My Nephew's Poem

[Flint]

My Nephew's (sp?) Songs we play may, man, amazingly.
I read the posed to rhyme!
lol other John Cage of the poem's blank verse
for once have I note - my not supposed to rhyme!
lol Menderful poetry lol Menderful... or heard:
You're like - it? Is than.
or heave a daoist other heaven's Poem
lol Funny, Sundae, funny, Sundae, a posteningly want to rhyme!
My Nephew's like - my poem's (sp?) Song With thought.
Kinds me of few wrotes. doesn't it? Is thought.
Boy of few words its same It's Poem poem
my nephew's like Songs we poem poem.
I once heave a dammit.
Boy of few would for heaven ryhme It's sake -
He is almosted to W blah--The poem.
? I once heard: You're is 10 years old and really
I really wonder it's simplicity another poetry lol thought.
Here like, funny. What it's (sp?) Songs we play may may may
nephew's not the post favorites kid, like -
my poem's (sp?) Song to rhyme!

[Shawnee123]

Wow Flint, that is just so groovy.

[Sundae]

Flint, are you taking lines at random as we are in the Experiment thread? Or are you feeding our posts into a poetry generator?

[Flint]

The first step is feeding your lines into the generator posted in the experiment thread, and tweaking the settings until I get enough workable text to reduce into something I like. I try to make only minor modifications to the parts I keep, but I toss much of what it spits out. Is it becoming tiresome?

[Sundae]

Nah, I have you on ignore

[Spexxvet]

:::snaps fingers, strokes gotee, adjusts beret and sunglasses, puffs on pipe, looks stupid in black turtleneck::

[Spexxvet]

Hey Flint, is your favorite poem The Golden Echo and The Leaden Echo?

[Spexxvet]

Originally Posted by Spexxvet

Hey Flint, is your favorite poem The Golden Echo and The Leaden Echo?

Ooops!

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.

36. The Leaden Echo and the Golden Echo


(Maidens’ song from St. Winefred’s Well)


THE LEADEN ECHO

HOW to kéep—is there ány any, is there none such, nowhere known some, bow or brooch or braid or brace, láce, latch or catch or key to keep
Back beauty, keep it, beauty, beauty, beauty, … from vanishing away?
Ó is there no frowning of these wrinkles, rankéd wrinkles deep,
Dówn? no waving off of these most mournful messengers, still messengers, sad and stealing messengers of grey?
No there ’s none, there ’s none, O no there ’s none, 5
Nor can you long be, what you now are, called fair,
Do what you may do, what, do what you may,
And wisdom is early to despair:
Be beginning; since, no, nothing can be done
To keep at bay 10
Age and age’s evils, hoar hair,
Ruck and wrinkle, drooping, dying, death’s worst, winding sheets, tombs and worms and tumbling to decay;
So be beginning, be beginning to despair.
O there ’s none; no no no there ’s none:
Be beginning to despair, to despair, 15
Despair, despair, despair, despair.

THE GOLDEN ECHO

Spare!
There ís one, yes I have one (Hush there!);
Only not within seeing of the sun,
Not within the singeing of the strong sun, 20
Tall sun’s tingeing, or treacherous the tainting of the earth’s air,
Somewhere elsewhere there is ah well where! one,
Oné. Yes I can tell such a key, I do know such a place,
Where whatever’s prized and passes of us, everything that ’s fresh and fast flying of us, seems to us sweet of us and swiftly away with, done away with, undone,
Undone, done with, soon done with, and yet dearly and dangerously sweet 25
Of us, the wimpled-water-dimpled, not-by-morning-matchèd face,
The flower of beauty, fleece of beauty, too too apt to, ah! to fleet,
Never fleets móre, fastened with the tenderest truth
To its own best being and its loveliness of youth: it is an everlastingness of, O it is an all youth!
Come then, your ways and airs and looks, locks, maiden gear, gallantry and gaiety and grace, 30
Winning ways, airs innocent, maiden manners, sweet looks, loose locks, long locks, lovelocks, gaygear, going gallant, girlgrace—
Resign them, sign them, seal them, send them, motion them with breath,
And with sighs soaring, soaring síghs deliver
Them; beauty-in-the-ghost, deliver it, early now, long before death
Give beauty back, beauty, beauty, beauty, back to God, beauty’s self and beauty’s giver. 35
See; not a hair is, not an eyelash, not the least lash lost; every hair
Is, hair of the head, numbered.
Nay, what we had lighthanded left in surly the mere mould
Will have waked and have waxed and have walked with the wind what while we slept,
This side, that side hurling a heavyheaded hundredfold 40
What while we, while we slumbered.
O then, weary then why
When the thing we freely fórfeit is kept with fonder a care,
Fonder a care kept than we could have kept it, kept
Far with fonder a care (and we, we should have lost it) finer, fonder 45
A care kept.—Where kept? Do but tell us where kept, where.—
Yonder.—What high as that! We follow, now we follow.—Yonder, yes yonder, yonder,
Yonder.

It's my fav.