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Old 04-25-2006, 07:54 AM
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Default Post a poem you think is great or enjoy

THE TYGER


Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757-1827)

---

I love this poem! :hearts: Certainly one of Blake's greatest. Great themes: industrialisation (hammer, anvil, etc.), nature (fire, tyger, forests of the night), and gnosticism (the Lamb).

Gotta love Blake.
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"I sat upon a shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me."
- T.S.Eliot, "The Waste Land"

Last edited by Philosophy; 04-25-2006 at 08:21 AM.
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  #2  
Old 04-25-2006, 07:58 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

"post a poem you think is great".

Bad move.

Time for the Haiku Bandit to strike! Today's session, young grasshopper?

Cat Haiku

You never feed me.
Perhaps I'll sleep on your face.
That will show you.

You must scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail! Behold,
elevator butt.

I need a new toy.
Tail of black dog keeps good time.
Pounce! good dog! good dog!

The rule for today.
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.

In deep sleep hear sound
Cat vomit hairball somewhere.
Will find in morning.

Grace personified
I leap into the window
I meant to do that

Blur of motion, then-
Silence, me, a paper bag
What is so funny?

The mighty hunter
Returns with gifts of plump birds
Your foot just squashed one.

You're always typing
Well, let's see you ignore my
Sitting on your hands.

My small cardboard box
You cannot see me if I
Can just hide my head.

Terrible battle
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What's a "term paper"?

Kitty likes plastic
Confuses for litter box
Don't leave tarp around

Small brave carnivores
Kill pine cones and mosquitoes
Fear vacuum cleaner

Want to trim my claws
Don't even think about it!
My yelps will wake the dead

I want to be close
To you. Can I fit my head
inside your armpit?

Wanna go outside.
Oh, no! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!

Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by newspaper.
Cat to the rescue!

Humans are so strange.
Mine lies still in the bed, then screams!
My claws aren't that sharp....

Cats meow out of angst
"Thumbs! If only we had thumbs!
We could break so much"

Litter box not there
You must have moved it again
I'll crap in the sink

The Big Ones snore now
Every room is dark and cold
time for "Cup Hockey"

We're almost equals
I purr to show I love you
Want to smell my butt.
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:07 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

I dunno about "great" since I am not a poetry buff, but this one has always "tetched" me in a special way.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
~ Dylan Thomas ("Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night")
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:08 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Sorry about the ambiguous 'great'. Just post a poem you like, is all. :)
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Fishing, with the arid plain behind me."
- T.S.Eliot, "The Waste Land"
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:20 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Gah! I can't believe I didn't think immediately to post my Favorite Poem of All Time. When I first read this I had a super "aha!" moment.

Fear of the Inexplicable ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

But fear of the inexplicable has not alone impoverished
the existence of the individual; the relationship between
one human being and another has also been cramped by it,
as though it had been lifted out of the riverbed of
endless possibilities and set down in a fallow spot on the
bank, to which nothing happens. For it is not inertia alone
that is responsible for human relationships repeating
themselves from case to case, indescribably monotonous and
unrenewed: it is shyness before any sort of new,unforeseeable
experience with which one does not think oneself able to cope.

But only someone who is ready for everything, who excludes
nothing, not even the most enigmatical, will live the relation
to another as something alive and will himself draw exhaustively
from his own existence. For if we think of this existence of
the individual as a larger or smaller room, it appears evident
that most people learn to know only a corner of their room, a
place by the window, a strip of floor on which they walk up and
down. Thus they have a certain security. And yet that dangerous
insecurity is so much more human which drives the prisoners in
Poe's stories to feel out the shapes of their horrible dungeons
and not be strangers to the unspeakable terror of their abode.

We, however, are not prisoners. No traps or snares are set about
us, and there is nothing which should intimidate or worry us.
We are set down in life as in the element to which we best
correspond, and over and above this we have through thousands of
years of accommodation become so like this life, that when we
hold still we are, through a happy mimicry,scarcely to be
distinguished from all that surrounds us. We have no reason to
mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors,
they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abuses belong to us;
are dangers at hand, we must try to love them. And if only we
arrange our life according to that principle which counsels us
that we must always hold to the difficult, then that which now
still seems to us the most alien will become what we most trust
and find most faithful. How should we be able to forget those
ancient myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into
princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses
who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps
everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless
that wants help from us.
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:22 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

I changed the thread title. Now you can post 'great' and 'favourite/enjoyable' poems. :)

Bring it on!
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Fishing, with the arid plain behind me."
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:31 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

{You asked for it, you got it... ;) }

More Rilke...

The Voices

The rich and fortunate do well to keep silent,
for no one cares to know who and what they are.
But those in need must reveal themselves,
must say: I am blind,
or: I'm on the verge of going blind,
or: nothing goes well with me on earth,
or: I have a sickly child,
or: I have little to hold me together...

And chances are this is not nearly enough.

And because people try to ignore them as they
pass by them: these unfortunate ones have to sing!

And at times one hears some excellent singing!

Of course, people differ in their tastes: some would
prefer to listen to choirs of boy-castrati.

But God himself comes often and stays long,
when the castrati's singing disturbs Him.
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- Esther Tallamy
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:32 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

In Flanders Fields
By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

And one from my Favorite Poet....(From memory even!)
Eldorado ~Edgar Allen Poe

Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old
This knight so bold
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied
"If you seek for Eldorado!"

Edited to add one more...
It was my favorite when I was a small child and its now my Sons favorite (And reading his Shel Silverstein books is one of his favorite things to do)
Boa Constrictor

Oh, I'm being eaten
By a boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
A boa constrictor,
I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,
And I don't like it--one bit.
Well, what do you know?
It's nibblin' my toe.
Oh, gee,
It's up to my knee.
Oh my,
It's up to my thigh.
Oh, fiddle,
It's up to my middle.
Oh, heck,
It's up to my neck.
Oh, dread,
It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff . . .

Shel Silverstein
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Last edited by Julie; 04-25-2006 at 08:45 AM.
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Old 04-25-2006, 09:37 AM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

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 kept 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.
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Old 04-25-2006, 03:38 PM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

WORDS

Between you and me,
the words,
like mortar,
separating, holding together
those pieces of the structure ourselves.

To say them,
to cast their shadows on the page,
is the act of binding mutual passions,
is cognisance, yourself/myself,
of our sameness under skin;
it rears possible cathedrals
indicating infinity with steeple-high styli.

For when tomorrow comes it is today,
and if it is not the drop
that is eternity
glistening at the pen's point,
then the ink of our voices
surrounds like an always night,
and mortar marks the limit of our cells.

Roger Zelazny
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Old 04-25-2006, 04:27 PM
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How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.


I sooo love these lines:

I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose



Elizabeth Browning - "How Do I Love Thee"
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Old 04-25-2006, 05:17 PM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Quote:
Cat Haiku
Sauron, that was beautiful. :happycry:

:giggle:
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Old 04-25-2006, 06:01 PM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Lauri: I heart Thomas & Rilke.

My favorites:

S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, `` What is it? ''
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening.
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains.
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys.
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me.
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ``Do I dare?'' and, ``Do I dare?''
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: ``How his hair is growing thin!'']
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: ``But how his arms and legs are thin!'']
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep. . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: `` I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all''--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: ``That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.''

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow, or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
``That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.''
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
--T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

1.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
--"The Charge of the Light Brigade," Tennyson
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Old 04-25-2006, 07:09 PM
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ms_ann_thrope ms_ann_thrope is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

KIA in WWI seven days before the war ended... he wrote this poem in a letter to his mother a year before he died.

Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned out 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 gas-shells dropping softly 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 flound'ring 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
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.
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Old 04-25-2006, 08:11 PM
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Clutch Munny Clutch Munny is offline
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Default keeping up with the military theme...

Some Saian mountaineer
Struts today with my shield.
I threw it down by a bush and ran
When the fighting got hot.
Life seemed somehow more precious.
It was a beautiful shield.
I know where I can buy another
Exactly like it, just as round.

____


Some lucky Thracian has my noble shield;
I had to run: I lost it in a wood.
But I got away clear, thank God. So hang
the shield. I'll get another, just as good.


Two translations of a fragment from Archilochus
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Old 04-25-2006, 11:30 PM
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Quote:
Originally Posted by ms_ann_thrope
KIA in WWI seven days before the war ended... he wrote this poem in a letter to his mother a year before he died.

Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen
I discovered that poem while looking for song lyrics and ended up saving it to my hard drive. :thumbup:
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  #17  
Old 04-25-2006, 11:38 PM
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lisarea lisarea is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

I get this funny feeling maybe I cited these exact ones in a thread here once before.

If you have a problem with me being redundant or anything, I could post Paradise Lost or The Wasteland. I like those, too.

40000
Charles Bukowski

at the track today,
Father's Day,
each paid admission was
entitled to a wallet
and each contained a
little surprise.
most of the men seemed
between 30 and 55,
going to fat,
many of them in walking
shorts,
they had gone stale in
life,
flattened out....
in fact, damn it, they
aren't even worth writing
about!
why am I doing
this?
these don't even
deserve a death bed,
these little walking
whales,
only there are so
many of
them,
in the urinals,
in the food lines,
they have managed to
survive
in a most limited
sense
but when you see
so many of them
like that,
there and not there,
breathing, farting,
commenting,
waiting for a thunder
that will not arrive,
waiting for the charging
white horse of
Glory,
waiting for the lovely
female that is not
there,
waiting to WIN,
waiting for the great
dream to
engulf them
but they do nothing,
they clomp in their
sandals,
gnaw at hot dogs
dog style,
gulping at the
meat,
they complain about
losing,
blame the jocks,
drink green
beer,
the parking lot is
jammed with their
unpaid for
cars,
the jocks mount
again for another
race,
the men press
toward the betting
windows
mesmerized,
fathers and non-fathers
Monday is waiting
for them,
this is the last
big lark.
and the horses are
totally
beautiful.
it is shocking how
beautiful they
are
at that time,
at that place,
their life shines
through;
miracles happen,
even in
hell.
I decide to stay for
one more
race.

Buffalo Bill's
e e cummings

Buffalo Bill's

defunct

who used to

ride a watersmooth-silver

stallion

and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat

Jesus



he was a handsome man

and what i want to know is

how do you like your blueeyed boy

Mister Death
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  #18  
Old 04-26-2006, 12:11 AM
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ms_ann_thrope ms_ann_thrope is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Quote:
Originally Posted by Ymir's blood
I discovered that poem while looking for song lyrics and ended up saving it to my hard drive. :thumbup:
*ms_ann_thrope assumes Ymir's blood was looking for the lyrics to In Dulce Decorum; FYI, The Damned are pretty much like her most favoritest band evar!!!!1
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  #19  
Old 04-26-2006, 01:25 AM
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Ymir's blood Ymir's blood is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Quote:
Originally Posted by ms_ann_thrope
Quote:
Originally Posted by Ymir's blood
I discovered that poem while looking for song lyrics and ended up saving it to my hard drive. :thumbup:
*ms_ann_thrope assumes Ymir's blood was looking for the lyrics to In Dulce Decorum; FYI, The Damned are pretty much like her most favoritest band evar!!!!1
You are correct. I really like the Damned, only have three of their umpteen albums though and that song isn't on one of them. :(
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  #20  
Old 04-29-2006, 01:50 AM
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Philosophy Philosophy is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

The Lavender Colour of Blueberry Flowers by Huu Loan


She had three older brothers

who joined the National Salvation Army

Among her younger brothers

one did not even know how to talk

she was young, her hair soft and shining bright.

I was the soldier of the National Salvation Army

Away from home

My Love for her was tender as my love for my sister.

On the wedding day

She did not ask for new dress

I wore military uniform

My boots were freshly covered with battle soil.

Standing by her unusually-looking soldiering groom,

She smiled beautifully.

I came home on leave from my unit

And returned immediately after the wedding day.

From the fighting zone far away,

I felt sorry for her

Having married a warrior.

How many of them would eventually return.

Should anything happen to me

How would she take it

Back home at night fall...

But I did not die

Despite the ravaging fire of war

Instead, death struck my young wife

Who stayed behind in the rear.
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  #21  
Old 04-29-2006, 02:04 AM
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Bella Bella is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Quote:
Originally Posted by Cynical-Chick
S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.
You beat me to it! Prufrock is enough to make me forget that the man wrote CATS.

I also love his Ash Wednesday, part I (I bolded my favourite bit):
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer
For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still.


Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.
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  #22  
Old 04-29-2006, 02:47 AM
California Tanker's Avatar
California Tanker California Tanker is offline
Compensating for something...
 
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Location: San Jose, California
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Tommy. Rudyard Kipling. A good lad, that Kipling chap. Good soldier's poem.

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.

I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.

Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.

We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.

You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!
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  #23  
Old 04-29-2006, 02:57 AM
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Petra Petra is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

James K. Baxter ~ Maori Jesus.

Attached is a performance of the poem. :)
Attached Files
File Type: mp3 James K. Baxter - Maori Jesus.mp3 (2.93 MB, 4 views)
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~ Ice T ~
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  #24  
Old 04-29-2006, 03:26 AM
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Crumb Crumb is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

The wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."

Stephen Crane
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  #25  
Old 04-29-2006, 03:31 AM
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Godwhacker Godwhacker is offline
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Default Re: Post a poem you think is great

Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't
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