

  7. the most charming little poems... _________________________ The Darkling Thrush I leant upon a coppice gate When Frost was spectre-grey, And Winter's dregs made desolate The weakening eye of day. The tangled bine-stems scored the sky Like strings of broken lyres, And all mankind that haunted nigh Had sought their household fires. The land's sharp features seemed to be The Century's corpse outleant, His crypt the cloudy canopy, The wind his death-lament. The ancient pulse of germ and birth Was shrunken hard and dry, And every spirit upon earth Seemed fervourless as I. At once a voice arose among The bleak twigs overhead In a full-hearted evensong Of joy illimited; An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for carolings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware. By Thomas Hardy
  8. The River of Life The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness. by Thomas Campbell
  9. yeah, if it is what they want, it's not edgy enough!
  10. I like that one too, I've actually read 'about' that one in a critique, and it points out, if you're keen, using the same rhyme words are kind of taboo, and that one uses the same exact words for the repeated rhymes. I respect poems that are defiant to what most would call 'proper' or 'fitting.'(and that's what I believe the poem is eluding to after all) I like going against the grain myself. Thanks for sharing.
  11. yes, yes, though my collection is small, that is one of the ones I have in print. And I love it! I love meditative-nature poetry the most of just about any other shape or form poetry presents. I thought you might like this one about sweet memories that lift the spirit. (though I've never read it from a woman's perspective) _________________________ Villanelle of His Lady’s Treasures I took her dainty eyes, as well As silken tendrils of her hair: And so I made a Villanelle! I took her voice, a silver bell, As clear as song, as soft as prayer; I took her dainty eyes as well. It may be, said I, who can tell, These things shall be my less despair? And so I made a Villanelle! I took her whiteness virginal And from her cheek two roses rare: I took her dainty eyes as well. I said: “It may be possible Her image from my heart to tear!” And so I made a Villanelle. I stole her laugh, most musical: I wrought it in with artful care; I took her dainty eyes as well; And so I made a Villanelle. by Ernest Dowson
  12. love it! You know Shelley is my all time favorite! Read this one a hundred times too! _________________________ When the Lamp is Shattered I When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead— When the cloud is scattered The rainbow’s glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot. II As music and splendor Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart’s echoes render No song when the spirit is mute:— No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman’s knell. III When hearts have once mingled Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once possessed. O Love! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier? IV Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee, Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. by Percy Bysshe Shelley
  13. The following is one of my favorite poems of late that I've read a hundred times! (it's worth another look at in this thread only this time in the original form it was written) ___________________ The Tyger Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? by William Blake
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