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Débat philosophique sur l'importance du jeu dans les staffs scouts ou pourquoi ne se voir qu'une fois par an alors qu'on s'entend bien?
 
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Goupilif

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Nombre de messages : 83
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Date d'inscription : 27/05/2007

MessageSujet: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:14

Amis de la culture, bonsoir.

Ce soir nous avons avec nous la plus grande amie de l'homme seul, la muse qui toujours murmure derrière toute littérature, j'ai nommé,

la poésie.

Qu'est-ce que la poésie?

Ce peut être le frisson que l'on éprouve à sentir le vent chaud chargé de pluie timide mais tenace au moment de sortir du bus 71 à l'heure de pointe,

ce peut être le sentiment de chaleur et de plaisir que l'on éprouve pendant une ou deux secondes, le temps de remettre son portefeuil dans sa poche arrière droite, lorsque, après que lq caissière vous aie rendu la monaie en échangant avec vous un sourire et un "bonne soirée", vous sentiez que même dans les endroits si peu propices à l'humanité que ces temples consuméristes, des hommes et des femmes vivent,

ce peut être le tremblement un peu chaotiques mais serein de vos paupières, au réveil, lorsque vous entendez la météo et que vous sautez du lit pour couper la radio afin de ne surtout pas entendre la nouvelle pub débile pour les assurances Marchandise,

ce peut être le regard de votre victime lorsqu'avant de mourrir ses yeux semblent demander "pourquoi",

ce peut etre tant et tant de choses, ce peut être un rien du tout, ce n'est peut-être rien du tout,

mais ça aidre à vivre.















Bref, postez ici vos poèmes ou chansons favorites.
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Goupilif

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Date d'inscription : 27/05/2007

MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:16

Le Bateau ivre; Arthur Rimbaud

Comme je descendais des Fleuves impassibles,
Je ne me sentis plus guidé par les haleurs :
Des Peaux-rouges criards les avaient pris pour cibles,
Les ayant cloués nus aux poteaux de couleurs.

J'étais insoucieux de tous les équipages,
Porteur de blés flamands ou de cotons anglais.
Quand avec mes haleurs ont fini ces tapages,
Les Fleuves m'ont laissé descendre où je voulais.

Dans les clapotements furieux des marées,
Moi, l'autre hiver, plus sourd que les cerveaux d'enfants,
Je courus ! Et les Péninsules démarrées
N'ont pas subi tohu-bohus plus triomphants.

La tempête a béni mes éveils maritimes.
Plus léger qu'un bouchon j'ai dansé sur les flots
Qu'on appelle rouleurs éternels de victimes,
Dix nuits, sans regretter l'œil niais des falots !

Plus douce qu'aux enfants la chair des pommes sures,
L'eau verte pénétra ma coque de sapin
Et des taches de vins bleus et des vomissures
Me lava, dispersant gouvernail et grappin.

Et dès lors, je me suis baigné dans le Poème
De la Mer, infusé d'astres, et lactescent,
Dévorant les azurs verts ; où, flottaison blême
Et ravie, un noyé pensif parfois descend ;

Où, teignant tout à coup les bleuités, délires
Et rythmes lents sous les rutilements du jour,
Plus fortes que l'alcool, plus vastes que nos lyres,
Fermentent les rousseurs amères de l'amour !

Je sais les cieux crevant en éclairs, et les trombes
Et les ressacs et les courants : je sais le soir,
L'Aube exaltée ainsi qu'un peuple de colombes,
Et j'ai vu quelquefois ce que l'homme a cru voir !

J'ai vu le soleil bas, taché d'horreurs mystiques,
Illuminant de longs figements violets,
Pareils à des acteurs de drames très antiques
Les flots roulant au loin leurs frissons de volets !

J'ai rêvé la nuit verte aux neiges éblouies,
Baiser montant aux yeux des mers avec lenteurs,
La circulation des sèves inouïes,
Et l'éveil jaune et bleu des phosphores chanteurs !

J'ai suivi, des mois pleins, pareille aux vacheries
Hystériques, la houle à l'assaut des récifs,
Sans songer que les pieds lumineux des Maries
Pussent forcer le mufle aux Océans poussifs !

J'ai heurté, savez-vous, d'incroyables Florides
Mêlant aux fleurs des yeux de panthères à peaux
D'hommes ! Des arcs-en-ciel tendus comme des brides
Sous l'horizon des mers, à de glauques troupeaux !

J'ai vu fermenter les marais énormes, nasses
Où pourrit dans les joncs tout un Léviathan !
Des écroulements d'eaux au milieu des bonaces,
Et des lointains vers les gouffres cataractant !

Glaciers, soleils d'argent, flots nacreux, cieux de braises !
Échouages hideux au fond des golfes bruns
Où les serpents géants dévorés des punaises
Choient, des arbres tordus, avec de noirs parfums !

J'aurais voulu montrer aux enfants ces dorades
Du flot bleu, ces poissons d'or, ces poissons chantants.
− Des écumes de fleurs ont bercé mes dérades
Et d'ineffables vents m'ont ailé par instants.

Parfois, martyr lassé des pôles et des zones,
La mer dont le sanglot faisait mon roulis doux
Montait vers moi ses fleurs d'ombre aux ventouses jaunes
Et je restais, ainsi qu'une femme à genoux...

Presque île, ballottant sur mes bords les querelles
Et les fientes d'oiseaux clabaudeurs aux yeux blonds.
Et je voguais, lorsqu'à travers mes liens frêles
Des noyés descendaient dormir, à reculons !

Or moi, bateau perdu sous les cheveux des anses,
Jeté par l'ouragan dans l'éther sans oiseau,
Moi dont les Monitors et les voiliers des Hanses
N'auraient pas repêché la carcasse ivre d'eau ;

Libre, fumant, monté de brumes violettes,
Moi qui trouais le ciel rougeoyant comme un mur
Qui porte, confiture exquise aux bons poètes,
Des lichens de soleil et des morves d'azur ;

Qui courais, taché de lunules électriques,
Planche folle, escorté des hippocampes noirs,
Quand les juillets faisaient crouler à coups de triques
Les cieux ultramarins aux ardents entonnoirs ;

Moi qui tremblais, sentant geindre à cinquante lieues
Le rut des Béhémots et les Maelstroms épais,
Fileur éternel des immobilités bleues,
Je regrette l'Europe aux anciens parapets !

J'ai vu des archipels sidéraux ! et des îles
Dont les cieux délirants sont ouverts au vogueur :
− Est-ce en ces nuits sans fonds que tu dors et t'exiles,
Million d'oiseaux d'or, ô future Vigueur ?

Mais, vrai, j'ai trop pleuré ! Les Aubes sont navrantes.
Toute lune est atroce et tout soleil amer :
L'âcre amour m'a gonflé de torpeurs enivrantes.
O que ma quille éclate ! O que j'aille à la mer !

Si je désire une eau d'Europe, c'est la flache
Noire et froide où vers le crépuscule embaumé
Un enfant accroupi plein de tristesse, lâche
Un bateau frêle comme un papillon de mai.

Je ne puis plus, baigné de vos langueurs, ô lames,
Enlever leur sillage aux porteurs de cotons,
Ni traverser l'orgueil des drapeaux et des flammes,
Ni nager sous les yeux horribles des pontons.
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Date d'inscription : 27/05/2007

MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:17

comment ça, ce sujet est juste une manière commode de poster à tout va?















ok, c'est vrai, j'assume. Et je commenterai ces chef d'oeuvres quand le coeur m'en dira
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Goupilif

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Date d'inscription : 27/05/2007

MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:18

Percy Shelley, 1819

MASQUE OF ANARCHY

I.

As I lay asleep in Italy,
There came a voice from over the sea,
And with great power it forth led me
To walk in the visions of Poesy.

II.

I met Murder on the way--
He had a mask like Castlereagh--
Very smooth he look'd yet grim;
Seven bloodhounds followed him:

III.

All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them humanhearts to chew,
Which from his wide cloak he drew.

IV.

Next came Fraud, and he had on,
Like Lord E--, an ermined gown;
His big tears, for he wept well,
Turned to mill-stones as they fell;

V.

And the little children, who
Round his feet played to and fro,
Thinking every tear a gem,
Had their brains knockedout by, them.

VI.

Clothed with the * * as with light,
And the shadows of the night,
Like * * * next, Hypocrisy,
On a crocodile rode by.

VII.

And many more Destructions played
In this ghastly masquerade,
All disguised, even to the eyes,
Like bishops, lawyers, peers, or spies.

VIII.

Last came Anarchy; he rode
On a white horse, splashed with blood;
He was pale even to the lips,
Like Death in the Apocalypse.

IX.

And be wore a kingly crown;
And in his grasp a sceptre shone;
And on his brow this mark I saw--
I am God, and King, and Law!

X.

With a pace stately and fast,
Over English land he past,
Trampling to a mire of blood
The adoringmultitude.

XI.

And a mighty troop around,
With their trampling shook the ground,
Waving each a bloody sword,
For the service of their Lord.

XII.

And with glorious triumph, they
Rode through England proud and gay,
Drunk as with intoxication
Of the wine of desolation.

XIII.

O'er fields and towns, from sea to sea,
Passed the pageant swift and free,
Tearing up, and trampling down,
Till they came to London: town.

D

XIV.

And each dweller, panic-stricken,
Felt his heart with terror sicken,
Hearing the tempestuous cry
Of the triumph of Anarchy.

XV.

For with pomp to meet him came,
Clothed in arms like blood and flame,
Ile hired murderers who did sing,
Thou art God, and Law, and King.

XVI.

"We have waited, weak and lone,
For thy coming, Mighty One!
Our purses are empty, our swords are cold,
Give us glory, and blood, and gold."

XVII.

Lawyers and priests, a motley crowd,
To the earth their pale brows bowed
Like a bad prayer not over loud,
Whispering-"Thou art Law and God."

D 2
Then all cried with one accord,
"Thou art King, and God, and Lord;
Anarchy, to thee we bow,
Be thy name made holy now!"

XIX.

And Anarchy, the skeleton,
Bowed and grinned to every one,
As well as if his education,
Had cost ten millions to the nation.

xx.

For he knew the palaces
Of our kings were nightly his;
His the sceptre, crown, and globe,
And the gold-in-woven robe.

XXI.

So he sent his slaves before
To seize upon the Bank and Tower,
And was proceeding with intent
To meet his pensioned parliament,

XXII.

When one fled past, a maniac maid,
And her name was Hope, she said:
But she looked more like Despair;
And she cried out in the air;

XXVII.

"My father, Time, is weak and grey
With waiting for a better day;
See how idiot-like he stands,
Fumbling with his palsied hands!

XXIV.

"He has had child after child,
And the dust of death is piled
Over every one but me--
Misery! oh, Misery!"

XXV.

Then she lay down in the street,
Right before the horses' feet,
Expecting with a patient eye,
Murder, Fraud, and Anarchy.

XXVI.

When between her and her foes
A mist, a light, an image rose,
Small at first, and weak and frail.
Like the vapour of the vale:

XXVII.

Till, as clouds grow on the blast,
Like tower-crown'd giants striding fast,
And glare with lightnings as they fly,
And speak in thunder to the sky,

XVIII.

It grew -- a shape arrayed in mail
Brighter than the viper's scale,
And upborne on wings whose grain
Was as the light of sunny rain.

XXIX.

On its helm, seen far away,
A planet, like the morning's, lay;
And those plumes it light rained through,
Like a shower of crimson dew,

XXX.

With step as soft as wind it passed
O'er the heads of men -- so fast
That they knew the presence there,
And looked-and all was empty air.

XXXI.

As flowers beneath the footstep waken,
As stars from night's loose hair are shaken,,
As waves arise when loud winds call,
Thoughts sprung where'er that step did fall.

XXXII.

And the prostrate multitude
Looked -- and ankle deep in blood,
Hope, that maiden most serene,
Was walking with a quiet mien:

XXXIII.

And Anarchy, the ghastly birth,
Lay dead earth upon the earth;
The Horse of Death, tameless as wind,
Fled, and with his hoofs did grind
To dust the murderers thronged behind.

XXXIV.

A rushing light of clouds and splendour,
A sense, awakening and yet tender,
Was heard and felt -- and at its close
These words of joy and fear arose:

XXXV.

(As if their own indignant earth,
Which gave the sons of England birth,
Had felt their blood upon her brow,
And shuddering with a mother's throe,

XXXVI.

Had turned every drop of blood,
By which her face had been bedewed,
To an accent unwithstood,
As if her heart had cried aloud:)

XXXVII.

"Men of England, Heirs of Glory,
Heroes of unwritten story,
Nurslings of one mighty mother,
Hopes of her, and one another,

XXXVIII.

"Rise, like lions after slumber,
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew,
Which in sleep had fall'n on you.

XXXIX.

"What is Freedom? Ye can tell
That which Slavery is too well,
For its very name has grown
To an echo of your own.

XL.

"'Tis to work, and have such pay
,As just keeps life from day to day
In your limbs, as in a cell
For the tyrants' use to dwell:

XLI.
"So that ye for them are made,
Loom, and plough, and sword, and spade;
With or without your own will, bent
To their defense and nourishment.

XLII.

"'Tis to see your children weak
With their mothers pine and peak;
When the winter winds are bleak:
They are dying whilst I speak.

XLIII.

"'Tis to hunger for such diet,
As the rich man in his riot
Casts to the fat dogs that lie
Surfeiting beneath his eye.

XLIV.

"'Tis to let the Ghost of Gold
Take from toil a thousand fold,
More than e'er its substance could
In the tyrannies of old:

XLV.

"Paper coin--that forgery
Of the title deeds, which ye
Hold to something of the worth
Of the inheritance of Earth.

E

XLVI.

"'Tis to be a slave in Soul,
And to bold no strong controul.
Over your own wills, but be
All that others make of ye.

XLVII.

"And at length when ye complain,
With a murmur weak and vain,
'Tis to see the tyrant's crew
Ride over your wives and you:
Blood is on the grass like dew.

XLVIII.

"Then it is to feel revenge,
Fiercely thirsting to exchange
Blood for blood-and wrong for wrong:
DO NOT THUS, WHEN YE ARE STRONG.

XLIX.

"Birds find rest in narrow nest,
When-weary of the winged quest;
Beasts find fare in woody lair,
When storm and snow are in the air.

E 2

L.

"Asses, swine, have litter spread,
And with fitting food are fed;
All things have a home but one:
Thou, oh Englishman, hast none!

LI.

"This is Slavery-savage men,
Or wild beasts within a den,
Would endure not as ye do:
But such ills they never knew.

LII.

"What art thou, Freedom? Oh! could Slaves
Answer from their living graves
This demand, tyrants would flee
Like a dream's dim imagery.

LIII.

Thou art not, as impostors say,
A shadow soon to pass away,
A superstition, and a name
Echoing from the eaves of Fame.

LIV.

"For the labourer thou art bread,
And a comely table spread,
From his daily labour come,
In a neat and happy home.

LV.

"Thou art clothes, and fire, and food
For the trampled multitude:
NO-in countries that are free
Stich starvation cannot be,
As in England now we see.

LVI.

"To the rich thou art. a check;
When his foot is on the neck
Of his victim; thou dost make
That he treads upon a snake.

LVII.

"Thou art Justice--ne'er for gold
May thy righteous laws be sold,
As laws are in England:--thou
Sheild'st alike the high and low.

"Thou art Wisdom-Freedom never
Dreams that God will damn for ever
All who think those things untrue,
Of which priests make such ado

LIX.

"Thou art Peace-never by thee
Would blood and treasure wasted be,
As tyrants wasted them, when all
Leagued to quench thy flame in Gaul,

LX.

"What if English toil and blood
Was poured forth-, even as a flood!
It availed,--oh Liberty!
To dim --- but not extinguish thee.

LXI.

"Thou art Love--the rich have kist
Thy feet, and like him following Christ,
Give their substance to the free,
And through the rough world follow thee.

LXII.

"Oh turn their wealth to arms, and make
War for thy beloved sake,
On wealth and war and fraud: whence they
Drew the power which is their prey.

LXIII.

"Science, and Poetry, and Thought,
Are thy lamps; they make the lot
Of the dwellers in a cot
So serene, they curse it not.

LXIV.

"Spirit, Patience, Gentleness,
All that can adorn and bless,
Art thou: let deeds, not words, express
Thine exceeding loveliness.

LXV.

"Let a great assembly be
Of the fearless, of the free,
On some spot of English ground,
Where the plains stretch wide around.

LXVI.

"Let the blue sky overhead,
The green earth, on which ye tread,
All that must eternal be,
Witness the solemnity.

LXVII.

"From the corners uttermost
Of the bounds of English coast;
From every but, village, and town,
Where those who live and suffer, moan
For others' misery and their own:

LXVIII.

"From the workhouse and the prison,
Where pale as corpses newly risen,
Women, children, young, and old,
Groan for pain, and weep for cold;

LXIX.

"From the haunts of daily life,
Where is waged the daily strife
With common wants and common cares,
Which sow the human heart with tares;

LXX.

"Lastly, from the palaces,
Where the murmur of distress
Echoes, like the distant sound
Of a wind alive around;

LXXI.

"Those prison-halls of wealth and fashion,
Where some few feel such compassion
For those who groan, and toil, and wait,
As must make their brethren pale;

LXXII.

"Ye who suffer woes untold,
Or to feel, or to behold
Your lost country bought and sold
With a price of blood and gold;

LXXIII.

"Let a vast assembly be,
And with great solemnity
Declare with measured words, that ye
Are, as God has made ye, free!

LXXIV.

"Be your strong and simple words
Keen to wound as sharpened swords,
And wide as targes let them be,
With their shade to cover ye.

LXXV.

Let the tyrants pour around
With a quick and startling sound,
Like the loosening of a sea,
Troops of armed emblazonry.

LXXVI.

"Let the charged artillery drive,
Till the dead air seems alive
With the clash of clanging wheels,
And the tramp of horses' heels.

LXXVII.

"Let the fixed bayonet
Gleam with sharp desire to wet
Its bright point in English blood, Looking keen as one for food.

F

LXXVIII.

"Let the horsemen's scimitars
Wheel and flash, like sphereless stars,
Thirsting to eclipse their burning
In a sea of death and mourning.

LXXIX.

"Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms, and looks which are
Weapons of an unvanquished war.

LXXX.

"And let Panic, who outspeeds
The career of armed steeds,
Pass, a disregarded shade,
Thro' your phalanx indismay'd.

LXXXI.

"Let the laws of your own land,
Good or ill, between ye stand,
Hand to hand, and foot to foot,
Arbiters of the dispute.

LXXXII.

"The old laws of England--they
Whose reverend heads with age are grey,
Children of a wiser day;
And whose solemn voice must be
Thine own echo--Liberty!

LXXXIII.

"On those who first should violate
Such sacred heralds in their state,
Rest the blood that must ensue,
And it will not rest on you.

LXXXIV.

"And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim, and hew;
What they like, that let them do.

LXXXV.

"With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear and less surprise,
Look upon them as they stay
Till their rage hasdied away:

LXXXVI.

"Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hotblushes on their cheek,

LXXXVII.

"Every woman in the land
Will point at them as they stand
They will hardly dare to greet
Their acquaintance in the street:

LXXXVIII.

"And the bold, true warriors,
Who have hugged Danger in wars,
Will turn to those who would be free
Ashamed of such base company:

LXXXIX.

"And that slaughter to the nation
Shall steam up like inspiration,
Eloquent, oracular,
A volcano heard afar:

XC.

"And these words shall then become
Like Oppressions thundered doom,
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again--again--again.

XCI.

Rise like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable NUMBER!
Shake your chains to earth, like dew
Which in sleep had fall'n on you:
YE ARE MANY-THEY ARE FEW.
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MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:32

Le double post est interdit!

Que dire alors du triple post!!!

flooder... tout ca pour être en tête de celui qui poste le plus...
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MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Mer 6 Juin - 21:32

là tiens Wink

Je repasse en tête lol!
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Date d'inscription : 27/05/2007

MessageSujet: Re: vos poésies favorites   Jeu 7 Juin - 12:21

egalite
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