Progressive Poetry Thread

[AnarchistRon]

I recognize that other threads exist for the purposes of presenting poetry, but this thread is directed particularly to those handful of people who have radical dispositions and seek to free their souls through the power of textual expression.

By progressive I mean that through the poem is expressed: flaws in the inherent systems dictating humanity's existence; sufferings of populations; revelations of tyranny; etc.

The poems presented here do not have to be your own, but credit must be provided.

Percy Bysshe Shelley:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away".

 

[AnarchistRon]

One I have written:

Blind soldiers of the modern world
Wield forces much greater than the sword,
They perpetuate scarcity, thereby suffering
Of entire populations of which they have no understanding
The consequences of their actions
Has generated many competing factions
Fighting amongst one another- blood stained hands,
Until above the other one stands
But it is of no doubt to those that suffer
That peace cannot exist until love flowers
Put an end to that which has caused so much pain
So that we may finally live in peace again

 

[Pr0ta90n15t]

This is not mine, I take no credit for it.

Old man on a dusty road
bent forward with a heavy load.
Ragged coat & filthy shirt
scuffling through the grit & dirt.

What happened in your life old man
is this what you did really plan?
There must be dreams that passed you by
like those small clouds up in the sky.

Or is there something I have missed
a glimpse of phantoms in the mist.
Traveling down a dusty road
bend forward with this heavy load...

 

[Heron]

this is some poetry i wrote a while back. most of the void stuff is like, uhm, partially mythologized stuff about a bad time in my life.






They've sold the souls of unborn generations,
So get this through your clouded head:
The first of many shocking revelations;
before you're born you're already dead.







I step into the void,
Where men do fear to tread,
Those around are all annoyed,
They say it will bring death,

The sky and ground are black,
But pretty as a rose,
The ever-changing, shifting path,
Freedom in the shadows.

In a world where all is nothing,
There is no clock or band,
And any thing can be something,
Here I'll make my stand.






I fall into the darkness,
It's cold embrace I love,
Where kings and light do not molest,
I'll fly free as a dove.

From the edge, it's there I dive,
And lose my timeless frown,
No thing there to keep me high,
But none to hold me down.

In the void, there's no real sense,
It's all serene, surreal,
It's vast, it's huge, there is no fence,
And yet it's just you here.

You have no one or thing to call,
But hear a voice in stutter,
It seems that one more took the fall,
You see that it's your lover.

There's nothing in the void, you go,
And this is almost true,
But in an instant, you came to know,
There's only her and you.







As we fell swift down and deep,
There was little warmth but shared,
This was all that we could keep:
We and our collective care.

Even in the endless dark,
All else was pale and dim,
No hand could tear us two apart,
None but that of him.

Even as I looked in your eyes,
And felt the fire of spirit,
I saw the hand take hold, and you arise,
Taking my heart with it.

Who is the hand that from me stole,
My love, my life, my all,
Kings, slavers, the void itself,
Who took what made me whole?

So I'll wait and hope and will,
And fly throughout this place,
That I'll find her, safe still
By fate's mighty grace.





'Round the infinite space,
Desperately I fly,
Searching in a frantic race,
To find out what or why.

The worst evil bestowed on me,
And this I swear is true,
Is not the pain of my own heart,
But to know that hers hurts too.

But then a piercing arrow,
Of light zooms past my face,
It isn't much to know,
It's not of this dark space.

Two avatars of the Sun,
Come to speak to me,
They say it's been lots of fun,
To halt this destiny.

She has been reclaimed,
The 'Sun's Daughter', they say,
"Don't take her!" I exclaimed,
But they returned to the day.

So they left me broken,
Floating, completely empty,
But still I wait, hoping
That she will come and see me.

For I know amidst the violence,
And insanity at the top,
There's an exit for the very best,
Who make a clever plot.

So though I know that she is sad,
And in a dire strait,
I know she's ready to come back,
So here I'll float and wait.








As my gazing in the void begins,
I stop to contemplate.
Lost memories return again,
What a fearful strait!

Fear of death;
How unique to me.
Nothing left.
Power, speak to me. (Flow freely!)

Love out of sight,
My death in view,
Spark lost to fright, (Stripped of mind's might)
I reach for you.

What thing I owned,
I sadly lost,
But your absence showed,
The dire cost;

So slice the robe of flesh asunder,
And mark the arm left.
Remember well the meaning under:
Know your coming death.

And if you brand the right one too,
Then this will be its purpose:
Be ready for power's touch on you,
Prepare yourself in earnest.

This note is the lesson for myself,
Though I can't tell what'll come,
I'll heed death and power's whisp'ring mouths,
Until this chapter is past and done

 

[AnarchistRon]

This is by no means progressive in nature, but it's just so damn brilliant:

Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven

[SIZE=-1][First published in 1845][/SIZE]​

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!