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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
[OT] Poems
- Thread starter Darklance
- Start date
Crothian
First Post
Darklance said:
Will this do?
Sonnet to Gath
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Country of hunchbacks! --- where the strong, straight spine,
Jeered at by crooked children, makes his way
Through by-streets at the kindest hour of day,
Till he deplore his stature, and incline
To measure manhood with a gibbous line;
Till out of loneliness, being flawed with clay,
He stoop into his neighbor's house and say,
``Your roof is low for me --- the fault is mine.''
Dust in an urn long since, dispersed and dead
Is great Apollo; and the happier he;
Since who amongst you all would lift a head
At a god's radiance on the mean door-tree,
Saving to run and hide your dates and bread,
And cluck your children in about your knee?
Oni
First Post
It was the middle of the night
and the sun was shining bright
two dead men arose to fight
they stood back to back, facing one another
drew their swords and shot each other
if you do not believe this preposterous lie is true
ask the blindman, he saw it too
Ok, so it's not great literature, but it is the only poem I know by heart, my father taught it to me.
and the sun was shining bright
two dead men arose to fight
they stood back to back, facing one another
drew their swords and shot each other
if you do not believe this preposterous lie is true
ask the blindman, he saw it too
Ok, so it's not great literature, but it is the only poem I know by heart, my father taught it to me.
Crothian
First Post
Darklance said:
I'm a poem junky.
Dream-Land
by
Edgar Allan Poe
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule --
From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
Out of Space -- out of Time.
Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
With forms that no man can discover
For the dew that drips all over;
mountains toppling evermore
Into seas without a shore;
Seas that restlessly aspire,
Surging, unto skys of fire
Lakes that endlessly outspread
there lone waters-lone and dead,-
Their still waters-still and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily
By the lakes that thus outspread
their lone waters, lone and dead,-
Their sad waters, sad and chilly
With the snows of the lolling lily,-
By the mountains-near the river
Murmering lowly,murmering ever,-
By the grey woods,- by the swamp
Where the toad and the newt encamp,-
By the dismal tarns and pools
Where dwell the Ghouls,-
Buy each spot the most unholly,-
In each nook most melancholly,-
There the traveler meets aghast
Sheeted Memories of the Past-
Shrouded forms that start and sigh
As they past the wanderer by-
White-robed forms of friends long given,
In agony, to the earth
And Heaven.
For the hear whose woes are legion
'Tis a peacefull, soothing region-
For the spirit who walks in shadow
'Tis-Oh, 'tis an Eldorado!
But the traveler, traveling through it,
may not-dare not openly view it;
Never it's mysteries are exposed
To the weak human eye unclosed;
So wills it's King, who hath forbid,
The uplifting of the fringed lid;
And thus the sad Soul that here passes
Beholds it but through darkened glasses.
By a route obscure and lonely,
Haunted by ill angels only,
Where an Eidolon named NIGHT,
On a black throne reigns upright,
I have reached these lands but newly
From an ultimate dim Thule.
Jabberwocky
by
Lewis Carroll (Rev. Charles Dodgson)
'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 maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
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.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! 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.
Invitation
Shel Silverstein
If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A Hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer…
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
Fore we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe,1845
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 someone 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 name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.
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 the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals 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, something 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 the 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 that 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 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."
Thus 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls 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, O 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 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 lamplight 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!
ForceUser
Explorer
I like Robert Frost, Thom Gunn, and Ted Hughes. Plug any of those names into Google and you'll find links to their work online. One of my favorite poems ever is by Gunn. About a year and a half ago I was playing a bard in a campaign and I recited this at the table (Want extra XP? Recite a poem in-character!):
St. Martin and the Beggar
Martin sat young upon his bed, a budding cenobite.
Said, "Though I hold the principles of Christian life be right,
I cannot grow from them alone, I must go out to fight."
He traveled hard, he traveled far,
The light began to fail.
"Is not this act of mine," he said,
"A cowardly betrayel? Can I not peg my nature down
With a religious nail?"
Wind scudded on the marshland, and dangling at his side
His sword soon clattered under hail
What could he do but ride? There was not shelter for a dog
The garrison far ahead.
A ship that moves on darkness, he rode across the plain,
When a brawny beggar started up who grabbed at his rein,
And leant dripping with sweat and water upon his horse's mane.
He glared into Martin's eyes, with eyes more wild than bold.
His hair sent rivers down his spine, like a fowl plucked to be sold.
His flesh was gray, Martin said, "What, naked in this cold?"
I have no food to give you, money would be a joke.
Drawing his new sword from its sheath he took his soldier's cloak
And cut it in two equal parts with a single stroke.
Grabbing it 'round his shoulders, pinning it with his chin,
The beggar dived into the dark, and soaking to the skin,
Martin continued on until he reached an inn.
One candle on the wooden table, the food and drink were poor.
The woman hobbled off, he ate,
Then casually before the table stood the beggar
As if he had used the door.
Now dry, for hair and flesh had been
By warm airs fanned.
Still bare, but round each muscled thigh
A single golden band.
His eyes now wild with love, he held the half cloak in his hand.
'You recognized the human need, remembered yours because
You did not hesitate, my saint, to cut your cloak across,
And never since that moment did you regret the loss.'
'My enemies would have turned away,
My holy toadies would have given all the cloak and frozen,
Conscious that they were good.
But you, being a saint of men,
Gave only what you could.'
St. Martin held his hand out to offer from his plate,
But the beggar vanished, thinking food, like cloaks,
Is needless weight.
Pondering on the matter, St. Martin bent
And ate.
~~~~~~~
Apologies to Mr. Gunn, that's from memory so I'm sure I messed up something. Anyway, poetry is a great way to enhance a roleplay session.
St. Martin and the Beggar
Martin sat young upon his bed, a budding cenobite.
Said, "Though I hold the principles of Christian life be right,
I cannot grow from them alone, I must go out to fight."
He traveled hard, he traveled far,
The light began to fail.
"Is not this act of mine," he said,
"A cowardly betrayel? Can I not peg my nature down
With a religious nail?"
Wind scudded on the marshland, and dangling at his side
His sword soon clattered under hail
What could he do but ride? There was not shelter for a dog
The garrison far ahead.
A ship that moves on darkness, he rode across the plain,
When a brawny beggar started up who grabbed at his rein,
And leant dripping with sweat and water upon his horse's mane.
He glared into Martin's eyes, with eyes more wild than bold.
His hair sent rivers down his spine, like a fowl plucked to be sold.
His flesh was gray, Martin said, "What, naked in this cold?"
I have no food to give you, money would be a joke.
Drawing his new sword from its sheath he took his soldier's cloak
And cut it in two equal parts with a single stroke.
Grabbing it 'round his shoulders, pinning it with his chin,
The beggar dived into the dark, and soaking to the skin,
Martin continued on until he reached an inn.
One candle on the wooden table, the food and drink were poor.
The woman hobbled off, he ate,
Then casually before the table stood the beggar
As if he had used the door.
Now dry, for hair and flesh had been
By warm airs fanned.
Still bare, but round each muscled thigh
A single golden band.
His eyes now wild with love, he held the half cloak in his hand.
'You recognized the human need, remembered yours because
You did not hesitate, my saint, to cut your cloak across,
And never since that moment did you regret the loss.'
'My enemies would have turned away,
My holy toadies would have given all the cloak and frozen,
Conscious that they were good.
But you, being a saint of men,
Gave only what you could.'
St. Martin held his hand out to offer from his plate,
But the beggar vanished, thinking food, like cloaks,
Is needless weight.
Pondering on the matter, St. Martin bent
And ate.
~~~~~~~
Apologies to Mr. Gunn, that's from memory so I'm sure I messed up something. Anyway, poetry is a great way to enhance a roleplay session.
