|Blogs > replicant354 > In an existential quandary....|
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of knigs:
Looks on my works, ye Mighty and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822
This is my all time favorite poem. In light of my recent rants I thought I needed to just relax. Figured I would share and share alike
8/18/2005 12:33 pm
It has been many many many years since I have seen that poem, now I thik I'm having a flash back to grade school.|
Standing at the front of the class, all nervous, sweating in the summer heat, trying to recall a few lines of a poem from memory when all you want to be doing is playing in the field outside. The teacher goading you into trying harder, the bullies in the middle smirking and cracking jokes to their little group, the brains reading some 4 foot thick book and not listening. ohhhh the good ole days...
The only poem that has stuck with me from back then is one called "The Shark" ... all I seem to recall are the first few bits and no I wont post what I recall gonna make you look for it.
8/18/2005 7:39 pm
Poetry is cool... can't say I've heard yours rep, but here's one in exchange. This was given to me by a woman I met a while back... this was almost the first e-mail exchange we ever had... it was and still is a very special peice for me. Hope you enjoy it.|
You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How the sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers,
what softened sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry wherever you go right now?
Are you waiting for time
to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here,
lift this new glimpse you have found;
carry into evening all that you want from this day.
This interval you spent reading or hearing this,
keep it for life - What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right now in this room, when you turn around?
William Stafford (1914-1993)