English Poems About Life

    english poems

  • (English poet) The history of English poetry stretches from the middle of the 7th century to the present day. Over this period, English poets have written some of the most enduring poems in Western culture, and the language and its poetry have spread around the globe.

    life

  • the course of existence of an individual; the actions and events that occur in living; “he hoped for a new life in Australia”; “he wanted to live his own life without interference from others”
  • a characteristic state or mode of living; “social life”; “city life”; “real life”
  • Living things and their activity
  • The state of being alive as a human being
  • the experience of being alive; the course of human events and activities; “he could no longer cope with the complexities of life”
  • The condition that distinguishes animals and plants from inorganic matter, including the capacity for growth, reproduction, functional activity, and continual change preceding death

english poems about life

english poems about life – The Complete

The Complete English Poems (Penguin Classics)
The Complete English Poems (Penguin Classics)
‘The first poet in the world in some things’, is how John Donne was described by his contemporary Ben Jonson.
Yet it is only this century that Donne has been indisputably established as a great poet—and even, many feel, the greatest love poet of them all. Jonson went on to remark that ‘That Donne, for not keeping of an accent, deserved hanging’, yet Donne’s rhythms, once thought ‘unmusical’ are now recognized as the natural rhythms of the speaking voice; his ‘eccentricity’ as a complex self-doubt; his ‘obscurity’ the reflection of a brilliantly learned and allusive mind. Poets such as Eliot and Empson have found Donne’s poetry profoundly attuned to our modern age, while Yeats’ glowing comment will always be true: ‘the intricacy and subtlety of his imagination are the length and depth of the furrow made by his passion.’
This volume, superbly edited by Professor Smith, is the first complete edition to make a serious attempt to guide the reader closely through the complexities of Donne’s poetry. Considerable attention has been paid to the text, and a selection of the important manuscript variants are included. This edition is also the first to make use of the newly discovered manuscript of the verse letter to Lady Carey and Mistress Essex Rich.

Two Songs about Vampires

Two Songs about Vampires
Having just seen Tomas Alfredson’s subtle, macabre and beautiful film Let the Right One In, my fascination for vampire lore has been renewed. Below are two song lyrics I wrote a few years ago. The first is based on one of the few English vampire legends with any pedigree; the second is an experiment in over-the-top, angst-ridden doom, the source material being, I fear, my own feverish imagination, combined with repeated re-reading of Sheridan le Fanu’s vastly underrated short story, ‘Carmilla’.

CROGLIN GRANGE

Two brothers and a sister rented Croglin Grange,
A house with little character, not untoward nor strange,
And soon the sister set about, the decor to arrange
In Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

The sister’s bedroom window had a splendid view
Overlooking field and hedgerow, and the churchyard too,
And nobody expected too much bother or ado
In Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

The night was somewhat sultry; no wind was in the air.
The sister sat a-knitting upon her bedroom chair,
When in through the window she saw two black eyes stare
Into Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

It scratched upon the window, it picked apart the lead,
And in through the casement it thrust its shrivelled head,
And she began to doubt what the advertisements had said
About Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

It grabbed her by her slender, pale and gentle wrist;
It touched her pretty chin with its yellow, bony fist,
And her tender throat was by blackened lips a-kissed
In Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

She let out a scream before she swayed and swooned,
And her two stalwart brothers burst into the room,
She lay beneath the curtains, swaying in the gloom
In Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

All that they could find was two welts upon her throat,
While outside the window the fiend did gasp and gloat,
The blood in there is plentiful, it made a mental note
About Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

Then one of the brothers looked down below,
And saw the creature’s teeth in a pearly, shining row;
He took a careful aim and he shot it with his bow
From Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

It gave a fearful cry as they rushed into the night;
They followed its footsteps by flickering lantern light
Until they came upon a tomb, a dark and dreary sight
Nearby Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

They hauled away the tombstone, and horribly they cried,
For half-eaten human bodies were strewn about inside,
It was sitting in its casket, its grin was red and wide,
Laughing, Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

One brother threw the lantern, it burst and spattered fire,
The creature waved its arms with wrath and rage and ire,
And as it was consumed it pronounced its curses dire
Upon Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

There’s a lovely house to let, the furnishings are nice,
It comes with guarantees against silverfish or mice,
And the landlords aren’t disposed to haggle o’er the price
Of Croglin Grange, Croglin Grange,
There’s nothing strange about Croglin Grange.

Source material: English folk-tale. Augustus Hare’s more complex version, which, for the sister at least, has a happier ending, may be read in Kevin Crossley-Holland (Ed.) Folk Tales of the British Isles, London, 1985, pp. 203-207. There are comparatively few English vampire tales, and the notion that vampires are killed by fire, rather than by means of a stake through the heart, appears to be unique to this one.

THE VAMPIRE-LOVER

She came upon the ruined hall; it was a windy night,
And at the broken window pane there glowed a single light.
She knocked upon the oaken door, “Is anyone inside?
For it is cold and I am lost,” the fearful maiden cried.

Then he drew back the rusty bolt; he ushered her within,
His hand was pale by candlelight, his face was gaunt and thin,
And though her hair was lank and wet; her gown soaked by the rain,
He felt love burn within his breast; his heart was seared with pain.

Chorus:
Come, my love, and stay with me,
We shall be wed eternally,
Come my love, my blue lips kiss,
We shall forever live in bliss.
What is life, that you should cling,
And be afraid of death’s cold sting?
What’s in a death, my trothèd wife,
That makes you seem so fond of life?

He led her up the creaking stairs and showed her to her room:
A wardrobe and four-poster bed, shrouded in the gloom.
He put a candle on the mantel, pulled the shutters to,
And turned his dark dilated eyes and gazed at her anew.

She drew her shoes off one by one; stood in her stockinged feet;
Outside the house the wild wind whi

[ Baylee ]

[ Baylee ]
www.facebook.com/JanouPhotography

I am very thankful for my pups. I love dogs and they make me happy in more ways than I can say!

A few years ago when I was working at the humane society, Bear was brought in. I saved every penny I had for weeks until I made the $85 he cost (a lot of money for a kid without a job). I brought him home and introduced him to our other dog, Brandy, an English Springer Spaniel. Brandy had been in my home since before I can remember, she had been about my age, and I will always love and miss her. She was my first dog I’ve ever had.

Baylee, our newest addition to the family, is a doll. I love this pup. Baylee was a present from my mom to my dad for their 25th anniversary. The night my mom and I went to get her was very long, we drove into Lennox South Dakota on a school night! The breeders brought out four small spaniels in a kennel. When they opened the kennel door three of the puppies rushed to the front trying to get out. I reached past them to the sleepy puppy in the way back. I picked her up and she crawled onto my shoulder like a parrot and fell asleep. Without even more than glancing at the other puppies, I knew she was the one we were taking home. As they went to fill out the paper, They asked what my name was, I said Hannah. They looked at me, laughed, and said "They puppy you picked is named Hannah".

I love my dogs and always will.

I can’t imagine coming home without a wagging tail greeting me.

Day 1

Brandy. Bear. Baylee

Below is the poem I wrote in American Literature for Brandy. It was a bit much for facebook, but if you’d like to read it here it is!

Our Sixth Member

Wet nose,
stubby tail,
grey eyes,
That’s just how you were.
Yelping and playing until the tiredness hit,
You slept like any other puppy,
Quiet and peaceful.
I was young then,
Hard to remember the day
You became my best friend,
Maybe you always were.

You grew.
You grew into your oversized paws,
Your grey eyes turned into a deep brown
The brown eyes we would see
for years to come.

You became a hunter.
You learned from my father,
How to flush out birds
And return them.
Worn out and tired
You’d rest,
Like any other hunter
Quiet and Peaceful.

At the end of the day
Your favorite place was home
Having your belly rubbed,
Being brushed, and “talking” to us.
Face it, you were our princess.
And we loved every second
Adventuring with the family,
Creating memories,
You were the sixth member
Completing our family.

I grew older,
So did you.
I can’t remember
A day without you
Without you
in my back yard
in my life
in my heart.

Finally I looked at you
Into your brown eyes
I knew you were hurting
But how could this be?
My young pup,
My sweet dog,
My best friend.

When people are born
They are taught
to love and care
dogs already know
so they aren’t here as long.

You grew tired and weary.
Then the day came
when we could no longer
let you take the pain.
I wish you didn’t have to go
Couldn’t you stay a bit longer?
You looked at me
with your sweet puppy eyes
Eyes that said
“Thank You”
Eyes that Said
“I love you”
And my best friend
laid down.
Quiet and Peaceful.

english poems about life

Chemotherapeutical Nightmares
An intense and passionate selection of poems that descends deeply to the essence of our heart where it reaches and vibrates our very being. An awful pain resulting from a terrible disease that excavates the body, like a war, without any reason, without any future. The author offers, in these simple, harsh and emotional poems in which we are often left breathless, the experience of a man who’s had to come to terms with the meaning of life, the anger mounting inside his soul, the inability to understand, the need to scream and protest against what has been taken away, day after day. Poetry is the medium through which he can focus, give vent to his fury, ask questions and hold on tight to life.

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