Two hikers on a mountain trail
pass a solitary Poppy.
One remembers a lost loved one;
one, feeling high and floppy.
Poppy Trigger [Lyric Poem]
1
Category Archives: Lyric
“I was born upon thy bank, river” by Henry David Thoreau [w/ Audio]
I was born upon thy bank, river,
My blood flows in thy stream,
And thou meanderest forever
At the bottom of my dream.
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Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas [w/ Audio]
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Mugger Mugged [Lyric Poem]
The river runs through the birdlands. Each isle is alive with their nests. The course is skimmed by pelicans, snatching fish to later digest. The croc is hunting those waters, just eyes and stony tail peeks out. It'd love a fish, snake, or otter, but food 's any meat near its snout. The bird that flies into its gullet, the tourist dangling limb from the boat. If it could find freshwater mullet, it wouldn't eat that armless farmer's goat.
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The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost [w/ Audio]
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
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To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time by Robert Herrick [w/ Audio]
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying; And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry; For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.
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Night Drums [Common Meter]
The pounding sound of rhythmic drums shatters stillness this eve. I know not whether snares are banged to celebrate or grieve. The pace isn't slow enough to guide a somber procession, nor does it race at the pace of jocular expression. It's a well-kept beat, approaching, that makes the windows shake, but seems suitable only for keeping me awake.
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Desert Delirium [Lyric Poem]
The waves are crashing on the shore, and I am crawling up the beach. The pounding surf sounds like a roar as I am fleeing water's reach. Don't let it take me, I beseech! Don't give the beast a second chance. It had a turn, but now 's in breach. It's met the bounds of its expanse. And I hear no drums of ghost dance to summon it up onto land. I twist my head to take a glance, and all I see is endless sand.
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London by William Blake [w/ Audio]
I wander thro' each charter'd street, Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, And mark in every face I meet Marks of weakness, marks of woe. In every cry of every Man, In every Infant's cry of fear, In every voice, in every ban, The mind-forged manacles I hear. How the Chimney-sweeper's cry Every black'ning Church appalls; And the hapless Soldier's sigh Runs in blood down Palace walls. But most thro' midnight streets I hear How the youthful Harlot's curse Blasts the new born Infant's tear, And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
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Rampart Perspective [Common Meter]
From atop an old stone rampart, one's head within the clouds, one expects to see an old oxcart through that foggy shroud. But down below, the modern day: buses, cafes, and cars. I turn my head the other way, and the world 's as it was: Back in the times when that fortress was besieged and battered, and nothing moved freely but for a flag -- singed and tattered. There's a certain romantic view of long-gone days of old, but I think I'll be heading down before I catch a cold.
