Tag Archives: poem

French Révolution: Poetry

Henry_Singleton_the_Storming_of_the_Bastille
(Henry Singleton) Storming of the Bastille

Carpe diem!  Today, we strike!

Cheers fill the streets so violently

as a smile fills my bloodstained face.

Revolution!

Waving the flag around

rush through the air as we

storm the tower

and reclaim what is ours.

Peace! Finality! Bread!

Storm the tower,

no wound too strong,

keep fighting!

Fight!

Fight for your freedom,

friends!

Dying around me,

bodies fill the streets and blood rushes through the

gutters.

Imagine!

Freed from poverty and famine!

Storm the Bastille,

and start to rid us of that bane that is

the royalty!

Abolish

those three estates!

And let the blood that flows in the gutter

be no longer of the sans-culottes,

but of those who have wronged and

controlled us for too long!

Liberté!

Égalité!

Fraternité!

Révolution!

Sorry if I offended anyone/got anything historically wrong/etc….  To the best of my knowledge, it’s right. haha

Let me know what you think! ^.^

To lay it out plainly, I wrote this.  Don’t steal it.  <3  Give me credit if you use it…  Et cetera.

À bientôt!

~Mouse c;

Poetry: The Lady Of Shalott (1842 Version)

By Alfred Lord Tennyson, this is one of my favourite poems.  I like its romantic mood, but don’t enjoy the ending so much, because of its tragic turn.

Here’s the poem so you can read it for yourselves:

Part I.

On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro’ the field the road runs by
To many-tower’d Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro’ the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow-veil’d
Slide the heavy barges trail’d
By slow horses; and unhail’d
The shallop flitteth silken-sail’d
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower’d Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers “‘Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott.”

Part II.

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving thro’ a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower’d Camelot;
And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror’s magic sights,
For often thro’ the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
“I am half-sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.

Part III.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro’ the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel’d
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter’d free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon’d baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell’d shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn’d like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro’ the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow’d;
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow’d
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash’d into the crystal mirror,
“Tirra lirra,” by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro’ the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look’d down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack’d from side to side;
“The curse is come upon me,” cried
The Lady of Shalott.

Part IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower’d Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river’s dim expanse –
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance –
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right –
The leaves upon her falling light –
Thro’ the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken’d wholly,
Turn’d to tower’d Camelot;
For ere she reach’d upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross’d themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, “She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott.”

 

Sorry for the length of it, but trust me: It’s worth the read.

(:

My analysis of it is as follows… (Yes, okay, it was an assignment.)

1. The point of view of this poem is third person.

2. In this poem, Lord Tennyson focuses the readers’ attention on love and loss.

3. This poem’s literary mood is enchanted.

4.The point of view in this poem is omniscient.

5. This poem is set in medieval times, in and around Camelot.

6. Two literary devices used in this work are rhyming stanza and imagery.

7. A major theme in this piece in love.

Au revoir! ^.^

And here’s shmoop’s analysis, to delve deeper into the poem if you wish:

~Mouse

Toxic Covered Beauty. Please Comment!

(A poem by Laura on figment.com)  http://figment.com/users/360202-Laura-

Feedback?  Please?  :3  We need feedback!

Toxic Covered Beauty

“We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges.”
-Gene Wolfe

You’re a venomous rose
Toxic covered beauty
Thorns dripping with acid
Your poison flows
With continuity
You’re a deadly assassin
Awaiting a new victim
Drawing one in
With your fatal allure
Unaware of your system
The reason they flinch
Is because of your lethal grandeur
Your sickly sweet scent
Is a noxious fume
From vivid lackluster pedals
That are pleasurably abhorrent
Unsuspecting is your victim that you are their doom
That you are a malevolent devil
Your acidic barbs constrict with formidable might
In your captive’s veins the venom will seep
Soon they will lose the will to fight
Then you will notice they can no longer weep
For your toxic covered beauty
Has lured them to sleep

 –

Again, please comment your reactions. 

Thanks so much for reading this.

~Mouse and Laura

Timey Wimey Science- A Poem

Timey Wimey Science- A Poem.

 

This is how I feel 90% of the time.

Lol

;)~Mouse

Who, What, and An Answer?

Who are you,

If you do not know?

What are you,

If you do not know?

Who are you,

If you do know?

What are you,

If you know?

The answer is simple,

Just five little words.

Should the answer to these questions be shared?

Perhaps…

But knowing brings a great amount of power…

And responsibility…

You believe you can handle it?

Alright…

I shall reveal the answer to What or Who you are, if you know or not.

Five little words, are you sure you can’t guess it?

It’s simple…

And so I’ll tell you.

You are…

Anything you want to be!

;)~Mouse

 

Warriors FanPoem!

FanPoem…  It may sound silly, but that’s what it is.  Warriors is a book series by Erin Hunter. She has her own website, too. ( http://www.warriorcats.com ) The word “kit” means kitten, so here it is.

 

Fantasies of a Thunderclan kit

 

All my brothers and sisters,

we are but newborn kits,

born in a bramble thicket.

 

On a hill of soft, green, grass,

lies the apprentices’ den.

When we are of age, of course,

 

six moons old, yes, yes, right then.

We will be training.

Our mentors will train us well.

 

We will make good warriors,

after we are trained.

We will catch prey, every day.

 

<3

Warriors is the most awesomest book series ever.

<3

Love,  Mousepaw

 

P.S. If you read warriors you will understand my name.


The Story!

So here it is. I have adapted a few details to fit the story.

 

One day out of the blue a girl bid, “Adieu, adieu!”

to her friends and family, she moved!

to a village she thought predisposed

a house made perfectly arose.

On the scales of good and bad,

The house was perfect and the village, she thought, was just sad.

But as houses go is was an obvious decision.

Now to this you must listen.

She moved in and she was happy…

But she thought the town was sappy.

She was a witch of sorts, I think.

And she took care of herself with a quick wink.

Then she met Julie who was kind of a geek.

Julie was her neighbor of only one week.

They grew to be friends very, very closely.

Julie’s last name is T.M.  Kozely.

The very same last name as Sunrise!

Was it possible they were sisters?

Could they have grown up in each others lives?

Switched at birth? Could she be a changeling?

Is she living without aging?

They don’t know anything for sure.

But to jump to conclusions would be immature.

After awhile they found something out.

They knew exactly what it was about.

Could it be?

They were getting tested with biology.

The scientist came out and explained,

Their DNA was a match, Aha! they exclaimed.

Most people will agree,

A match is a match , Now do you see?

They still felt a little unsure.

About information, they needed more.

Were they getting their biology right?

They stayed up all night trying to see it in the light.

They  were sure they had misplaced a letter E.

Ah.  Maybe that was the missing key.

Then they drank lots of strong tea.

Drinking tea made them happy.

They were sure now, I believe.

And they were able to conceive,

They were cousins!

It would not be easy to disagree,

For the proof is on paper for all eyes to see.

After this,  Sunrise went for a walk in the trees,

And so got stung by angry bees.

She got better and now she’s happy,

And now the town does not seem sappy.

Sunrise and Julie stayed in the town.

They were happy so they wore gowns.

Shortly after, they went their separate ways.

Julie went on a trip for many days.

While Sunrise opened a little shop,

That sold some weird kinds of glop.

And then she met Don,

and had a little girl named Fawn.

Then they all lived happily ever after.

Under a roof made out of rafters.

I <3 Writing Poems!