SEM Rambles Here

burgerthief:

yourdelicatedarling:

The Highwayman
by Alfred Noyes

Without a doubt the poem of my childhood. Still know it by heart and love it dearly. Only recently did I discover some illustrative work to accompany the poem.

I must say, most portrays the highwayman as a sort of pampered, boyish ideal of an overly sweet lad who seemingly doesn’t quite grasp the concept of French fashion nor that of Victorian aristocracy, so chose the worst of both closets (suprised I couldn’t find the ‘royal pimple’, as Baldrick would put it, upon the highwayman’s made-up face). 

Or, the illustrations appear terribly childish in a kitsch manner. All sweet and lovely, as if the poem were a ‘and they lived happily ever after’ fairytale. Yes, I did write that it was the poem of my childhood. But I think any child would strongly object to being patronised. 

Now, I stumbled upon this illustrator, Charles Keeping.
The images above are his work. I’m not sure Mr. Noyes would approve, I’m not sure I do either, but the raw, haunting feeling in each and every picture is exactly what should grip the reader near the poem’s end. 

And I love the artist’s style. 

Swear I remember looking at this in school. It’s one of the few things that came up when I searched “highwayman” (am I using the wrong tag or something)?

Full poem’s here:

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-highwayman/

heartheirwhispers:

This poem means so much to me

Here’s a poem I like that’s a little hard to find, called “Song of the Zeppelin” by Violet D. Chapman. The book it’s found in dates to 1918.

The night-wind is humming,

My engines are thrumming,
Swift as a spark
Through the night and the dark
I am silently speeding;
Hovering grim and grey
Over my human prey
Sowing seeds of dearth
Over the stricken earth,
Where nations lie bleeding.

Ship without sails am I,
Bird without wings am I,
Lord of the gales am I,
Terror of Kings am I—
I am the zeppelin!

The cities are sleeping,
Their searchlights are sweeping,
Into the skies
I advance, I arise
Where the distance grows vaster;
See where the sky grows red,
Lit by the bombs I shed —
Stealthy and swift,
I fling them my gift,
Death and disaster!

Mark well the flight of me,
Ships! Have a care of me!
Shrink at the sight of me!
Cities! Beware of me!
I am the Zeppelin!

That quote from Catch-22 reminds me of one of my favorite poems, “A Casualty” by Robert Service. It’s probably because they’re both about trying to comfort someone who’s beyond help, among other things. I’ve put the entire text of the poem below the cut.

Read More

For some semitropical reason
when the rains fall
relentlessly they fall

into swimming pools, these otherwise
bright and scary
arachnids. They can swim
a little, but not for long

and they can’t climb the ladder out.
They usually drown—but
if you want their favor,
if you believe there is justice,
a reward for not loving

the death of ugly
and even dangerous (the eel, hog snake,
rats) creatures, if

you believe these things, then
you would leave a lifebuoy
or two in your swimming pool at night.

And in the morning
you would haul ashore
the huddled, hairy survivors

and escort them
back to the bush, and know,
be assured that at least these saved,
as individuals, would not turn up

again someday
in your hat, drawer,
or the tangled underworld

of your socks, and that even—
when your belief in justice
merges with your belief in dreams—
they may tell the others

in a sign language
four times as subtle
and complicated as man’s

that you are good,
that you love them,
that you would save them again.

My friend told me about this poem I remembered to look it up. It’s a cute little poem about how if you rescue spiders they’ll tell other spiders that you are a good person. I rather like it. I’ll be the first to admit that spiders creep me out a bit, but I always will move them outside instead of killing them when they’re in the house.

At any rate, I like this poem about spiders.