Moved to tears

greenmountaineer said:

I'm not sure if you know this or not, Mer, but pushkine is Tzara under a different name.

I don't know how I missed tod's poem; remarkable.

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Thank you - I think I happened to see it in a post somewhere else, maybe even yours. Makes a lot of sense.

Glad I brought Todski's poem up again - it posted about a day before AMB's Son of Adam. It was an interesting juxtaposition of poems about fathers.

legerdemer said:

I'll let them know!

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They wont get more than their feelings hurt, my way.

JAMESBJOHNSON said:

They wont get more than their feelings hurt, my way.

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Is this right here the key to JAMESBJOHNSON??

legerdemer said:

Is this right here the key to JAMESBJOHNSON??

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Hardly.

JAMESBJOHNSON said:

There are 3 things no woman will tolerate: The truth, a man who's right, and a man who cries.

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I doubt you know a thing about women and their likes seeing as you dislike them so much, because you're so wrong here.

Dulce et Decorum Est.

Text.

The House Dog's Grave
(Haig, an English bulldog)

I've changed my ways a little; I cannot now
Run with you in the evenings along the shore,
Except in a kind of dream; and you, if you dream a moment,
You see me there.

So leave awhile the paw-marks on the front door
Where I used to scratch to go out or in,
And you'd soon open; leave on the kitchen floor
The marks of my drinking-pan.

I cannot lie by your fire as I used to do
On the warm stone,
Nor at the foot of your bed; no, all the night through
I lie alone.

But your kind thought has laid me less than six feet
Outside your window where firelight so often plays,
And where you sit to read—and I fear often grieving for me—
Every night your lamplight lies on my place.

You, man and woman, live so long, it is hard
To think of you ever dying
A little dog would get tired, living so long.
I hope than when you are lying

Under the ground like me your lives will appear
As good and joyful as mine.
No, dear, that's too much hope: you are not so well cared for
As I have been.

And never have known the passionate undivided
Fidelities that I knew.
Your minds are perhaps too active, too many-sided. . . .
But to me you were true.

You were never masters, but friends. I was your friend.
I loved you well, and was loved. Deep love endures
To the end and far past the end. If this is my end,
I am not lonely. I am not afraid. I am still yours.

—Robinson Jeffers

UnderYourSpell said:

I doubt you know a thing about women and their likes seeing as you dislike them so much, because you're so wrong here.

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I don't like every dog or meal I'm served. I threw away half a banana today. I'm a villain.

This may sound trite, or something, but honestly I'm often moved to tears when I'm writing an emotional piece myself. Not much other poetry has ever effected me that way. Something about getting the emotions out myself does though.

meop79 said:

This may sound trite, or something, but honestly I'm often moved to tears when I'm writing an emotional piece myself. Not much other poetry has ever effected me that way. Something about getting the emotions out myself does though.

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Not trite at all, I completely understand.

Well that's good at least...