"Long, long ago when the world was a wild place..."
VIDEO NARRATION: Bedtime Story, by George Macbeth
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VIDEO NARRATION: Bedtime Story, by George Macbeth
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A Poem Thread
- Thread starter Angelus
- Start date
Conscious
Wilfred Owen
His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
Who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
Why are they laughing? What's inside that jug?
"Nurse! Doctor!" "Yes; all right, all right."
But sudden dusk bewilders all the air—
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And everywhere
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
And there's no light to see the voices by—
No time to dream, and ask—he knows not what.
_
Wilfred Owen
His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
His eyes come open with a pull of will,
Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
The blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
Who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
Why are they laughing? What's inside that jug?
"Nurse! Doctor!" "Yes; all right, all right."
But sudden dusk bewilders all the air—
There seems no time to want a drink of water.
Nurse looks so far away. And everywhere
Music and roses burst through crimson slaughter.
Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
And there's no light to see the voices by—
No time to dream, and ask—he knows not what.
_
2026 version of the pseudo-old-timey folk lyric.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Shipwrecked
Cece
Weeks beyond Port Ember.
A voyage to verdant slopes.
Bleakly I remember
How the grim clouds greyed our hopes.
Oaken ribs cracked the dark.
It lurked muted like a snake.
Damning glare from dawn's arc.
I'm aground upon heartache.
There's haven at the caves.
Brittle bones beneath barbed vines.
Biting flies come in waves.
The greedy gulls hatch designs.
Others have known this isle.
A place of loss and mistake.
Just one's self to revile.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
Lost in sorrow's thicket.
Searching for treasure in vain.
Strange fruit, but I'll pick it.
The poison might dull the pain.
Clinging without reasons.
Ragged sails flutter and break.
Ebbing through the seasons.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
Stranded down a pale sea.
Farther than the Crown's domain.
Blurred ghosts can't rescue me.
At our ruins I'll remain.
Hollowed by grating winds.
Wobbling in Poseidon's quake.
A toll that never ends.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
_
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Shipwrecked
Cece
Weeks beyond Port Ember.
A voyage to verdant slopes.
Bleakly I remember
How the grim clouds greyed our hopes.
Oaken ribs cracked the dark.
It lurked muted like a snake.
Damning glare from dawn's arc.
I'm aground upon heartache.
There's haven at the caves.
Brittle bones beneath barbed vines.
Biting flies come in waves.
The greedy gulls hatch designs.
Others have known this isle.
A place of loss and mistake.
Just one's self to revile.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
Lost in sorrow's thicket.
Searching for treasure in vain.
Strange fruit, but I'll pick it.
The poison might dull the pain.
Clinging without reasons.
Ragged sails flutter and break.
Ebbing through the seasons.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
Stranded down a pale sea.
Farther than the Crown's domain.
Blurred ghosts can't rescue me.
At our ruins I'll remain.
Hollowed by grating winds.
Wobbling in Poseidon's quake.
A toll that never ends.
I'm still wrecked upon this ache.
_
Last edited:
2026 version of the ode to neurodegenerative disease.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Maintenance Crew
Cece
Loneliness craves
a demographic.
Down a road
devoid of traffic.
Aged asphalt
sprouting weeds and grass.
Billboards wincing
at their vintage past.
Through a town
pocked by street art scars.
Leering lampposts
rusting red as Mars.
Factories burned
like twisted cages.
These are dementia's
yellowed pages.
Mental spaces
where delusion roams.
Troubled trees
groping cobwebbed homes.
Silence still greets
our monthly rite.
Convoy crawls on
to a better fright.
Feral farms
choke a challenged land.
Up ahead,
the grim golems stand.
What revelation
stayed their foes?
Some redacted
document knows.
Trucks unload at
the Golden Mean.
Grunts with guns
sweep a slithery scene.
Workers widen
in a rapt routine.
Techs upgrade
to the unforeseen.
Covert commands
suffuse hexed air.
Childhood dreams
moan deep from their lair.
Above hunched hills
light leans its head.
We leave before
afternoon has fled.
Later, night's poison
slips her levee.
A sad, orange orb
sags heavy.
Stoic scarecrows
survey their field.
Forlorn again,
but shall never yield!
_
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Maintenance Crew
Cece
Loneliness craves
a demographic.
Down a road
devoid of traffic.
Aged asphalt
sprouting weeds and grass.
Billboards wincing
at their vintage past.
Through a town
pocked by street art scars.
Leering lampposts
rusting red as Mars.
Factories burned
like twisted cages.
These are dementia's
yellowed pages.
Mental spaces
where delusion roams.
Troubled trees
groping cobwebbed homes.
Silence still greets
our monthly rite.
Convoy crawls on
to a better fright.
Feral farms
choke a challenged land.
Up ahead,
the grim golems stand.
What revelation
stayed their foes?
Some redacted
document knows.
Trucks unload at
the Golden Mean.
Grunts with guns
sweep a slithery scene.
Workers widen
in a rapt routine.
Techs upgrade
to the unforeseen.
Covert commands
suffuse hexed air.
Childhood dreams
moan deep from their lair.
Above hunched hills
light leans its head.
We leave before
afternoon has fled.
Later, night's poison
slips her levee.
A sad, orange orb
sags heavy.
Stoic scarecrows
survey their field.
Forlorn again,
but shall never yield!
_
Last edited:
Barrier
Katharine Elizabeth Howard
The long, low, level hills against the sky,—they call a halt:
The barrier of the world. Thus far, no farther, shall ye go.
The rest is all unfinished.
Beyond, there is a place where winds are made,
And sometimes one escapes and whirls its way in ruthless wrack
Down through the haunts of Man. Approach the barrier not,
The earth is torn in wreaths and mounds, and hot,—
The fires are near.
No footstep must approach the barrier wall
Lest looking over one discover all.
_
Katharine Elizabeth Howard
The long, low, level hills against the sky,—they call a halt:
The barrier of the world. Thus far, no farther, shall ye go.
The rest is all unfinished.
Beyond, there is a place where winds are made,
And sometimes one escapes and whirls its way in ruthless wrack
Down through the haunts of Man. Approach the barrier not,
The earth is torn in wreaths and mounds, and hot,—
The fires are near.
No footstep must approach the barrier wall
Lest looking over one discover all.
_
The Mystery of Pain
Emily Dickinson
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
_
Emily Dickinson
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
_