We boil at different degrees. ~ Clint Eastwood.
The latest offering in my rather-too-random poetry section. It seems like this is working to improve my memory, but very slowly.
Never seek to tell thy love
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears–
Ah, she doth depart.
Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently, invisibly -
He took her with a sigh.
- William Blake
What are poems you love to read? Don’t be shy, post a comment or tweet me.
Spoken by Madame Arkadina in the Verse Speaking category with the tag(s) poetry, skills.
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I’ll always be there because I’m a skilled professional actor. Whether or not I’ve any talent is beside the point. ~ Michael Caine.
The latest poem in my quest to improve my memory.
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that’s honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea.
Not beautiful or rare in every part.
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.
- Edwin Muir
Spoken by Madame Arkadina in the Verse Speaking category with the tag(s) poetry, skills.
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I don’t think anybody can be told how to act. I think you can give advice. But you have to find. ~ Dame Judi Dench.
I have decided to start memorising and studying poems in order to improve my skills in performance, dramatic interpretation, verse speaking and plain old memory. This is the first.
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year’s bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,–so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, “There is no memory of him here!”
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
- Edna St. Vincent Millay
Spoken by Madame Arkadina in the Verse Speaking category with the tag(s) poetry, skills.
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