Poetic thoughts of Allan

[LGM]

Life's Irony
- by LGM

What cruel irony my clear eyes have found.
Sometimes youth is not wasted on the young.
In lonely rooms, old thoughtless life abounds,
While sharp young mind to errant gene succumb
But what loving sentience could make such plan?
Would caring providence our youth malign?
When fickle gene dictates the fate of man;
Who calls this work “intelligent design”?
But life still strives on this uncaring earth,
Selection grows our phylogenic tree.
And with this power she’s now given birth;
A primate mind unlocks her mystery
But is control of gene in human hand,
Some god’s will? Or an irony unplanned?

[LGM]

Ode to WinAce
- by LGM

A wry wit beckons from beyond the grave,
Youthful bard laid low by some errant gene;
He stirs my passion with a closing wave,
His epitaph dances across my screen.
His thoughts seem older than just one score years.
Was his youth concealed by an avatar?
Allan’s wisdom birthed out of hopes and fears,
A journey cut short, but traveled afar.
But his undying prose shall not yet fade,
Nor lose possession of the truth within.
Nor shall death brag he wanders in his shade,
His mem'ry lives in us, to death’s chagrin.
So long as mouse can click and eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[technomage]

Ode to Winace!

To fill what's empty is pleasant to me,
So I'll eat what I want as I swing from my tree!
I'll enjoy my life here, in the company of friends,
This will you do, in mem'ry of me!

To empty what's full is pleasant to me,
So I'll perch over Fundies, and then I'll take a wee!
And if you don't like it, your head needs Depends.
This will you do, in mem'ry of me!

To scratch where it itches is pleasant to me,
Sometimes knowledge burns, like the bite of a flea!
So I follow the knowledge, to the bitterest of ends.
This will you do, in mem'ry of me!

But now I am gone--it was pleasant to me,
To take life by the throat, see what I could see!
So I live to the fullest, and enjoy what life sends...
And this will you do, in mem'ry of me!

Think not that this rhyming is pleasant to me,
But how better to honor our friend's legacy?
Eat, drink, and be merry, dear enemies and friends,
And this we will do, in his memory!

Justin

[Richbee]

Crossing The Bar

by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

[Piebald]

Remember that WinAce was a person we knew and not a rhetorical device to use in debate. Some of these poems express some hotly debated views, but it they are still memorials for WinAce. If you want to debate something said in a memorial, start a new thread about that specific subject but divorce it entirely from the context of the memorial.

Also, no one has done it yet that I know of, but please, please don't disguise rhetoric as a heartfelt memorial in an attempt to bait people. No one's done it yet, hopefully no one will be tempted to do it. I'm not speaking as a moderator but as your friendly neighborhood hamster.

And back on topic, the poems were great.

[Richbee]

Dreams

By Langston Hughes

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

[Rusty T]

Bravely facing death
by acknowledging the unknown
consequences of being unconvinced

[LGM]

Remember that WinAce was a person we knew and not a rhetorical device to use in debate.

Unlike Thomas Paine, Jesus Christ, Joseph Stalin, Saul of Tarsus, Adolph Hitler, Terri Shiavo, Christopher Reeves, and the countless other people that WE can use as cheap rhetorical devices...:ahem:



Some of these poems express some hotly debated views, but it they are still memorials for WinAce. If you want to debate something said in a memorial, start a new thread about that specific subject but divorce it entirely from the context of the memorial.

Well said. Thank-you Hamster.

The purpose of this thread is to express your personal, original, poetic thoughts about Allan( a.k.a WinAce), and his untimely death.

If you're incapable of doing that, I request you post in the other thread in this forum, or start your own. I'm not really interested in people cutting and pasting all their favorite poetry here. (*ahem* Clutch).

If you disagree with the sentiments of another poet, feel free to express your own contrasting views, in your own original, respectful verse that addresses the threads topic.

[mossrose]

This thread has been moved into a NON-debate area. Please respect the wishes of the thread starter and use this thread for it's intended use.......as a memorial thread for Allen.

[LGM]

This world is filled with whiny brats,
Avoid them if you can.
They go around and measure grief,
And rhyme it if they can.

I wonder if they’re born that way,
With high pitched nasal whine?
Or if they ever had a day,
They said, “I feel just fine!”

I wonder if they realize,
Their thoughts all filled with gloom,
Can suck the living energy,
Right out of any room?

Yes it seems the cup’s half empty.
This world is filled with strife.
So whiners sit and dream all day,
Of pleasant after-life.

But WinAce was not one of them,
He grabbed life by the horn,
And found his piece of happiness,
His passing I do mourn!

[BeHereNow]

smile as you burn
it's life
and you give it back
fully

you joker
you malefactor

kiss and twitter
your nose
'til we bleed to
gather

you saint
you bridge guard

who knows best
you said
this team works
and grinds

you stand up
you glove

whose tears
fall
in your
leave?

you ghost
you rampart

let's
breathe
as
one

[Richbee]

Unsaid

So much of what we live goes on inside—
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than what we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead.

By Dana Gioia