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Favorite Poems.


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#1 jumpinrocks

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Posted 01 January 2008 - 03:12 AM

I thought it would be cool to get a little poetic so come on poem away. Only the best please. Hopefully we can get a lot of Good ones here.

Peace!!
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#2 mrpanda

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Posted 01 January 2008 - 09:51 AM

I have always loved this one,

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 visitor,' 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 lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named 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 visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor 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 darkness 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 above 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 further 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 sad soul 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 has 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 named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named 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

#3 Stoned Angel

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Posted 22 January 2015 - 09:17 PM

Straight bumpin this to the top. I had a poem thread I stared back in 2010... But I really, really want others to join in and share their faves too. When I start a thread I never feel like people are hijacking it when they post their thought and vidoes and the like. So I thought poeple will be les apprehensive about their post in this thread.

 

 

This one is by Jack Gilbert

 

Hunger

 

Digging into the apple

with my thumbs

scraping out the clogged nails

and digging deeper

refusing the moon color.

Refusing the smell of memories.

Digging in with the sweet jucie

running along my hands unpleasantly.

Refusing the sweetness.

Turning my hands to gouge out chunks.

Feeling the jucie sticky

on my wrist. The skin itching.

Getting to the wooden part.

Getting the seeds.

Going on.

Not taking anyone's word for it.

Getting beyond the seeds.


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#4 AGAMA

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Posted 22 January 2015 - 09:53 PM

“We the willing,

led by the unknowing,

are doing the impossible

for the ungrateful.

We have done so much,

with so little,

for so long,

we are now qualified to

do anything, with nothing.”

 

 

(Mother Teresa of Calcutta

or the French Foreign Legion, 

or our boys in Vietnam,

depending on who/what

you believe.)

 

(OK. So, maybe it's a quote.

Sounded like poetry to me!)


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#5 Skywatcher

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Posted 22 January 2015 - 11:13 PM

One that gives me strength.....

 

A tree has hope.

If it's boughs be cut, they will grow anew.

If it's stock be old, and as dead in the dust,

at the first scent of water it can burst forth................

as when it was first planted.

 

And one that I love just because........

 

Jabberwocky

 

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One two! One two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe. 

Say it with me, it feels good on the tongue. "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves,
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.............

Edited by Skywatcher, 22 January 2015 - 11:18 PM.

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#6 gremlinchode

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Posted 22 January 2015 - 11:55 PM

I was angry with my friend; 
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe: 
I told it not, my wrath did grow. 

And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears: 
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles. 

And it grew both day and night. 
Till it bore an apple bright. 
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine. 

And into my garden stole, 
When the night had veild the pole; 
In the morning glad I see; 
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

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Edited by gremlinchode, 23 January 2015 - 12:00 AM.

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#7 Stoned Angel

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Posted 24 January 2015 - 11:58 AM

Say it with me, it feels good on the tongue. "Twas brillig, and the slithy toves,

did gyre and gimble in the wabe.............

 

Ifucking Love you. The Tumtum tree is right where I like to be. ;)


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#8 gremlinchode

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Posted 24 January 2015 - 08:21 PM

By Félix Arvers

MY soul its secret has, my life too has its mystery,  

A love eternal in a moment’s space conceived;   

Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history,   

And she who was the cause nor knew it nor believed.  

Alas! I shall have passed close by her unperceived,         

Forever at her side, and yet forever lonely,  

I shall unto the end have made life’s journey,

only   Daring to ask for naught, and having naught received.  

For her, though God has made her gentle and endearing,  

She will go on her way distraught and without hearing          

These murmurings of love that round her steps ascend,

  Piously faithful still unto her austere duty,  

Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,  

“Who can this woman be?” and will not comprehend.


Edited by gremlinchode, 24 January 2015 - 08:23 PM.

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#9 gremlinchode

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Posted 08 February 2015 - 12:38 AM

"Somewhere they foxtrot madly 
While in lunar shadows sadly 
I keep pace with crickets gladly 
And Moon rises with my bile" 

 

Unknown


Edited by gremlinchode, 08 February 2015 - 12:38 AM.

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#10 Stoned Angel

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Posted 12 February 2015 - 11:09 AM

Walking home across the Island

 

Walking home across the plain in the dark.

And Linda crying. Again we have come to a place whereI rail and she suffers and the moon

dose not rise. We have only each other, and she is crying like a wounded animal,

knowing there is no place to turn. It is hard to understand why we were brought here by Love.

 

Obsidian. Sturgeon. Infatuated angels.

Which only we can translate into flesh.

The language to which we alone are native.

Our own bait. We are spirits housed in meat,

instantly opaque to te lord. As jesus. We go into the deadfall of the body,

our hearts in their marvelous cases,

and discover new belfries everywhere.

 

I continued toward the Minotaur to keep

the thread taut. And suddenly, now,

immense flowers are coloring all my stalked body. Making wine of me.

As bells get music of metal in the rain.

I prey I am willingly prospers.

The exile that comes on too late.

I go to it as Adam, singing across paradise.


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#11 TastyBeverage

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Posted 12 February 2015 - 11:17 AM

Jack Gilbert! I've always loved this one. 

 

Walking home across the plain in the dark.

And Linda crying. Again we have come to a place where I rail and she suffers and the moon

dose not rise. We have only each other, and she is crying like a wounded animal,

knowing there is no place to turn. It is hard to understand why we were brought here by Love.



#12 Stoned Angel

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Posted 12 February 2015 - 12:54 PM

Ah shit girl I'm already outta likes for the day.

 

I have another one I bet you like. :biggrin:

 

Who's there---

 

I hear the trees with surprise after California,

 

having forgotten the sound that filled my childhood.

 

I hear maples, and vast elms again. American oak,English oak pin oak. Honey locust and mountain ash.

 

Catalpa, beech and sycamore.

 

I hear luxury again just before autumn. And remember the old riddle:

 

 

Winter will take it all, the trees will go on.

 

This grass will die and this lawn will continue. What then

 

goes on of the child I was? Of that boy taunted by the lush whispering every Summer night in Pittsburgh?

 

All those I have been are the generalisation that tastes this plum.

 

Brothers who knew all the Women I Loved. But did we not share or alternate? Was I with Gianna

 

among the olive trees those evenings in Perugia?

 

Am I the one who heard with Linda the old Danish men singing up out of the snow and dark far down below us?

 

 

This one I think is my favorite. But I think that might change daily

 

Failing and flying---

 

Everyone forget that Icarus also flew.

 

It's the same when Love comes to an end,

 

or the marriage fails and people say

 

they knew it was a mistake, that everybody

 

said it would never work. That she was

 

old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly.

 

Like being there by that Summer ocean

 

on the other side of the Island while Love was fading out of her, the stars

 

burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last.

 

Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation,

 

the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist.

 

Each afternoon I watched her coming back though the hot stony field after swimming,

 

the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that. Listened to her while we ate lunch.

 

How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was still Provence)

 

and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.

 

I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,

but just coming to the end of his triumph. :wub:


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#13 TastyBeverage

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Posted 12 February 2015 - 01:53 PM

O my lacerated heart. I need to revisit Jack Gilbert.

 

Here's one from my fav Charles B--

 

 

there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.

people just are not good to each other
one on one.

the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.

we are afraid.

our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone

untouched
unspoken to

watering a plant.


Edited by TastyBeverage, 12 February 2015 - 01:53 PM.

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#14 gremlinchode

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Posted 12 February 2015 - 07:01 PM

great poems!!!!


Edited by gremlinchode, 12 February 2015 - 08:51 PM.


#15 TastyBeverage

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Posted 13 February 2015 - 06:05 AM

Lets have a little late night Frank O'Hara...

 

My heart's aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it's throbbing!

then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.

I love you. I love you,
but I'm turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.

Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,

and I'll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.

Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick

with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.

That's funny! there's blood on my chest
oh yes, I've been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea

Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again. 


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#16 Stoned Angel

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Posted 26 March 2015 - 11:37 AM

I can't believe, again I find myself with no "likes"...

Those likes

Those flakes

of Float on Float

like a Boat

Heeding to the Tops of our Heads

Floating onward with no likes to give

a simple click, a button of Idea's Understood

I get it, a found friend

but alas I find myself with a simple click a button with no reply

only to tell me I'm outta you

 

no understandment that I understood all because I used all my "likes" -seems unfair

 

 

 

But really the poem I'd like to share goes more like this

 

Though me is the way into woeful city,

Though me is the way into Eternal woe,

Though me is the way among the lost People.

 

Appear, Appear, Whatso thy Shape or Name

O Mountain Bull, Snake of the Hundred Heads,

Lion of the burning flame!

O God, beast, Mystery, come!

 

My days have run, the Servant I,

Initiate, of the Idaean Jove;

Where midnight Zagreus roves, I rove;

I have endured his Thunder-cry;

Fulfilled his red and bleeding feasts;

Held the Great Mother's Mountain flame;

I am Set Free and Named by Name

A Bacchos of the Mailed Priests

 

I'm reading The Hero with a Thousand Faces- just wanted to share these

with love stoned off her ass angel who should be cleaning....One more page, one more song, one more stroke of color, before the business of the chore bares it head on my shoulders ....we cry FREEDOM


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#17 Stoned Angel

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Posted 20 May 2015 - 08:43 AM

Virgin Mother, daughter of your Son,

More humble and sublime than any creature,

Fixed goal decreed from all eternity,

You are the one who gave to human nature

So much nobility that its Creator

Did not disdain His being made its creature.

That Love whose warmth allowed this flower to bloom

Within the everlasting peace was Love

Rekindled in your womb; for us above,

You are the noonday torch of charity,

And there below, on Earth among the mortals,

You are a living Spring of Hope. Lady,

You are so high, you can so intercede,

That he who would have grace but does not seek

Your aid, may long to fly but has no wings.

Your Loving-kindness does not only answer

The one who asks, but it is often ready

To answer freely long before the asking.

In you compassion is , in you is pity,

In you is generosity, in you

Is every goodness found in any creature.

 

 

 

Dante Alighieri, la divina commedia: paradiso, translated by Allen Mandelbaum  (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995) canto 33 ll. 1-21.



#18 Stoned Angel

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Posted 20 May 2015 - 08:50 AM

Virgin Mother, daughter of your Son,

More humble and sublime than any creature,

Fixed goal decreed from all eternity,

You are the one who gave to human nature

So much nobility that its Creator

Did not disdain His being made its creature.

That Love whose warmth allowed this flower to bloom

Within the everlasting peace was Love

Rekindled in your womb; for us above,

You are the noonday torch of charity,

And there below, on Earth among the mortals,

You are a living Spring of Hope. Lady,

You are so high, you can so intercede,

That he who would have grace but does not seek

Your aid, may long to fly but has no wings.

Your Loving-kindness does not only answer

The one who asks, but it is often ready

To answer freely long before the asking.

In you compassion is , in you is pity,

In you is generosity, in you

Is every goodness found in any creature.

 

 

 

Dante Alighieri, la divina commedia: paradiso, translated by Allen Mandelbaum  (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995) canto 33 ll. 1-21.

 

This poem is for all the amazing Women in your Life. Don't forget how truly special she is. Remind her every moment by being virtuous. Weather she be your Mother, Wife, daughter, friend, or stranger on the street. And if you are a Woman reading this poem remember what a Gift you are, that you are Love.


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#19 Stoned Angel

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Posted 04 October 2016 - 07:18 AM

The Morning's News

 

To moralize the state, they drag out a man,

and bind his hands, and darken his eyes

with a black rag to be free of the light in them,

and tie him to a post, and kill him.

And I am sickened by complicity in my race.

To kill in hot savagery like a beast is understandable.

It is forgivable and curable.

But to kill by design, deliberately, without wrath,

that is the sullen labor that perfects Hell.

The serpent is gentle, compared to man.

It is man, the inventor of cold violence,

death as waste, who has made himself lonely

among creation, so that he cannot labor in the light of the sun with hope,

or sit at peace in the shade of any tree.

The morning's news drives sleep out of the head at night.

Uselessness and horror hold the eyes open to the dark.

Weary, we lie awake in the agony of the old giving birth to the new

without assurance that the new will be better.

I look at my son, whose eyes are like a young god's

they are so open to the world.

I look at my sloping fields now turning green with the young grass of April.

What must I do to go free? I think I must put on a deathlier knowledge,

and prepare to die rather than enter into the design of man's hate.

I will purge my mind of the airy claims of church and state,

and observe the ancient wisdom of tribesman and peasant,

who understand they labor on the earth only to lie down in it

in peace, and were content. I will serve the earth and not pretend my life could be better served.

My life is only the earth risen up

a little way into the light, among the leaves.

Another morning comes with it's strange cure.

The earth is news. Though the river floods and the spring is cold, my heart goes on,

faithful to a mystery in a cloud,

and the summer's garden continues its descent

through me, toward the ground.

 

Wendell Berry

1968


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#20 Stoned Angel

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Posted 17 January 2017 - 09:04 AM

"My dear old ram, why are you thus leaving the cave last of the sheep? Never in the old days were you left behind by the flock, but long-striding, far ahead of the rest would pasture on the tender bloom of the grass, be first at running rivers, and be eager always to lead the way first back to the sheepfold at evening. Now you are last of all. Perhaps you are grieving for your master's eye, which a bad man with his wicked companions put out, after he had made my brain helpless with wine, this Nobody, who I think has not yet got clear of destruction. If only you could think like us and only be given a voice, to tell me where he is skulking away from my anger, then surely he would be smashed against the floor and his brains go spattering all over the cave to make my heart lighter from the burden of all the evils this niddering Nobody gave me"

 

450-455

Escape from the cave and rocks thrown by Polyphemos

The Odyssey of Homer

 

AHH love this book


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