myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
imho the song "Nach Haus" by Silbermond is pretty much perfect for Bagginshield happy AU fic:

Ruhig und königlich liegst du hier vor mir (Calm and royal, you lie before me)
Deine Anmut ist schon zu sehn von hier (Your grace can already be seen from here)
Du wirst sie nie verlieren (You will never lose it)

Ich war so lange weg, das trägst du mir nicht nach (I was gone for so long, you don't hold it against me)
Du empfängst mich doch noch mit offenen Armen (You still welcome me with open arms)
Mit offenen Armen (With open arms)

Ich komm nach Haus (I'm coming home)

Wir beide kennen uns gut, besser als gedacht (We know each other well, better than we thought)
Durch deine Straßen zogen wir so manche Nacht (We walked through your streets for so many nights)
Du hast mich bewacht (You watched over me)

Und jetzt zeigst du mir, dass wir uns nie verliern (And now you show me, that we'll never lose each other)
Was uns verbindet, das krieg ich nur bei dir (What connects us, I can only get it from you)

Zurück nach Haus (Back home)
Zurück nach Haus (Back home)

Ich komm nach Haus (I'm coming home)
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
Sea Fever
By John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
Harry trudged to Agincourt, ankle deep
in mud, and wistful, weary, thought of sleep;
thought of crowns and souls, and old life-goals told
to empty rooms when he was young and brash.
The world still thought him young, beguiled by gold
and trinkets made of names. Names are just ash,
he’d learned, had taught himself, but writ in blood
they thicken, may be set and shaped like mud.
But spilt in love it must be, willingly,
and for a cause near-just (but only near—
for mortal men justice runs crookedly
as any crab). He held his soldiers dear,
like children, brothers, even as he spent
their lives like coin.
.. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. The royal French, they bent
the weight of all their bitter scorn on him,
and vowed they’d eat his heart where all could see,
would drive his army down into the grim
shadow of the grave. Surely victory,
they said (and all the world with them agreed)
must go to those with strength, with eager steed
and arms still fresh, not yet worn down like teeth
on sand or bone. The outcome’s known. Why try?
Return your rusty sword to battered sheath,
bow your head and bend your stubborn knee. Why
take the field when you cannot win the war?
But Harry — he went down to Agincourt.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/2112627
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
really glad i randomly decided to log in to Facebook this morning (i do that like once a week or so). i don't normally get much in the way of news (no TV) but Facebook informed me:

Robin Williams was found dead in his home in California yesterday around noon.

D:

"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead."
- Walt Whitman

(thanks to L for the very appropriate poetry quote. <3)
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
by Edna St. Vincent Milay

I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
Penelope did this too.
And more than once: you can't keep weaving all day
And undoing it all through the night;
Your arms get tired, and the back of your neck gets tight;
And along towards morning, when you think it will never be light,
And your husband has been gone, and you don't know where, for years.
Suddenly you burst into tears;
There is simply nothing else to do.

And I thought, as I wiped my eyes on the corner of my apron:
This is an ancient gesture, authentic, antique,
In the very best tradition, classic, Greek;
Ulysses did this too.
But only as a gesture,—a gesture which implied
To the assembled throng that he was much too moved to speak.
He learned it from Penelope...
Penelope, who really cried.
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
The Thousandth Man
by Rudyard Kipling

One man in a thousand, Solomon says,
Will stick more close than a brother.
And it's worth while seeking him half your days
If you find him before the other.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend
On what the world sees in you,
But the Thousandth man will stand your friend
With the whole round world agin you.

'Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show
Will settle the finding for 'ee.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em go
By your looks, or your acts, or your glory.
But if he finds you and you find him.
The rest of the world don't matter;
For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim
With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more talk
Than he uses yours for his spendings,
And laugh and meet in your daily walk
As though there had been no lendings.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call
For silver and gold in their dealings;
But the Thousandth Man he's worth 'em all,
Because you can show him your feelings.

His wrong's your wrong, and his right's your right,
In season or out of season.
Stand up and back it in all men's sight --
With that for your only reason!
Nine hundred and ninety-nine can't bide
The shame or mocking or laughter,
But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side
To the gallows-foot -- and after!
myurbandream: (zeguenerin=ich)
Whiskey in the Cup, by the Rankin Family

Oh my heart is sad for leaving you today,
But I know we'll meet again,
When the sun is in the valley,
And the leaves are on the trees
And we come to ceilidh in the glen.

When the sun came up,
There was whiskey in the cup,
Not one o' us was sober,
Gerri thought she saw a picture,
When it really was the sun,
Well, we knew the party was over,

Oh my heart is sad for leaving you today,
But I know we'll meet again,
When the sun is in the valley,
And the leaves are on the trees
And we come to ceilidh in the glen.


[lyrics by Raylene Rankin]
myurbandream: (the geek shall inherit the earth)
la-da-da-da, i'm gonna bury you in the ground
la-da-da-da, i'm gonna bury you with my sound
i'm gonna drink the red from your pretty pink face
i'm gonna-
...
sorry i don't treat you like a goddess
is that what you want me to do?
sorry i don't treat you like you're perfect
like all your little loyal subjects do
sorry i'm not made of sugar
and i'm not sweet enough for you
is that why you always avoid me?
that must be such an inconvenience for you, well
i'm just your problem
i'm just your problem
it's like i'm not
even a person, am i?
i'm just your problem
well, i-i-i shouldn't have to justify what i do
i-i-i shouldn't have to prove anything to you
i'm sorry that i exist
and that that landed me on your blacklist(*)
but i-i-i shouldn't have to be the one that makes up with you, so
why do i want to?
why do i want to?
to...
bury you in the ground
and drink the blood from your...

* - not sure about this line, finn is talking over her
myurbandream: (Default)
"The Sound of Silence"
Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhdGkZ6Fngw


hello darkness, my old friend
i've come to talk with you again
because a vision softly creeping
left its seeds while i was sleeping
and the vision that was planted in my brain
still remains
within the sound of silence

in restless dreams i walked alone
narrow streets of cobblestone
'neath the halo of a street lamp
i turned my collar to the cold and damp
when my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
that split the night
and touched the sound of silence

and in the naked light i saw
ten thousand people, maybe more
people talking without speaking
people hearing without listening
people writing songs that voices never shared
no one dared
disturb the sound of silence

fools, said i, you do not not know
silence like a cancer grows
hear my words that i might teach you
take my arms that i might reach you
but my words like silent raindrops fell
and echoed
in the wells
of silence

and the people bowed and prayed
to the neon god they made
and the sign flashed out its warning
in the words that it was forming
and the sign said, the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
and tenement halls
and whispered
in the sound of silence
myurbandream: (Default)
~

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

~

Teller, teller, tell me a tale,
Of love and fear and duty,
I want to die in the arms of love,
I want to die for beauty.
For beauty is the only truth,
And death the only lie,
I want to sing a final tale,
And love before I die.

Jane Yolen
myurbandream: (Default)
I AM MARRIED!!!!!

actually that happened a while ago, i just haven't been on lj in ages. but: YAY!!!


and also poetry:

I try not to think that everything you do
Is a promise I can taste and breathe in like the heat of
Your nearness.
But I touch and feel the in-deep-breath, the exhale of your sleeping peace
And the way you sleep is a promise I can touch.
Your smell and taste
The murmur of your lips against my skin. The vibration of your voice.
Your hand that spells “We have all night together.”
All your body against all of mine.
You say, making love, you do not need the light.
Or words or signs.
Your ears don’t mind the sounds I make
We can be (I feel. I think) deaf-blind together.
For a while


-by Brook Henson (The Eighth Day: Rooms of the Mind - chapter 12)
myurbandream: (the geek shall inherit the earth)
Nenas "Ich kann nix dafür"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbMYEPecCqY

Lyrik )
myurbandream: (Default)
William Ernest Henley, 1849–1903

7. Invictus

OUT of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
myurbandream: (sanzo's happiness)
read:

i am the only one that got through
the others died where ever they fell
it was an ambush
they came up from all sides
give your leaders each a gun and then let them fight it out themselves
i've seen devils coming up from the ground
i've seen hell upon this earth
the next will be chemical but they will never learn


Yorke, Thom. Radiohead. "Harry Patch (In Memory Of)". 2009.
myurbandream: (the geek shall inherit the earth)
Smile, Smile, Smile

Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned
Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small)
And (large) Vast Booty from our Latest Haul.
Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned;
For, said the paper, "When this war is done
The men's first instinct will be making homes.
Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,
It being certain war has just begun.
Peace would do wrong to our undying dead, --
The sons we offered might regret they died
If we got nothing lasting in their stead.
We must be solidly indemnified.
Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,
We rulers sitting in this ancient spot
Would wrong our very selves if we forgot
The greatest glory will be theirs who fought,
Who kept this nation in integrity."
Nation? -- The half-limbed readers did not chafe
But smiled at one another curiously
Like secret men who know their secret safe.
This is the thing they know and never speak,
That England one by one had fled to France
(Not many elsewhere now save under France).
Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,
And people in whose voice real feeling rings
Say: How they smile! They're happy now, poor things.


23rd September 1918
Wilfred Owen
myurbandream: (the geek shall inherit the earth)
"When You Are Old" by William Butler Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
myurbandream: (Default)
John Masefield
Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

~

i found this on someone's desk in the second-year studios, and thought it was pretty, so i remembered the author for later. ne?

in other news: bleagh, paper.....
myurbandream: (sanzo's happiness)
....

....i am so brain-dead. i got up to studio at 8am and worked basically the whole day, except for going to the writing center to teach and then for lunch. which is basically the same as what i did yesterday (except that i didn't get lunch yesterday) but somehow i feel far more drained today than i did yesterday. i dunno what's up with that. *sighs*

heroes premeire was last night!!!! it was RIDICULOUS, if you want my opinion. i won't post spoilers, in case someone hasn't seen it yet, but it's my personal opinion that they turned on the Stupid Generator (TM) for this season. sheesh. *eyeroll*

i want to watch star wars.

anyway, music... )

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