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Poetry Monster

Missile – A Tanka Poem

Missile - A Tanka Poem

Missile – A Tanka Poem

by Fledermaus

I fear my Missile
It is so blazing and fast.
To make a kaboom
With augmented winglets flies
When it laughs I feel frightened
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Poetry Monster

The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

The Amendis to the Telyouris and Sowtaris for the Turnament maid on thame

by William Dunbar (1450-1513 or 1530)

 

Betuix twell houris and ellevin,
I dremed ane angell came fra Hevin
With plesand stevin sayand on hie,
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

In Hevin hie ordand is your place,
Aboif all Sanctis in grit solace,
Nixt God grittest in dignitie:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

The caus to yow is nocht unkend,
That God mismakkis ye do amend,
Be craft and grit agilitie:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Sowtaris, with schone weill maid and meit,
Ye mend the faltis of ill maid feit,
Quhairfoir to Hevin your saulis will fle;
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Is nocht in all this fair a flyrok,
That hes upoun his feit a wyrok,
Knowll tais, nor mowlis in no degrie,
Bot ye can hyd thame: blist be ye.

And ye tailyouris, with weil maid clais
Can mend the werst maid man that gais,
And mak him semely for to se:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Thocht God mak ane misfassonit man,
Ye can him all schaip new agane,
And fassoun him bettir be sic thre:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Thocht a man haif a brokin bak,
Haif he a gude telyour, quhatt rak,
That can it cuver with craftis slie:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

Off God grit kyndnes may ye clame,
That helpis his peple fra cruke and lame,
Supportand faltis with your supple:
Tailyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

In erd ye kyth sic mirakillis heir,
In Hevin ye salbe Sanctis full cleir,
Thocht ye be knavis in this cuntre:
Telyouris and Sowtaris, blist be ye.

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Poetry Monster

Ode to the Bat , a Sonnet

Ode to the Bat , a Sonnet

My angry bat, you inspire me to write.
How I hate the way you abuse and scream,
Invading my mind day and through the night,
Always dreaming about the big maxime.

Let me compare you to a quick cherry?
You are more smelly, disgusting and sick.
Ice bites the debris of February,
And wintertime has the abusive prick.

How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate your great disgusting, dumb and bad.
Thinking of your sleepy dumb fills my days.
My hate for you is the dramatic cad.

Now I must away with a shangri heart,
Remember my foul words whilst we’re apart.

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Poetry Monster

Love’s Wisdom poem – Alfred Austin


Love, that in my mind seeks Reason’s aid. Paraphrase.

I crave not love, for it would only bring

Tears to your eyes, and anguish to your heart;

I am in Autumn, you are still in Spring,

And you must linger after I depart.

Then to you Summer would scarce Summer be,

Vainly for you the roses bloom and climb,

Vainly Life’s harvest ripen on the tree,

Withered by Winter long before its time.

Therefore, let loving, dear, be mine alone,

You yielding only tenderness and trust,

So that to you be widowhood unknown,

And you with tears not deify my dust.

Enough for me if in your voice, your eyes,

I dream of bliss, but strain not for the prize.


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Poetry Monster

Love’s Fitfulness poem – Alfred Austin


You say that I am fitful. Sweet, ’tis true;

But ’tis that I your fitfulness obey.

If you are April, how can I be May,

Or flaunt bright roses when you wear sad rue?

Shine like the sun, and my sky will be blue;

Sing, and the lark shall envy me my lay:

I do but follow where you point the way,

And what I feel you doing, straight must do.

The wind might just as well reproach the vane,

As you upbraid me for my shiftings, dear:

Blow from the south, and south I shall remain;

If you keep fixed, be sure I shall not veer.

Nay, on your change my changes so depend,

If ends your love, why then my love must end.


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Poetry Monster

Love Of Life poem – Alfred Austin


Why love life more, the less of it be left,

And what is left be little but the lees,

And Time’s subsiding passions have bereft

One’s taste for pleasure, and one’s power to please?

Is it not better, like the waning year,

Without lament resignedly to fade,

Since by enduring ordinance all things here

Are in their season shattered and decayed?

If you have shared in April’s freshet song,

And Summer can without reproach recall,

Yearn not Autumnal harvest to prolong,

Nor shrink from Winter that awaits us all;

But, lightened of the load of earthly ties,

Pursue with homeward step your journey to the skies.


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Poetry Monster

Love Of Life poem – Alfred Austin


Why love life more, the less of it be left,

And what is left be little but the lees,

And Time’s subsiding passions have bereft

One’s taste for pleasure, and one’s power to please?

Is it not better, like the waning year,

Without lament resignedly to fade,

Since by enduring ordinance all things here

Are in their season shattered and decayed?

If you have shared in April’s freshet song,

And Summer can without reproach recall,

Yearn not Autumnal harvest to prolong,

Nor shrink from Winter that awaits us all;

But, lightened of the load of earthly ties,

Pursue with homeward step your journey to the skies.


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Poetry Monster

Lost poem – Alfred Austin


Sweet lark! that, bedded in the tangled grass,

Protractest dewy slumbers, wake, arise!

The brightest moments of the morning pass-

Thou shouldst be up, and carolling in the skies.

Go up! go up! and melt into the blue,

And to heaven’s veil on wings of song repair;

But, ere thou dost descend to earth, peep through,

And see if She be there.

Sweet stockdove! cooing in the flushing wood,

On one green bough brooding till morn hath died,

Oh, leave the perch where thou too long hast stood,

And with strong wings flutter the leaves aside!

Fly on, fly on, past feathery copse, nor stay

Till thou hast skimmed o’er all the woodlands fair!

And when thou hast, then speeding back thy way,

Tell me if She be there.

Sweet breeze! that, wearied with the heat of noon,

Upon a bank of daffodils didst die,

Oh, if thou lov’st me, quit thy perfumed swoon,

And, all refreshed, hither and thither hie.

Traverse the glades where browse the dappled deer,

Thrid the deep dells where none but thou mayst dare;

And then, sweet breeze, returning, to my ear

Whisper if She be there.

Sweet rivulet! running far too fast to stay,

Yet hear my plaint, e’en as thou rollest on!

I am alone-alone-both night and day,

For she I love was with me, and is gone.

Oh, shouldst thou find her on the golden beach

Whither thou speedest ocean’s joys to share,

Remount thy course, despite what sophists teach,

And tell me She is there.

Not there! Nor there! Not in the far-off sky,

Close-keeping woods, or by the shining sea!

When lark, dove, breeze, and rivulet vainly try

To find my sweet-oh, where then may she be?

Hath she then left me-me she vowed so dear,

And she whose shadow dusks all other charms?

O foolish messengers! Look, look! She’s here,

Enfolded in my arms!


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Poetry Monster

Lines Written On Visiting The Chateaux On The Loire poem – Alfred Austin


I

“River rolling past the grey

Battlements of yesterday,

Palace strongholds reared by hands

Summoned from transalpine lands,

Skilled in wedding strength with grace,

Fort with stately dwelling-place,

Vizored brow with siren tress,

Majesty with loveliness,-

River, that beheld their sway

Dawn and dwindle, then decay,

Linger, loiter, while I sit,

As the sunshine-shadows flit,

Pondering pictures of the vast

Panorama of the Past,

And, with retrospective gaze,

Tell me of the vanished days.”

II

Still the river rolled and rolled

‘Twixt its banks of green and gold,

Winding, wandering, slowly through

Starwort white and speedwell blue,

Flowing onward, heedless where,

Irresponsive to my prayer.

III

But, as motionless I dreamed

Of dim yesterdays, there seemed

From the plain to reach mine ears

Murmurings of the bygone years,

Till the river’s undertone

Blent its musings with my own.

IV

“Seaward I meander on,

All unchanged to gaze upon,

As when sceptre, pomp, and power,

Threatening parapet and tower,

Warrior grim and maiden gay

Fought and laughed the hours away:

Captains, Cardinals, and Kings,

Sepulchred with meaner things,

Nothing to distinguish now

Mitred head from minion brow,

Fleshless skull from fleshless skull,

Arrogant from beautiful;

Nameless relics of a name:-

I alone abide the same.”

V

Lingering still, I sate and mused,

Thought and feeling interfused

With the Châteaux and the stream

In an intermittent dream,

Till the Future wore at last

Likeness to the shadowy Past,

And I wondered if to-day,

Loftily as yesterday,

Will, departing, leave behind

Monuments of heart and mind,

Love and reverence will restore,

When men dwell in them no more.


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Poetry Monster

Let The Weary World Go Round poem – Alfred Austin


Let the weary world go round!

What care I?

Life’s a surfeiting of sound:

I would die.

It would be so sweet to lie

Under waving grasses,

Where a maiden’s footstep sly,

Tremulous for a lover nigh,

Sometimes passes.

Why, why remain?

Graves are the sovereign simples

Against life’s pain;

Graves are the sheltering wimples

Against life’s rain;

Graves are a mother’s dimples

When we complain.

O Death! beautiful Death!

Why do they thee disfigure?

To me thy touch, thy breath,

Hath nor alarm nor rigour.

Thee do I long await;

I think thee very late;

I pine much to be going.

Others have gone before;

I hunger more and more

To know what they are knowing.

Heart, heart! be thou content!

Accept thy banishment;

Like other sorrows, life will end for thee.

Yet for a little while

Bear with this harsh exìle,

And Death will soften and will send for thee.