Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
sergiodib Feb 10
In Xanadu did Whatsoever
a stately pleasure planet decree
Where Amazon, the sacred River run
through Forests, measureless to Man.

And here were trees tall as the sky
and leopards, snakes and
birds of the brightest colours.

But oh! Mankind began to burn the trees,
drill dramatic chasms, build walls and towers
Melt the polar ice and turn the oceans into lifeless seas.

So in this tumult, once,
a sixty nano metre string of RNA came,
invading thousands and thousands of humans
and prophesying the end of our kind.

A vision in a dream then I had:
a simple utopia of rare device.
Could we revive our lost ties with Nature
we would heal our world and soul

And so with voice loud and long,
with flashing eyes and floating hair,
I say: Hey you out there. Beware, beware!
afterthepeak.eu
Kris Fireheart Feb 2018
In dryest desert
Lay hidden jewels,
The monuments of days gone by,
Beneath the holy
Sands of Time,
Where altars to the Old Gods lie,

I found myself
Without my faith,
And could not pray, for I would die,
When I awoke,
Beneath the palms,
At the temple of the Ceruni.

To see their Gods,
Such power and fear!
For I've felt no presence as I have felt here,
So strong,  so pure,
So rich; Alive!
The Gods have felt so near this night.

I wandered in,
Through sacred gardens,
Which no other man had yet seemed defy,
And came upon her,
Her robes as the snow,
The Goddess of the Ceruni.

She beckoned me
From silvered dome,
Where she was seated,  upon silver throne,
I passed the great hemp
And red poppies which shone,
To lay my eyes upon her.

"O Dear Goddess," did i cry,
"Have the heart to tell me why,
When I have spent my days and nights,
Not quite dead, Yet not alive,
Am I shrouded in your Holy Light? "

She gave no words,
But simply smiled,
I, gripped by silence all the while,
Could find no speech
Nor pause for thought,
As she whispered lessons which one time, were taught.

You may think me mad;
I swear I am not!
I'll point out the towers if we find the spot,
Such silver and gold,
Such wonderful shine!
To be in a place where the Gods would recline.

I've witnessed the spires
Of fallen empires,
So proudly they stand in desert dry!
But I've no recollection,
Upon sudden reflection,
Of where the Holy Temple lies.

But when I die,
O, take me there!
Where hemp and poppy kiss the sky!
And on my slate,
Let them write,
"Here lies the last of the Ceruni!"
I love Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and I've always thought about experimenting with the extremely visual and often ***** tinted Romantic style.  I think it came out pretty well.
Dreams of Sepia Aug 2015
Up on Church Hill
I think of my love
& Tennyson, long gone
Up on Church Hill

Up on Church Hill
I look out at Steep Holm
and then at Clevedon pier
Up on Church hill

Up on Church Hill
the last swallows are soaring,
last summer days calling
Up on Church Hill

Up on Church Hill
by the poets’ walk
I sit as it gets dark
Up on Church Hill

Up on Church Hill
I shall leave my heart
& then depart
Old Church Hill
N.B. This turned out to be a song instead of / as well as a poem. I just set it to music. So think of this as song lyrics too if you wish. Clevedon is a small seaside town on the Bristol Channel in South West England which is known for the fact that the poets Tennyson, Coleridge & William Makepeace Thackeray ( more known for his novel ' Vanity Fair') visited it in their lifetimes. Church Hill is so named because it has a church there, nestled in a small valley/ indentation in the hill & has lovely views.
Tex Dermott May 2015
From the ship he shot the great albatross,
His purpose for this we will never know.
But his mistake his shipmate’s life lost,
Yet he was cursed to journey to and fro.

Telling of the strange tragedy at sea,
Miles from his home in land of crystal ice.
A sin committed his life never free,
He transformed to become wise and nice.

This epic they say if full of symbol,
Like when Adam ate from the sinner’s tree.
When we think of our sins we should tremble,
Yet we can be spared by the savior’s creed.

The old mariner journeyed on a great quest,
And touched the heart of a wedding guest.
The Sun now rose upon the right:
     Out of the sea came he,
     Still hid in mist, and on the left
     Went down into the sea.

     And the good south wind still blew behind
     But no sweet bird did follow,
     Nor any day for food or play
     Came to the mariners' hollo!

     And I had done an hellish thing,
     And it would work 'em woe:
     For all averred, I had killed the bird
     That made the breeze to blow.
     Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay
     That made the breeze to blow!

     Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
     The glorious Sun uprist:
     Then all averred, I had killed the bird
     That brought the fog and mist.
     'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
     That bring the fog and mist.

     The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
     The furrow followed free:
     We were the first that ever burst
     Into that silent sea.

     Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
     'Twas sad as sad could be;
     And we did speak only to break
     The silence of the sea!

     All in a hot and copper sky,
     The ****** Sun, at noon,
     Right up above the mast did stand,
     No bigger than the Moon.

     Day after day, day after day,
     We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
     As idle as a painted ship
     Upon a painted ocean.

     Water, water, every where,
     And all the boards did shrink;
     Water, water, every where,
     Nor any drop to drink.

     The very deep did rot: O Christ!
     That ever this should be!
     Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
     Upon the slimy sea.

     About, about, in reel and rout
     The death-fires danced at night;
     The water, like a witch's oils,
     Burnt green, and blue and white.

     And some in dreams assured were
     Of the spirit that plagued us so:
     Nine fathom deep he had followed us
     From the land of mist and snow.

     And every tongue, through utter drought,
     Was withered at the root;
     We could not speak, no more than if
     We had been choked with soot.

     Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
     Had I from old and young!
     Instead of the cross, the Albatross
     About my neck was hung
Second part of the previously posted epic poem
Said The Raven
To The Raven
Which Raven are you?


I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Samuel Taylor Coleridge.


And I said The Raven
Am The Raven
Of Edgar Allan Poe.


Apparently there's a rave on -
Shall we go?


Yes - let us go then you and I
As the evening is spread out
Against the sky.


But not like a patient
Etherised upon a table.


Let us like Thunderbirds
Not gentle go into this dark night.


So dressed in sable
White gloves
And whistles
They went on their way -
Not looking forward
To conversations about
Michelangelo at all.


For as we all know
Old age should rave and burn
At close of day.
And not just fizzle out.


More big shout...........................................


And rave until you fall.
Both Edgar Allan Poe and Samuel Taylor Coleridge did both write poems called The Raven. The latter's is one of the most dispiriting and disconcerting pieces of vindictive revenge in the English language.T S Eliot and Dylan Thomas did write poems called The Love Song of J Alfred Purfrock and Do Not Gentle Go Into That Good Night respectively and lines from both poems appear here in various guises. If you know niether both would make most anthologies of 20th century poetry.

And honestly white gloves and whistles were common on the rave scene in the early days.

— The End —