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try yg ni dulu la...dr page 9...
Untitled
today everything
is earnest and hushed.
As the death of a queen
when the radio changes from light music
to mozart or bach.
I dont know why.
Since she isn't listening.
Ican almost see
how people leave
how people leave
each other, how silence
works in the fading fabrics
and how the solitary
gray wasp gropes its away
into uts death sleep
in the wound of the dry mountain tree.
- Lars Noren
the poet is describing moments of mourning for the death of a queen...:stp::stp: |
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hope I don't miss a poem...k..back to u Bad...
Young Chime of Seven (A nice Poem)
Misty eyes reflect your hidden sadness
look into the eyes of an innocent chime
less of seven years of age
pity, you are not the same
you cannot feel...
She dances about, playing
berry orchards float on the wind
sea wind crashes softly against her ears
she listens to the Song of Nature
whispering back, free
Clouds do envelop her mind
clouding her youthful grace
she does stumble, causing abrasions
she cries "Be gone, Dark"
and it creeps away
Feel her ginger stride, flicker independence
a young sprite with anticipation
asperation, admiration
likeleness of a flower's center; golden; bright
stay shining child...
= an innocent little child fighting the evilness all around her little world匸/size]
The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart
by William Butler Yeats
All things uncomely and broken,
all things worn-out and old,
The cry of a child by the roadway,
the creak of a lumbering cart,
The heavy steps of the ploughman,
splashing the wintry mould,
Are wronging your image that blossoms
a rose in the deeps of my heart.
The wrong of unshapely things
is a wrong too great to be told;
I hunger to build them anew
and sit on a green knoll apart,
With the earth and the sky and the water,
remade, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms
a rose in the deeps of my heart...
=whenever troubled, the poet will remember
the sweetness of his loved ones that keeps him
together匸/size] |
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jap lagi analyze, nak pegi tempat lain dulu...;);) |
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one for the road 
The Frog
by Christina Rossetti
Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway,
Hopped along the imperial highway.
Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet;
The night dew when the night should come
A travelled frog would send him home.
Not so, alas! the wayside grass
Sees him no more: - not so, alas!
A broadwheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke:
"Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all.
My road to Fame turns out a wry way:
I perish on this hideous highway,-
Oh for my old familiar byeway!"
The choking Frog sobbed and was gone:
The waggoner strode whistling on.
Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that waggoner strode on,
Whistling (it may have happened so)
"A Froggy would a-wooing go:"
A hypothetic frog trolled he
Obtuse to a reality.
O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all:
The mangled frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog;
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.
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Category: Belia & Informasi
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Post time 30-3-2004 11:05 PM
Post time 1-4-2004 10:02 PM
