Rustling leaves --
Cubes of ice,
Clinking in the tumbler --
Golden and smooth.
Friday, October 10, 2008
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Poetry
Some Old School Verse
Edgar Allen Poe: Alone
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allen Poe: AloneFrom childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I lov'd, I loved alone.
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
14 comments:
it's evocative. not an october poem, for me, at any rate
The word “golden” points to fall. But of course it can also be heard as a sound. Summer, fall, either way — the poem would make a nice postcard.
Ha--never thought of it that way. I was imagining the contents of the tumbler to be golden...
perhaps i should have said "(whiskey) tumbler"... that's how i had it written... couldnt decide...
Rustling leaves,
cubes of ice,
already whiskey-colored.
Whiskey is a nice word . . .
Except today, suddenly, it sounds like "whiskers" to me...unusual, because it has always sounded so beautiful,and has suddenly become comic for no apparent reason...sorry...don't know where that came from.
perhaps it makes you grow whiskers.... William...?
I’m trying to think of something clever to say about shaved ice.
shaved ice and whiskey colored whiskers... now there's an idea
sorry, wrong login >_<
lol hmmm... maybe "Summer Serentity"... then youd have to guess the "golden and smooth" part :P
p.s. "gistew"... used in a sentence: "Sometimes your poetry is...gist ...ew...."
Ha! — “gist ew wait, kid.”
Cassie, I want this painted beautifully on a piece of old barn wood and finished to hang outside on the patio under the pole beans (that are going to grow there) this summer.
You do, do you? lol
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