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I always found the poetry thread a bit difficult to chew through. Classic poems, dirty poems, song lyrics. There's no stopping you!quote:There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
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Nov 1, 2014 19:06
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l(a l(a le af fa ll s) one l iness --e.e.cummings or The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough. --Ezra Pound
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Nov 1, 2014 19:32
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Spike Milligan posted:Well Bread
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Nov 2, 2014 05:52
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This is my favorite sonnet: On a Night of Snow Cat, if you go outdoors, you must walk in the snow. You will come back with little white shoes on your feet, little white shoes of snow that have heels of sleet. Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go. See how the flames are leaping and hissing low, I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite, so white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet - stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow. Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night, strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore, and more than cats move, lit by our eyes green light, on silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar - Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might, and things that are yet to be done. Open the door! -- Elizabeth Coatsworth (1893-1986)
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Nov 2, 2014 05:56
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Ezra Pound - "In the Station of the Metro" The apparition of these faces in the crowd; Petals on a wet, black bough.
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Nov 2, 2014 06:03
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A Connotation Of Infinity, E. E. Cummings a connotation of infinity sharpens the temporal splendor of this night when souls which have forgot frivolity in lowliness,noting the fatal flight of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream down eager avenues of lifelessness consider for how much themselves shall gleam, in the poised radiance of perpetualness. When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought is like a woman amorous to be known; and man,whose here is alway worse than naught, feels the tremendous yonder for his own— on such a night the sea through her blind miles of crumbling silence seriously smiles
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Nov 2, 2014 06:05
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Ode To Cliff Richard - Rick, the People's Poet Oh Cliff Sometimes it must be difficult not to feel as if You really are a cliff When fascists keep trying to push you over it! Are they the lemmings, Or are you, Cliff? Or are you Cliff?
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Nov 2, 2014 13:50
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It’s a scientific fact that anyone entering the distance will grow smaller. Eventually becoming so small he might only be found with a telescope, or, for more intimacy, with a microscope.... But there’s a vanishing point, where anyone having penetrated the distance must disappear entirely without hope of his ever returning, leaving only a memory of his ever having been. But then there is fiction, so that one is never really sure if it was someone who vanished into the end of seeing, or someone made of paper and ink....
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Nov 2, 2014 15:57
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A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast. How can those terrified vague fingers push The feathered glory from her loosening thighs? And how can body, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies? A shudder in the loins engenders there The broken wall, the burning roof and tower And Agamemnon dead. Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
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Nov 2, 2014 17:26
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Charles Bukowski, "A note on the masses" private hells made public often puzzle the readers: they wonder how this one or that one can endure and continue. well, there’s a secret: don’t expect too much of Humanity, they have been practicing hatred for centuries, it’s passed down refined and perfected, oh, they have become very good at that—- their hatreds blossom with ever more frequent regularity. our public hell creates a private hell and there is no hell except on earth. once you accept this premise you will be free to exist on your own terms and you will never know loneliness and death will be as nothing. consider yourself blessed in the dark.
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Nov 2, 2014 18:59
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I'm fighting down the urge to post the entirety of Beowulf to punish the OP for failing to define his terms.
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Nov 2, 2014 19:01
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Blue Footed Booby posted:I'm fighting down the urge to post the entirety of Beowulf to punish the OP for failing to define his terms. Paradise Lost could be a better choice. Over 10,000 lines. 
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Nov 2, 2014 19:08
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"A wonderful bird is the pelican, It's mouth can hold more than it's belly can, It can fit in its beak Enough food for a week, And I don't know how the hell he can." --Ogden Nash
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Nov 2, 2014 20:18
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Propskill posted:"A wonderful bird is the pelican, I don't mind eels Except as meals. And the way they feels. -- Ogden Nash
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Nov 2, 2014 21:31
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They gently caress you up, your mum and dad They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. Man hands on misery to man It deepens like a coastal shelf Get out as early as you can And don't have any kids yourself. This Be The Verse, by Philip Larkin. Professionally depressing as gently caress. But puts the emotions across well.
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Nov 2, 2014 21:41
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THE DOUBLE-DOOR EFFECT Double doors are justified because they're comfortably wide. Therefore you only half undo'em; and therefore nothing can get through 'em. Also basically everything else by Piet Hein. But one more: The road to wisdom? - Well, it's plain and simple to express: Err and err and err again but less and less and less.
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Nov 2, 2014 22:14
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New Hampshire A state that was made out of granite And God, who created it, ran it. Compared to this Maine's Just mosquitos and rain And Vermont is a whole 'nother planet. And a haiku from Home Movies: There once was a man Named McGuirk, who was big and Dumb and a jerk It's not a very good haiku. How about some Psalms? But that the LORD build the city, the builders labor in vain But that the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, To eat the bread of sorrows, for so he giveth his beloved peace. Something, something, bash your enemies' children's heads open with rocks.
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Nov 3, 2014 02:04
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Propskill posted:"A wonderful bird is the pelican, The American elk, also known as the wapiti, Runs through the maple woods, clippety-cloppety, Favoured with feet of remarkable property, Wapitis seldom have need of chiropody. --Hilaire Belloc
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Nov 3, 2014 14:22
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One from Byron: When a man hath no freedom to fight for at home, Let him combat for that of his neighbours; Let him think of the glories of Greece and of Rome, And get knocked on the head for his labours. To do good to Mankind is the chivalrous plan, And is always as nobly requited; Then battle for Freedom wherever you can, And, if not shot or hanged, you'll get knighted. One  from Pope:Sir, I admit your general rule, That every poet is a fool: But you yourself may serve to show it, That every fool is not a poet.
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Nov 3, 2014 15:17
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I am fond of this one by Stevie Wonder: Roses are black Violets are black Everything is black Touchdown Thurman Thomas.
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Nov 3, 2014 15:36
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Her bouquet cleaved his hardened shell, And fondled his muscled heart. He embibed her glistening spell, just before the other shoe fell. -Newman
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Nov 4, 2014 02:59
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Separation Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color. - W.S. Merwin
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Nov 4, 2014 03:46
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I always liked William Carlos Williams "The Hurricane" The tree lay down on the garage roof and stretched, You have your heaven, it said, go to it. "This is Just to Say" I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold
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Nov 4, 2014 06:46
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Dulce Et Decorum Est 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 and another: The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State, And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze. Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life, I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters. When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose. GelatinSkeleton has a new favorite as of 07:03 on Nov 4, 2014 |
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Nov 4, 2014 06:55
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A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!” “However,” replied the universe, “The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.” --Stephen Crane
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Nov 4, 2014 07:13
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My favourite poems tend to be on the longer side, but there still is this particular gem: oiseau: est-ce les voyelles réunies pour s'envoler -- J.R. Léveillé
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Nov 4, 2014 07:19
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Morroque posted:My favourite poems tend to be on the longer side, but there still is this particular gem: what if i said in a jewish way with no hint of irony and i repeated the phrase all day that goddamnit bitch, France is gay how would you reply? what would you say?
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Nov 4, 2014 07:42
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Solomonic posted:A man said to the universe: Why did god create a dual universe? So he might say, "Be not like me. I am alone." And it might be heard. House of Leaves, Mark Z. Danielewski Also, speaking of Stephen Crane, this: In the desert I saw a creature, naked, bestial, Who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hands, And ate of it. I said, "Is it good, friend?" "It is bitter - bitter," he answered; "But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart."
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Nov 4, 2014 07:59
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