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#1 Posted by Joygirl (19951 posts) - - Show Bio

Post what you've written, post your favorite! Post some motherfrakkin' poems bitches!

Sappho - Dapple-Throned Aphrodite

Dapple-throned Aphrodite, / eternal daughter of God, / snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,

cow my heart with grief! Come, / as once when you heard my far- / off cry and, listening, stepped

from your father's house to your / gold car, to yoke the pair whose / beautiful thick-feathered wings

oaring down mid-air from heaven / carried you to light swiftly / on dark earth; then, blissful one,

smiling your immortal smile / you asked, What ailed me now that / me me call you again? What

was it that my distracted / heart most wanted? "Whom has / Persuasion to bring round now

"to your love? Who, Sappho, is / unfair to you? For, let her / run, she will soon run after;

"if she won't accept gifts, she / will one day give them; and if / she won't love you — she soon will

"love, although unwillingly…" / If ever — come now! Relieve / this intolerable pain!

What my heart most hopes will / happen, make happen; you your- / self join forces on my side!

#2 Posted by deadpoolrules (4683 posts) - - Show Bio

Pink Floyd - Hey You

Hey you! out there in the cold

Getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me

Hey you! Standing in the aisles

With itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me

Hey you! don't help them to bury the live

Don't give in without a fight.

Hey you! out there on your own

Sitting naked by the phone would you touch me

Hey you! with your ear against the wall

Waiting for someone to call out would you touch me

Hey you! would you help me to carry the stone

Open your heart, I'm coming home

But it was only a fantasy

The wall was too high as you can see

No matter how he tried he could not break free

And the worms ate into his brain.

Hey you! out there on the road

Always doing what you're told, can you help me

Hey you! out there beyond the wall

Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me

Hey you! don't tell me there's no hope at all

Together we stand, divided we fall.

I know its not a poem,but its really deep.

#3 Posted by redbird3rdboywonder (4503 posts) - - Show Bio

Falling into the deep abyss, it seems all is lost

You've taken everything from me, no matter what it cost

The depths of my soul have now been split by thee

Yet the only question I could ask, is did you ever love me?

My heart is in torment, in agony, in pain

Hanging over my head seems to be a cloud with an endless amount of rain.

One possible outcome, only one way to escape, one way to overcome

And that's to give up fighting and run

..... To be continued I just came up with this off the top of my head

#4 Posted by judasnixon (7184 posts) - - Show Bio

  

#5 Posted by ARMIV2 (8847 posts) - - Show Bio

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone

Far down within the dim West,

Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best

Have gone to their eternal rest.

There shrines and palaces and towers

(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)

Resemble nothing that is ours.

Around, by lifting winds forgot,

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy heaven come down

On the long night-time of that town;

But light from out the lurid sea

Streams up the turrets silently-

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-

Up domes- up spires- up kingly halls-

Up fanes- up Babylon-like walls-

Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers

Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers-

Up many and many a marvellous shrine

Whose wreathed friezes intertwine

The viol, the violet, and the vine.

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves

Yawn level with the luminous waves;

But not the riches there that lie

In each idol's diamond eye-

Not the gaily-jewelled dead

Tempt the waters from their bed;

For no ripples curl, alas!

Along that wilderness of glass-

No swellings tell that winds may be

Upon some far-off happier sea-

No heavings hint that winds have been

On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!

The wave- there is a movement there!

As if the towers had thrust aside,

In slightly sinking, the dull tide-

As if their tops had feebly given

A void within the filmy Heaven.

The waves have now a redder glow-

The hours are breathing faint and low-

And when, amid no earthly moans,

Down, down that town shall settle hence,

Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,

Shall do it reverence.

"The City in the Sea"

~ Edgar Allan Poe.

#6 Posted by Aiden Cross (15526 posts) - - Show Bio

People around me thrive in pain.

I see no future, no hope, no gain.

Loneliness fills my depraved heart.

Their Love is now a forgotten part.

They tell me i have a choice,

But how can i speak without a voice.

They tell me there's love here,

When i look it all seems to disappear.

Everyday is filled with gray and decay.

In this world there is no more reason for me to stay

#7 Posted by lykopis (10746 posts) - - Show Bio

@Aiden Cross:

Is that your own?

#8 Posted by Aiden Cross (15526 posts) - - Show Bio

@lykopis: mhmm =)

#9 Posted by lykopis (10746 posts) - - Show Bio

Woman! experience might have told me

That all must love thee, who behold thee:

Surely experience might have taught

Thy firmest promises are nought;

But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,

All I forget, but to _adore_ thee.

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

But how much curst by every lover

When hope is fled, and passion's over.

Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,

How prompt are striplings to believe her!

How throbs the pulse, when first we view

The eye that rolls in glossy blue,

Or sparkles black, or mildly throws

A beam from under hazel brows!

How quick we credit every oath,

And hear her plight the willing troth!

Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay,

When, lo! she changes in a day.

This record will for ever stand,'

"Woman, thy vows are trac'd in sand."

To Woman by Lord Byron

#10 Posted by lykopis (10746 posts) - - Show Bio

@Aiden Cross said:

People around me thrive in pain.

I see no future, no hope, no gain.

Loneliness fills my depraved heart.

Their Love is now a forgotten part.

They tell me i have a choice,

But how can i speak without a voice.

They tell me there's love here,

When i look it all seems to disappear.

Everyday is filled with gray and decay.

In this world there is no more reason for me to stay

I have to quote because -- I am too impressed.

#11 Posted by FadeToBlackBolt (23238 posts) - - Show Bio

I took a seat in the middle somewhere,

near the back, away from prying eyes.

Admission was free, though I was in line for nine months.

It’s cold in here, it always has been.

The boy in the row before me is with a girl,

he is holding her hand, they look happy.

I stare down at my hands;

No purpose, only function

The picture starts; images dashing across the screen.

My eyes struggle to follow them.

I recognise some of the characters.

Others remain anonymous, but familiar.

I begin to drift to sleep,

The world on screen is not worthy of my attention;

That life has lost all colour.

No longer is it blue or green; only grey, forever grey.

The film no longer holds my interest.

People keep asking me to stay;

But the beginning was dreary, the middle dull.

I doubt the end will change.

I think I might leave early.

#12 Posted by Aiden Cross (15526 posts) - - Show Bio

@lykopis: Thank you =) I love Lord Byron's poetry as well ^_^

@FadeToBlackBolt: Already told you how much i loved that one! Glad you posted it! ^_^

#13 Posted by lykopis (10746 posts) - - Show Bio

@FadeToBlackBolt said:

I took a seat in the middle somewhere,

near the back, away from prying eyes.

Admission was free, though I was in line for nine months.

It’s cold in here, it always has been.

The boy in the row before me is with a girl,

he is holding her hand, they look happy.

I stare down at my hands;

No purpose, only function

The picture starts; images dashing across the screen.

My eyes struggle to follow them.

I recognise some of the characters.

Others remain anonymous, but familiar.

I begin to drift to sleep,

The world on screen is not worthy of my attention;

That life has lost all colour.

No longer is it blue or green; only grey, forever grey.

The film no longer holds my interest.

People keep asking me to stay;

But the beginning was dreary, the middle dull.

I doubt the end will change.

I think I might leave early.

Amazing.

#14 Posted by Brazen_Intellect (1144 posts) - - Show Bio

Now this is an original thread for once

#15 Posted by BumpyBoo (10649 posts) - - Show Bio

Aubade

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.

Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.

In time the curtain-edges will grow light.

Till then I see what's really always there:

Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,

Making all thought impossible but how

And where and when I shall myself die.

Arid interrogation: yet the dread

Of dying, and being dead,

Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse

- The good not done, the love not given, time

Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because

An only life can take so long to climb

Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;

But at the total emptiness for ever,

The sure extinction that we travel to

And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,

Not to be anywhere,

And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid

No trick dispels. Religion used to try,

That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade

Created to pretend we never die,

And specious stuff that says No rational being

Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing

That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound,

No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,

Nothing to love or link with,

The anasthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,

A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill

That slows each impulse down to indecision.

Most things may never happen: this one will,

And realisation of it rages out

In furnace-fear when we are caught without

People or drink. Courage is no good:

It means not scaring others. Being brave

Lets no one off the grave.

Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.

It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,

Have always known, know that we can't escape,

Yet can't accept. One side will have to go.

Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring

In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring

Intricate rented world begins to rouse.

The sky is white as clay, with no sun.

Work has to be done.

Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Philip Larkin

Moderator
#16 Posted by X35 (5981 posts) - - Show Bio

@FadeToBlackBolt said:

I took a seat in the middle somewhere,

near the back, away from prying eyes.

Admission was free, though I was in line for nine months.

It’s cold in here, it always has been.

The boy in the row before me is with a girl,

he is holding her hand, they look happy.

I stare down at my hands;

No purpose, only function

The picture starts; images dashing across the screen.

My eyes struggle to follow them.

I recognise some of the characters.

Others remain anonymous, but familiar.

I begin to drift to sleep,

The world on screen is not worthy of my attention;

That life has lost all colour.

No longer is it blue or green; only grey, forever grey.

The film no longer holds my interest.

People keep asking me to stay;

But the beginning was dreary, the middle dull.

I doubt the end will change.

I think I might leave early.

You big gay! ;)

#17 Posted by Jonny_Anonymous (35009 posts) - - Show Bio

Little Tiger, burning bright

With a subtle Blakeish light,

Tell what visions have their home

In those eyes of flame and chrome!

Children vex thee - thoughtless, gay -

Holding when thou wouldst away:

What dark lore is that which thou,

Spitting, mixest with thy meow?

#18 Posted by Loki9876 (3039 posts) - - Show Bio
DOES it matter?—losing your legs?...
For people will always be kind,
And you need not show that you mind
When the others come in after hunting
To gobble their muffins and eggs.
Does it matter?—losing your sight?...
There’s such splendid work for the blind;
And people will always be kind,
As you sit on the terrace remembering
And turning your face to the light.
Do they matter?—those dreams from the pit?...
You can drink and forget and be glad,
And people won’t say that you’re mad;
For they’ll know you’ve fought for your country
And no one will worry a bit.

S. Saxoon

#19 Posted by Pyrogram (41269 posts) - - Show Bio

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim

Because it was grassy and wanted wear,

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I marked the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

#20 Posted by Joygirl (19951 posts) - - Show Bio

Rekindle the Madness

What once was lost but can be found, / Cloistered in restraint and care, / Aslumber devours the mind that caged it, / A plague of laughter that echoes doom.

Biting into the bleeding plum, / To which bird and beast and man can fall, / A prick of blood along my thumb, / I can no longer hear the call.

But the murder of my passion / Shall never stain my brilliant soul, / The dark art of creation is mine, / And its wonder my eternal jewel.

Cast aside fact for logic is hollow, / And clench my hand around those before me, / Through the ages I can drink of their sorrow / And finally let their verse be free.

How can this lane be a guide through my mania, / How can the past let me see our tomorrow, / Let the arcane craft reclaim my element, / Rekindle the glow of madness / That’s been lost in endless gloom.

~Ravyn Wolfe

#21 Posted by akbogert (3227 posts) - - Show Bio

Quite appreciating the quality of what's here, particularly the original -- eh, to the poster, that is -- stuff.

I don't much write poetry but I figured I'd share this, though I warn you in advance it was written at a pretty emotional time in my life. It's called "Limerence," which my dictionary defines as "the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically involuntary, and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship." Again, dark times, kinda emo. Definitely the most angsty thing I've ever put on paper.

Why the hell am I a writer? Why the hell this curse?

Sometimes I wish I weren’t such a f****ing introvert.

When with her I am silent; I shut up like a clam,

So socially enfeebled that she can’t see who I am.

Yet when I am alone my heart’s huge floodgates open wide:

To void of web and paper comes the love that lives inside.

The time that I spend with her is the only time I need;

When parted my soul withers like an under-watered weed.

But she, of course, knows nothing of how much she means to me

Because I’m shy and awkward; too aloof to let her see

That she’s become the sunshine in my ever-cloudy days,

The solitary lighthouse in this dark, depressing haze.

On days without a message from her, hopes and spirits fall

But suddenly leap up with joy at first sound of her call.

Yet every joy is qualified; each smile with sadness tinged

At the prospect of the moment when my happy heart is singed.

For even as I fantasize that she might be my lover

Each day I’m haunted by the cursed phantom of “Another.”

Another man, a better man, a man less weak than I

Whose beauty, mind, and character already caught her eye.

The day that they officiate their love, my heart will break;

And every day until then, from my fear there throbs an ache.

The ache of insecurity, of loathing whom I am,

Of wondering “What if… what if I’d been a better man?

What if I’d had the strength, the might, to show her how I feel?

What if the outer, ugly shell transformed to match my zeal –

If body, word, and action matched the gold sealed in my heart

Would I still fear the day when loved and lover fall apart?

But all of this is vanity, futility, a joke:

The question can’t be answered if the asker never spoke.

For even as the heartbreak looms, my sunshine she remains.

To jeopardize that happiness, to risk the wretched pains

Of having her reject me, both as lover and as friends,

Of watching darkness swallowing our friendship as it ends –

The risk ain’t worth the payoff: possibility of bliss,

Of holding hands, of sharing lives, of altar, vows, and kiss:

It’s great, but all I’m thinking: “I’m not good enough for her,

Despite how much I pine, I crave, keep wishing that I were.

She needs someone who’s stable, okay with who he is,

So when she leaves her father’s arms, she’s comfortable in his.

Don’t know if I can be that — though I’d give my all, that’s sure,

And for everything that ails her I would die to find the cure.”

Perfect for her? Maybe. Then again, I’ll never know.

I’ll never let her see this, though I’ll never let her go.

Of course, we know that’s lying; time, it seems, will heal it all,

If God has not ordained it, He’ll assuage my bleeding call.

In the meantime that potential’s almost more than I can bear;

But if I must, I’ll bear it, for I cannot help but care

And every chance I have to please her, to inspire her, I will.

I’ll lift her from the ashes; I will carry her until

The end arrives, and be it either ecstasy or death

I’m committed to this girl as I’m committed to each breath.

And for every lover out there who’s as tangled up as me,

Here’s a prayer, a cry of passion, for the Lord above to see:

God bless the brokenhearted, bless the frightened, bless the hurt,

Bless impassioned, bless enfeebled, bless the cursed introvert.

~Adam K. Bogert

And to brighten the mood a bit, the first stanza of a favorite from Dylan Thomas:

And death shall have no dominion.

Dead men naked they shall be one

With the man in the wind and the west moon;

When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,

They shall have stars at elbow and foot;

Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion.

#22 Edited by Blood1991 (8082 posts) - - Show Bio

I've never published or shown anyone any of my poetry...... Well here goes.

A Poets Frustration

Words on the page that refuse to rhyme

endless rewriting and wasted time

feelings that refuse to be made into words

passions being violently spurred

on this canvas of white

nothing seems right

I'm at my wits end

trying to make art with this pen

well would you take a gander

at a poets frustration in all its grandeur

#23 Posted by wildvine (10367 posts) - - Show Bio

Poetic bump

Moderator
#24 Posted by FalconPuuunch (942 posts) - - Show Bio

From Perks.

Once on a yellow peice of paper with green lines

he wrote a poem

and he called it "chops"

because that was the name of his dog

and thats what it was all about

his teacher gave him an A

and a gold star

and his mother hung it on the kitchen door

and read it to his aunts.

that was the year Father Tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

and he let them sing on the bus

and his little sister was born

with tiny nails and no hair

and his mother and father kissed alot

and the girl around the corner sent him a

Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant

and his father always tucked him in bed at night

and was always there to do it

once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

he wrote a poem

he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season

and that's what it was all about

and his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to write more clearly

and his mother never hung it on the kithcen door

beause of the new paint

and the kids told him

that Father Tracy smoked cigars

and left butts on the pews

and sometime they would burn holes

that was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

and the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see santa claus

and the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed alot

and his father never tucked him in bed at night

and his father got mad

when he cried for him to do it

once on a paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

and he called it "Innocence: A Question"

because that was the question about his girl

and thats what it was all about

and his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

and his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because he never showed her

that was the year Father Tracy died

and he forgot how the end

of the Apostles's Creed went

and he caught his sister

making out on the back porch

and his mother and father never kissed

or even talked

and the girl around the corner

wore too much make up

that made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway

becuase it was the thing to do

and at 3 am he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly

that's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

and he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

because that's what it was really all about

and he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

and he hung it on the bathroom door

because this time he didnt think

he could reach the kitchen----

#25 Posted by Aiden Cross (15526 posts) - - Show Bio

@Blood1991: Very nice! sums up my feelings when i have writers block ;)

#26 Posted by Blood1991 (8082 posts) - - Show Bio

@Aiden Cross said:

@Blood1991: Very nice! sums up my feelings when i have writers block ;)

Thanks! I feel most of my stuff is a tad to personnel, but I made this completely by accident while trying to sum up my feelings at the time.

#27 Posted by Aiden Cross (15526 posts) - - Show Bio

@Blood1991 said:

@Aiden Cross said:

@Blood1991: Very nice! sums up my feelings when i have writers block ;)

Thanks! I feel most of my stuff is a tad to personnel, but I made this completely by accident while trying to sum up my feelings at the time.

Poetry written from the heart usually is =) But hey, nothing wrong with showing your emotions once a while ;)

#28 Posted by Pyrogram (41269 posts) - - Show Bio

@Aiden Cross said:

@Blood1991 said:

@Aiden Cross said:

@Blood1991: Very nice! sums up my feelings when i have writers block ;)

Thanks! I feel most of my stuff is a tad to personnel, but I made this completely by accident while trying to sum up my feelings at the time.

Poetry written from the heart usually is =) But hey, nothing wrong with showing your emotions once a while ;)

#30 Posted by guttridgeb (4832 posts) - - Show Bio

Wilfred Owen is the greatest poet ever to live. Dulce Et Decorum Est and Futility are easily his best stuff.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,—still warm,—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
#31 Posted by xNahtebx (489 posts) - - Show Bio

Hello, new home :)

#32 Edited by xNahtebx (489 posts) - - Show Bio

As Phaethon would whip you to the west,

And bring in cloudy night immediately.

Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night,

That runaway's eyes may wink and Romeo

Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen.

Lovers can see to do their amorous rites

By their own beauties; or, if love be blind,

It best agrees with night. Come, civil night,

Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

And learn me how to lose a winning match,

Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:

Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks,

With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,

Think true love acted simple modesty.

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,

Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,

Take him and cut him out in little stars,

And he will make the face of heaven so fine

That all the world will be in love with night

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

O, I have bought the mansion of a love,

But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,

Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day

As is the night before some festival

To an impatient child that hath new robes

And may not wear them.

#33 Posted by BumpyBoo (10649 posts) - - Show Bio

Bumping this in memory of a great one:

“Human beings suffer,

They torture one another,

They get hurt and get hard.

No poem or play or song

Can fully right a wrong

Inflicted and endured.

The innocent in gaols

Beat on their bars together.

A hunger-striker's father

Stands in the graveyard dumb.

The police widow in veils

Faints at the funeral home.

History says, don't hope

On this side of the grave.

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change

On the far side of revenge.

Believe that further shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracle

And cures and healing wells.

Call miracle self-healing:

The utter, self-revealing

Double-take of feeling.

If there's fire on the mountain

Or lightning and storm

And a god speaks from the sky

That means someone is hearing

The outcry and the birth-cry

Of new life at its term.”

Seamus Heaney

Moderator
#34 Edited by Veshark (9058 posts) - - Show Bio

One of my favorites:

In the blossom-land Japan

Somewhere, thus an old song ran:

Said a warrior to a smith,

"Hammer me a sword forthwith.

Make the blade

Light as wind on water laid;

Make it long

As wheat at harvest song,

Supple, swift

As a snake, without rift,

Full of lightnings, thousand-eyed!

Smooth as silken cloth & thin

As the web that spiders spin,

And merciless as pain & cold."

"On the hilt what shall be told?"

"On the sword's hilt, my good man,"

Said the warrior of Japan,

"Trace for me

A running lake, a flock of sheep,

And one who sings her child to sleep."

By Solomon Bloomgarden. Really evokes a serene mood in me.

#35 Posted by Glitch_Spawn (17132 posts) - - Show Bio

Am I real?

If I am. Why do I sometimes choose to go without these blister packs of pills?

What is life without a sip of booze and a glowing sunset?

All the women we've loved are gone and the friends we've had are ghosts.

The suicides have piled up.

The overdoses can't even be counted on two hands.

The wars are too gloomy to think about.

Your country hates you.

New age significant others shut you out.

They stare at their ignorant little plastic squares of communication.

They refuse to speak

My chest hurts.

The tears of Roger Waters are evaporating.

Back on point.

People are unforgivable.

This is my feeling

Go to hell.

#36 Posted by DoomDoomDoom (4211 posts) - - Show Bio

One of my favorite poems.

$2.50 - by Kenneth Fearing

But that dashing, dauntless, delphic, diehard, diabolic cracker likes his fiction turned with a certain elegance and wit; and that anti-anti-anti-slum-congestion clublady prefers romance;

Search through the mothballs, comb the lavender and lace;

Were her desires and struggles futile or did an innate fineness bring him at last to a prouder, richer peace in a world gone somehow mad?

We want one more compelling novel, Mr. Filbert Sopkins Jones,

All about it, all about it,With signed testimonials to its stark, human while-u-wait, iced-or-heated, taste-that-sunshine tenderness and truth;

One more comedy of manners, Sir Warwick Aldous Wells, involving three blond souls; tried in the crucible of war, Countess Olga out-of-limbo by Hearst through the steerage peerage,

Glamorous, gripping, moving, try it, send for a 5 cent, 10 cent sample, restores faith in the flophouse, workhouse, warehouse, whorehouse, bughouse life of man,

Just one more long poem that sings a more heroic age, baby Edwin, 58,

But the faith is all gone,

And all the courage is gone, used up, devoured on the first morning of a home relief menu,

You'll have to borrow it from the picket killed last Tuesday on the fancy knitgoods line;

And the glamor, the ice for the cocktails, the shy appeal, the favors for the subdeb ball? O.K.,

O.K.,But they smell of exports to the cannibals,Reek of something blown away from the muzzle of a twenty-inch gun;

Lady, the demand is for a dream that lives and grows and does not fade when the midnight theater special pulls out on track 15;

Cracker, the demand is for a dream that stands and quickens and does not crumble when a General Motors dividend is passed;

Lady, the demand is for a dream that lives and grows and does not die when the national guardsmen fix those cold, bright bayonets;

Cracker, the demand is for a dream that stays, grows real, withstands the benign, afternoon vision of the clublady, survives the cracker's evening fantasy of honor, and profit, and grace.

#37 Posted by lykopis (10746 posts) - - Show Bio

Brilliant.

#38 Edited by BumpyBoo (10649 posts) - - Show Bio

From "Howl" (http://www.wussu.com/poems/agh.htm)

I'm with you in Rockland

where you laugh at this invisible humour

I'm with you in Rockland

where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter

I'm with you in Rockland

where your condition has become serious and is reported on the radio

I'm with you in Rockland

where the faculties of the skull no longer admit the worms of the senses

I'm with you in Rockland

where you drink the tea of the breasts of the spinsters of Utica

I'm with you in Rockland

where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the harpies of the Bronx

I'm with you in Rockland

where you scream in a straightjacket that you're losing the game of actual pingpong of the abyss

I'm with you in Rockland

where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul is innocent and immortal it should never die ungodly in an armed madhouse

I'm with you in Rockland

where fifty more shocks will never return your soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a cross in the void

I'm with you in Rockland

where you accuse your doctors of insanity and plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the fascist national Golgotha

I'm with you in Rockland

where you will split the heavens of Long Island and resurrect your living human Jesus from the superhuman tomb

I'm with you in Rockland

where there are twentyfive thousand mad comrades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale

I'm with you in Rockland

where we hug and kiss the United States under our bedsheets the United States that coughs all night and won't let us sleep

I'm with you in Rockland

where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside O starry-spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is here O victory forget your underwear we're free

I'm with you in Rockland

in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night

Moderator
#39 Posted by BumpyBoo (10649 posts) - - Show Bio

Love in the Asylum

by Dylan Thomas

*

A stranger has come

To share my room in the house not right in the head,

A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.

Strait in the mazed bed

She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,

At large as the dead,

Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

She has come possessed

Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,

Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust

Yet raves at her will

On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last

I may without fail

Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

Moderator
#40 Posted by thespideyguy (2650 posts) - - Show Bio

Weezer - Beverly Hills

Where I come from isn't all that great

My automobile is a piece of crap

My fashion sense is a little whack

And my friends are just as screwy as me

I didn't go to boarding schools

Preppie girls never looked at me

Why should they?

I ain't nobody

Got nothing in my pocket

Beverly Hills

That's where I want to be

Livin' in Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Rollin' like a celebrity

Livin' in Beverly Hills

Look at all those movie stars

They're all so beautiful and clean

When the housemaids scrub the floors

They get the spaces in between

I wanna live a life like that

I wanna be just like a king

Take my picture by the pool

'Cause I'm the next big thing

Beverly Hills

That's where I want to be

Livin' in Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Rollin' like a celebrity

Livin' in Beverly Hills

The truth is I don't stand a chance

It's something that you're born into

And I just don't belong

No I don't

I'm just a no class, beat down fool

And I will always be that way

I might as well enjoy my life

And watch the stars play

Beverly Hills

That's where I want to be

Livin' in Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Rollin' like a celebrity

Livin' in Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Beverly Hills

Livin' in Beverly Hills

#41 Edited by BumpyBoo (10649 posts) - - Show Bio

Moderator
#42 Edited by JetiiMitra (8871 posts) - - Show Bio

Having a Coke with You

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne

or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona

partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian

partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt

partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches

partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary

it is hard to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still

as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it

in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and forth

between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint

you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

.

I look

at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world

except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it’s in the Frick

which thank heavens you haven’t gone to yet so we can go together the first time

and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism

just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or

at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me

and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them

when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank

or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn’t pick the rider as carefully

as the horse

.

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience

which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

.

Frank O'Hara

#43 Edited by Lunacyde (19474 posts) - - Show Bio

A Lunacyde Original...

Year One

We could feel the sun warm on our eyelids

Let the wind run through the locks of your hair

We could skip stones to the patter of heartbeats

Let the leaves fall slow in autumn air.

We could dry our socks by a crackling fire

Let the woodsmoke and firelight color the night

We could strip off our mittens, wool hats, and sweaters

Let the skin of our bodies burn low and bright

We could sway to the creak of an old porch swing

Let the sunset paint the windows’ reflections

We could run through the soft grass barefoot and laughing

Let your hips hush the birds’ and the flowers’ objections

We could stretch out forever under seas full of stars

Let the radio and crickets sing our farewell

We could hold hands and hearts in midsummer moonlight

On a dusty old blanket we’ll be glad we fell.

#44 Posted by hart7668 (2294 posts) - - Show Bio

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I may not be dead

but 1+1 equals 2

#45 Posted by TifaLockhart (14157 posts) - - Show Bio

I was wondering how long til it got less serious

#46 Posted by Lunacyde (19474 posts) - - Show Bio

Not long apparently.

#47 Posted by hart7668 (2294 posts) - - Show Bio

@lunacyde said:

Not long apparently.

This thread has been around for 8 months and I think mine was the first quasi-funny one to be found.

#48 Posted by consolemaster001 (6087 posts) - - Show Bio

God permeates the whole wide world.

Yet His truth is revealed to none.

You better seek Him in yourself,

You and He aren't apart-you're one.

The other world lies beyond sight.

Here on earth we must live upright.

Exile is torment, pain, and blight.

No one comes back once he is gone.

Come, let us all be friends for once,

Let us make life easy on us,

Let us be lovers and loved ones,

The earth shall be left to no one.

To you, what Yunus says is clear,

Its meaning is in your heart's ear:

We should all live the good life here,

Because nobody will live on.

#49 Posted by TifaLockhart (14157 posts) - - Show Bio
#50 Posted by Lunacyde (19474 posts) - - Show Bio