I have shuddered

I have  heard  grass singing in  the wind.
I   have walked through poppy fields in  sun
I have  struggled  when dark rain descends
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I have watched  trees’ shadows in the ponds
I have  crossed the  arctic wastes of pain
I have  heard  grass singing in the wind.

 

Another soul is writing  with my hand
I have  wept  while loaning him  my pen
I have   struggled  when dark rain descends

 

I have seen  the edges  of the mind
I  have   sensed a  silence un-contained.
I have  heard  grass singing in  the wind.

 

I have  grieved for   all who are confined
I have  cringed at  creeds of  cunning  men
I have  crawled  when  crushing  rain  comes down

 

 

I have seen the storm  through camera lens.
I have felt the   solar system bend.
I have  heard  grass singing in  the wind.
I have  shuddered  when dark rain descends

I have sifted earth

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I have  walked the  silent paths of grief
Sunless,dreary,cold and all alone.
I have   slept on bed of  winter leaves.

I  know  that death’s   an avaricious  thief.
Although my heart weeps and my joy has gone.
I have never felt I was deceived.

I have learned that human life is brief.
I have learned  by sorrow we’re undone.
I  have sifted earth and what’s beneath.

I felt  the dark emotions in me seethe
 I've  been cruelly mocked by   glaring sun.
I  have grasped the geography of grief.

I wait in silence for this  life to cease
Or will  a  fluttering wing  make chaos come,
Change my heart and give me a fresh lease?

Unconsoled  grief  can make   us dumb
Into  our  hearts, we drag the ice  that numbs
I have walked the silent paths of grief
I have made my bed on winter leaves.

Seasons blurred

In temperate climates ,seasons ends are blurred.
So many days by  two seasons are shared.
Even by midsummer in  high June,
Many flowers have gone,have gone  too soon

Yet Michaelmas is marked by daisies tall
And roses still  show blooms  throughout  the Fall.
Mysterious, new and precious  buds are born
Will such  joy  help  us  bear our thoughts forIorn

In hollow  winter  depths of  ice and cold,
When dark,short days  so  heavily   unfold
Then we know with  Fall and summer gone ,
Dark earth shields seeds  until their time shall come

The paradox we face is how to judge
When   anguished hearts and faces by tears smudged
Tell us life’s too painful to go on.
Then from  hearts cracked open,  life   spurts forth again.

What is blank verse?

P1000273 2

 

http://www.poemofquotes.com/alfredtennyson/ulysses.php

 

Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson

Analysis

This poem is written in blank verse. It is often quoted and used to illustrate dramatic monologue. The character of Ulysses was first recorded by Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, in which Tennyson draws narrative from. Tennyson is interesting in that he writes both in blank verse and in standard rhyme. However, when he writes in blank verse, it’s generally for a reason. It’s as if he feels that holding himself to a specific type of scheme that he cannot tell the story properly. I believe this is the case for “Ulysses”.

Poem

Ulysses
BY ALFRED TENNYSON

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with and aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this grey spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle -
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me -
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads -you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Written in 1833 and published in 1842.

Read more about Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson Analysis & Poem by www.poemofquotes.com

To end our life is said to be grave sin

To end our life is said to be grave sin
We do not own our own mortality
We neither can control when we begin
To end our life was once thought  a grave sin
But shall we live regardless  when love’s gone?
Can life end without brutality?
To end our life  is  said to be grave sin
We do not own our own mortality.

When millions die unmourned in Orient
When collateral damage is ” a trifle sad”
Can I not consider whether my life’s spent?
When millions die unmourned in Orient
In the News, I’ll  never make a  dent
Is my  thought of death so bad,
When millions die unmourned in Orient;
When collateral damage is” a trifle sad”?