You are welcome to post your poems and philosophical musings here, but please keep any poems you wish to share with us as short as possible (20 lines or less) and in keeping with the nostalgic music of ‘Auld Lang Syne’, i.e., please avoid any attempt at hearty facetiousness. (Admin Toby)
VIDEO : 4 mins
As Janus supposedly had two faces let’s follow Roman paganism , get drunk with the promise of starting anew, tomorrow, then wake up and blame the jews.
OK Toby, you asked for it! The poem below is only 12 lines long and I don’t think anyone here would accuse me of “hearty facetiousness”. I am a dead serious person, dedicated to poesy big time, and you won’t catch me out trying to be silly and facetious. No way!
Here is Madame Butterfly, her dark and decadent soul laid bare:
That’s not bad, Butterfly. But this is hardly in keeping with Toby’s request to offer something “in keeping with the nostalgic music of Auld Lang Syne.” This is pretty depraved stuff and shows a very corrupt soul, if I may say so. Good heavens! my mind reels when I am confronted by such images as “the toxic tree” and “those luscious apples of Sodom”.
I’m not quite sure what you mean by the “luscious apples of Sodom”.
They don’t sound very healthy to me! 🙂
Anyway, good try! You get a B+ for that.
Admin,
Please delete the above poem of mine.
I am ashamed I ever wrote it. It’s truly sickening.
Allow me to submit another in its place.
Madame Butterfly :
Forget about submitting another poem, you’re better off submitting yourself to your nearest local mental hospital. The doctors and nurses there will make sure you take your much needed meds every day. Do yourself — and everyone else — a favor for the New Year and submit yourself to be committed. I say this out of love, tough love, but tough love is what you need desperately, so consider my advice to you as a holiday gift, 💝.
Right. You’ve asked for it, buster! Prepare for a visit from three men in black suits with Sicilian accents. You’re toast!
You hateful Hottentot.
@ Madame Butterfly
Re your poem “MALEDICTION”, posted above, what is it all about?
A probing question: if I told you I admired the poem and was deeply impressed and moved by the poetic talents you exhibit here, would you pleased?
Answer honestly.
@ Sardonicus
Re your poem “MALEDICTION”, posted above, what is it all about?
Nothing. The poem is garbage. Intentional gibberish. The poem has no meaning. It is a “trash poem”.
A probing question: if I told you I admired the poem and was deeply impressed and moved by the poetic talents you exhibit here, would you pleased?
No, I wouldn’t. I’d feel very sorry for you that you’d been taken in by this pretentious crap. The poem was originally written for PSEUD’S CORNER in Private Eye magazine, where contestants were asked to submit the most poetical garbage they could. The poem had to mass muster aa a serious poem, but the poem was actually a con trick that would impress no genuine lover of poetry — only intellectual pseuds and other low-IQ “literary” types who were incapable of distinguishing between a good poem and a bad poem. In other words, Sardonicus, my poem is an intentionally bad poem that only an intellectual pseud would like.
Answer honestly.
I have done so. Satisfied?
From my devoted wife of 45 years who passed away in June last year:
Now that I’ve come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no tears in a gloom-filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?
Miss me a little but not for too long
and not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me but let me go.
When you are weary and sick of heart
Say a prayer for relief from your woe
Then bury your sorrow in doing good deeds;
Miss me, but let me go.
@ Sabreache
Bravo! This is exceptionally good and could have been written by someone like Christina Rossetti. I have corrected one typo: “I want to tears in a gloom-filled room.” (‘to’ has been changed to ‘no’).
Beautiful and memorable — you can take this with you anywhere.
Don’t listen to what they say, ignore the idle talk
For me, You will always be truthful, distinguished is your mark
O large-hearted one! Lo and behold
Your poems adorn our heads as a crown of gold
I expressed my gratitude to God for your presence amongst us
However, my abundant thanks remained inadequate thus
Your dedication stretches far and wide
And may that within us long abide
You are sincere in expression, unequivocal, frank
Dissimulation is alien to someone of your rank
It is you who have brought the great ones to this place
Your character is capable of folk-gathering with such grace
If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t have returned here , even for an hour
And our absence would have been long, bitter and sour
Behold! This is Lasha, the original, the noble giver
Yea! Lasha’s likeness is scarce, now and ever
— Happy new year to all!
I owe Darkmoon a big apology. In very early January 2018 I promised I would send Darkmoon LOTS AND LOTS of Flat Earth Geocentric TRUTH videos articles and links to Flat Earth Geocentric TRUTH websites for 2018. I’m afraid I was negligent and didn’t live up to my promise [ I guess I was slothful, I can be lazy , right Pat? ] ; I only sent in a few Flat Earth Geocentric TRUTH videos articles and links to Flat Earth Geocentric TRUTH websites during 2018. Believe me, I don’t mean to leave Darkmoon in the dark, I want to share THE TRUTH and THE TRUTH IS that the Earth is FLAT and that the Universe is GEOCENTRIC.
It is at the FLAT EARTH GEOCENTRIC websites where one finds THE REAL TRUTHTELLERS, not half-ass truth tellers who are so ubiquitous in the jew-freemason-jesuit Noosphere owned-and-controlled by jews and the Helio Science Mafia so-called “alternative”media.
So I Vow to Thee my Darkmoon I will NOT be slothful and I will send Darkmoon LOTS AND LOTS of FLAT EARTH GEOCENTRIC TRUTH videos articles and links to FLAT EARTH GEOCENTRIC TRUTH websites IN 2019 so to enlighten you Darkmooners and to lead you all out of the dark shadiness of Plato’s Cave and into THE LIGHT OF TRUTH, to lead you all into THE LIGHT OF VIDERE LICET. VIDERE LICET, the Great Spiritual Gift to us from GOD.
Happy New Year TO EVERYONE! May it be a good year, a happy year, for ADMIN and for all Darkmoon readers …
How gracious an invitation!
Nowheresville
Traffic wormed its way through the warm summer day,
Toward over there, points else than here, far below
Daunting heights of the Village of Nowhere.
Grandfather named our newly purchased plot Nowheresville,
His long-ago lingo lost to us, save for a vague memory or two.
With finality, Father declared we had but bought a lot of work.
Our elders departed, celebrating escape while wishing us well.
In spite, we now deemed this, our place on earth, a workstead,
Nestled here in the Village of Nowhere.
I pondered passing traffic worms for some minutes, then turned,
Leaving to squirrels and feral birds views from our hillock’s high.
I had seeds to plant, plants deemed weeds by wife to pull,
Chickens and emus to feed, early harvest grain to dry.
Then I recalled a festering issue I had with a neighbor
Living In the Village of Nowhere.
This year passed by more quickly than any before it, I opined,
Packing fence-mending tools to take to my neighbor’s place.
acd 31Dec2018
Alan Donelson —
An exceptional poem in every way! Truly beautiful. Such accomplished verse is rarely written nowadays and exhibits not only a rare verbal skill but the writer’s “poetic sensitivity” and empathy for the natural world around him. He is part of the landscape, a kind of latter day Thoreau.
To Lisa.
Your letters smelled of sage
when burned
and bottle rockets.
The kind that go
almost to heaven.
Oh. And little explosions going off in this verse too!
No hearty facetiousness? This is a serious challenge but I did once write a sad poem because I was living in Swindon…
“Unseen”
Slip quiet out of life,
out of sight;
fade in the heartless day.
Seek alone at night
the cold embrace.
Life stretches, thins,
until unseen.
***
Amazing, this truly hits the spot. I have been sitting here on my own for nearly an hour reminiscing over lost friends who have passed. Miss them every day but one day we will meet again.
No surrender
Fe Godwn Ni Eto
14/88
Flopot’s a dark horse. He has kept his poetic talents hidden all this time. Like a light under a bushel. He says more in 6 lines than other poets can say in 60. I’d describe his poem as “lean and mean” (compliment), disciplined, understated. Existentially bleak. Like in “We are the hollow men / We are the stuffed men…”
Next stop Swindon! 🙂
Existentially bleak is like so sophisticated and urbane, hip and with-it, man, Existentially bleak is like soooooooooooooooooooooo intellectual.
Maybe it truly is all about context and environment. Swindon, that navel of England where the sky has more variety than the earth, pushes out creativity as if you’re in a vacuum: the spiritless city turns you inside out. I was more creative in that dreary place than years in London and Belfast. Ah, a Wiltshire sky in mid-Winter is like gazing up at a broken ice-field from a gloomy seabed.
Happy New Year!
Thanks, Flopot. Interesting what you should say about Swindon. I’ve never been to Wiltshire myself, though my younger brother attended a good boarding school there long ago, called Cricklade Manor Prep School. Don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it? It’s not too far from Swindon in the sleepy little Cotswold town of Cricklade.
There was a young man from Japan,
who could never make limericks scan.
When asked why it was,
he said “It’s because
I always like to get as many words in the last line as I possibly can”