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Old 08-02-2006, 09:42 PM   #26
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favorite poem? singular? not possible.

here are two i like and have easily accessible:


"in the hourless forest"
jules supervielle

in the hourless forest
a tall tree is being felled.
a vertical void
trembles in the form of a shaft
near the outstreched trunk.

search, birds, search,
for the site of your nests
in this high memory
while it is still murmuring.


episode in a library
zbigniew herbert

A blonde girl is bent over a poem. With a pencil sharp as a lancet she transfers the words to a blank page and changes them into strokes, accents, caesuras. The lament of a fallen poet now looks like a salamander eaten away by ants.

When we carried him away under machine-gun fire, I believed that his still warm body would be resurrected in the word. Now as I watch the death of the words, I know there is no limit to decay. All that will be left after us in the black earth will be scattered syllables. Accents over nothingness and dust.


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Old 08-02-2006, 09:58 PM   #27
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Default a poem that changed my life as a teen....

"Cross"

My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder were I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?

Langston Hughes
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Old 08-03-2006, 06:22 AM   #28
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Oh, now what was the name of that poem.... it lyrically traced the societal and wartime pressures heaped upon the flowering love between a dashing British Count, of the manor born, and a young girl from Nantucket....
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Old 08-03-2006, 06:27 AM   #29
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One of my favorite genres of poetry is WWI stuff. I have a big collection of it. But really, it's too sad, too sad. I can't type it out here.


And butch, that Plath is a laugh a minute, no?
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Old 08-03-2006, 06:32 AM   #30
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Jes
One of my favorite genres of poetry is WWI stuff. I have a big collection of it. But really, it's too sad, too sad. I can't type it out here.


And butch, that Plath is a laugh a minute, no?
You know, I walked around with a copy of The Bell Jar when I was in high school (I think I was going for the teen-in-danger look), but I never actually read it until I was an adult.
Laugh riot.
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Old 08-03-2006, 11:20 AM   #31
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Default The Bell Jar

Ha, that Bell Jar is so funny I feel like hole-ing up in my basement with a copy of it right now!

I wonder, BBabe, if there is a lovely limerick about Ms. Plath and a lad from Nantucket?
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Old 08-03-2006, 11:30 AM   #32
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Quote:
Originally Posted by butch
Ha, that Bell Jar is so funny I feel like hole-ing up in my basement with a copy of it right now!

I wonder, BBabe, if there is a lovely limerick about Ms. Plath and a lad from Nantucket?
Miss Plath loved a lad from Nantucket
When he went away she said "Fuck it"

And put her head in the oven


Great set-up, Butch. Preesh. But it doesn't make up for the fact I'll now have Dee-Lite playing in my head the rest of the day. Fortunately, I've got a gas oven, for the groove-infected head.
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Old 08-03-2006, 11:50 AM   #33
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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."

- Stephen Crane, the Black Riders and other lines.
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Old 08-03-2006, 11:50 AM   #34
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i sing of Olaf glad and big
by E. E. Cummings


XXX

i sing of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or

his wellbelovéd colonel(trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but--though an host of overjoyed
noncoms(first knocking on the head
him)do through icy waters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this muddy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments--
Olaf(being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds,without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your fucking flag"

straightway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)

but--though all kinds of officers
(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride)
their passive prey did kick and curse
until for wear their clarion
voices and boots were much the worse,
and egged the firstclassprivates on
his rectum wickedly to tease
by means of skilfully applied
bayonets roasted hot with heat--
Olaf(upon what were once knees)
does almost ceaselessly repeat
"there is some shit I will not eat"

our president,being of which
assertions duly notified
threw the yellowsonofabitch
into a dungeon,where he died

Christ(of His mercy infinite)
i pray to see;and Olaf,too

preponderatingly because
unless statistics lie he was
more brave than me:more blond than you.
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Old 08-03-2006, 12:04 PM   #35
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the meanest, baddest poet of them all: martial


"While worshipping Juppiter with many prayers, always bowing perfectly,
in the Temple, Aethon farted.
All the men laughed, but the father of the gods was offended and
sentenced him to three nights of eating dinner at home.
Now, after this disgrace, when poor little Aethon wants to go into
the Temple, he first finds the bathroom and farts 10 and 20 times.
And although he has guarded against himself by sounding off in the bathroom,
Aethon now worships Jupiter with cheeks clenched"



"Last night, after five pints of wine,
I said, 'Procillus, come and dine
Tomorrow.' You assumed I meant
What I said (a dangerous precedent)
And slyly jotted down a note
Of my drunk offer. Let me quote
A proverb from the Greek: ' I hate
An unforgetful drinking mate.' ”



"Hoping, Fescennia, to overpower
The reek of last night’s drinking, you devour
Cosmus’ sweet-scented pastilles by the gross.
But though they give your teeth a whitish gloss
They fail to make your breath any less smelly
When a belch boils from your abyss-like belly.
In fact, blended with lozenges it’s much stronger,
It travels farther and it lingers longer.
Give up these stale, transparent tricks. A skunk
Must be itself. Why not just be a drunk?"



"The little puppy licks your mouth and lips, Manneia.
I am not astonished—if it pleases the dog to eat shit. "




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Old 08-03-2006, 12:14 PM   #36
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Thanks for the laugh, BBabe.

Try cooking some deee-lite-ful succotash on top of that gas oven your head's in, 'kay? Just kidding, kiddies, don't try this at home.
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Old 08-03-2006, 12:16 PM   #37
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Default Tu Risa

I read this one at the NAAFA Convention in 2004, in honor of what would have been his 60th birthday that year.

Your Laughter, by Pablo Neruda

Take my breath away if you wish.
Take away the air.
But never take your laughter from me.

Take not this rose, this lanceflower you pluck,
The water of your joy that rises in a sudden silver wave.

My struggle is hard,
And my eyes ache from troubles that never end.
But when your laughter comes,
It rises to me and opens all the doors.

My love, in the darkest hour your laughter suddenly shines.
And if you see my blood staining the stones of the street, then laugh,
Because your laughter puts a stronger weapon in my hands.

Next to the autumn ocean, your laughter must rise in its foamy cascade.
And in the spring my love, your laughter is the flower I wait for,
That blue flower, the rose of my crying country.

Laugh at the night, the day and the moon.

Laugh at the twisted streets of this island.

Laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you.

But when my eyes open and when they close,
When my steps go and when they return,
You can refuse me food, air, light and spring.

But the day your laughter ends will be the day I die.
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Old 08-03-2006, 12:43 PM   #38
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Quote:
Originally Posted by lemmink
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."

- Stephen Crane, the Black Riders and other lines.
Oh man one of my faaaaves!
You seriously rock.
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Old 08-03-2006, 03:56 PM   #39
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This one was sent me many moons ago:

She was beautiful, she was kind,

But in God's eyes she will never be mine.

She is strong, i am weak.

It's in my sleep that we meet:

There we dance, there we sing,

There we talk of many a thing.

Our hands we claps, our eyes they meet,

Our hearts entwine, as one they beat.

As daylight comes, as daylight will...

As dawn creeps over my window sill,

My eyes are open, my day begun,

But oh! for night, my love to come.



And this one i discovered back in my teens:

The Gift

I watched the child as reverently

She placed the gift near the Christmas tree.

That little toy dog with ruffled fur

Was much, much, more than a toy to her.

Forgive me, Blackie, a small heart cried,

For i love you ever so much inside,

But teacher said we must bring a toy

To give to a poor little girl or boy.

Teddy is old & wearing through,

And dolly got cracked, so there is only you.

But don't you cry, just wait & see

Someone will love you as much as me.

I like to think on that Christmas night,

She dreamt of a stable filled with light,

And there in the cradle the Christ child lay,

And in His hand clutched something in the hay.

Not gold, nor frankincense, nor myrrh -

But a little toy dog, with ruffled fur.
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Old 08-03-2006, 05:15 PM   #40
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I had a hard time coming up with a favorite poem. I posted a couple poems that amuse me, but I think this is my favorite:

"When You Are Old" by W. B. Yeats

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Read that again...

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

A "pilgrim Soul"...that phrase is beyond beautiful.
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Old 08-03-2006, 06:25 PM   #41
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How neatly a cat sleeps, sleeps with its paws and its posture, sleeps with its wicked claws, and with its unfeeling blood, sleeps with all the rings-- a series of burnt circles-- which have formed the odd geology of its sand-colored tail.I should like to sleep like a cat, with all the fur of time, with a tongue rough as flint, with the dry sex of fire; and after speaking to no one, stretch myself over the world, over roofs and landscapes, with a passionate desire to hunt the rats in my dreams.I have seen how the cat asleep would undulate, how the night flowed through it like dark water; and at times, it was going to fall or possibly plunge intothe bare deserted snowdrifts. Sometimes it grew so much in sleep like a tiger's great-grandfather, and would leap in the darkness over rooftops, clouds and volcanoes.Sleep, sleep cat of the night, with episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache. Take care of all our dreams; control the obscurity of our slumbering prowess with your relentless heart and the great ruff of your tail.

Neruda

I have been trying in vain to find two poems that really touch me by my favorite poet, Borges, without success: Dreamtigers and The Yellow Emperor. I am enjoying reading some poems that I have not run across before. This is a great idea for a thread!
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Old 12-09-2006, 04:15 PM   #42
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Quote:
Originally Posted by MsGreenLantern

From Tennyson's Lady of Shalott:

"Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott."



From Walt Whitman's "I Sing The Body Electric" :

"This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what
was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response
likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all
diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling
and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of
love, white-blow and delirious nice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the
prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day."
He he, the animal in us is still alive. But a very nice one!!
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Old 12-09-2006, 04:20 PM   #43
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Quote:
Originally Posted by bbwsweetheart
John Masefield’s “Sea-Fever”:

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

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

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
MMmmmmm, smell the salty air. Very very nice one!
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Old 12-09-2006, 04:54 PM   #44
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Great threat idea, and very nice posts!

Hope my translation doesn't harm the poem to much:

"Auto psychography"

The poet only pretends.
He ponders so thoroughly
The he even pretends to be in pain
A truly experienced pain

And those who read what he wrote,
Feel the pain that is read
Not the two he suffered
But the one that cannot be theirs.

And so rides in circles,
For the joy of reason,
The winding-up train, in poet's mouth
Also called "the hearth"


Fernando Pessoa (1931)
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Old 12-09-2006, 05:05 PM   #45
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Actually the song texts of Bjork are quite poetic to:

"All Is Full Of Love"

you'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it

maybe not from the sources
you have poured yours
maybe not from the directions
you are staring at

trust your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you

all is full of love
you just aint receiving
all is full of love
your phone is off the hook
all is full of love
your doors are all shut
all is full of love!


And of course

"Unison"

One hand allows the other
So much and me

Born stubborn me
Will always be
Before you count
One two three
I will have grown my own private branch
Of this tree

You gardener
You discipliner
Domestically
I can obey all of your rules
And still be, be

I never thought I would compromise
I never thought I would compromise

Let's unite tonight
We shouldn't fight
Embrace you tight
Let's unite tonight

I thrive best hermit style
With a beard and a pipe
And a parrot on each side
But now I can't do this without you

I never thought I would compromise
I never thought I would compromise

Let's unite tonight
We shouldn't fight
Embrace you tight
Let's unite tonight

One hand allows the other
So much and me

Let's unite tonight
We shouldn't fight
Embrace you tight
Let's unite tonight

Let's unite tonight
We shouldn't fight
Embrace you tight
Let's
Ooohhhh ooohh

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Old 12-09-2006, 06:29 PM   #46
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Default A seasonal one my mom wrote...

A Mother's Christmas Vacation

Christmas vacation in all of its glory
Prompted me to tell you my story....

The kids were all home for eleven whole days
My house was in shambles, my mind was a haze

They played fox-and-goose in the new-fallen snow
But it turned into fighting, and wouldn't you know
One youngster came in, screaming and crying
His face had been snow-washed; I thought he was dying

Christmas Eve when the chores were all done
Everyone was excited and ready for fun

They grabbed for their presents, they ripped and they tore
Til ribbons and paper messed up my whole floor
When I suggested they all help me clean it
They looked at me as if they hadn't seen it

Christmas Day--football was on every station
My heart went to mothers all over the nation
With me in my kitchen and Dad in his chair,
I soon had the notion that nobody cared.

Just when I sat down to feel sorry for me
Company came to examine what was left of our tree
With ornaments broken and icicles stripped
If I hadn't tied it, it would have been tipped!

The weather changed, it snowed and got cold
By New Year's Day, I was feeling quite old

Monday morning came finally, and there was a fuss
I had to make sure they did not miss that bus!

I heard a rumble from over the hill
I hurried away to the window sill
There was the bus, with lights flashing red
"That bus is a beautifuly sight!" I said.

With a middle-aged driver, bedraggled but brave
I figured those kids would send him to his grave.
And I heard him grumble as he drove away,
"Summer vacation seems soooo far away."
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The Fat Lady Sings

"Be the change you want to see in the world." --Mahatma Gandhi
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Old 01-08-2007, 11:08 AM   #47
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Default something wonderful from baudelaire




The Giantess
> Of old when Nature, in her verve defiant,
>Conceived each day some birth of monstrous mien,
>I would have lived near some young female giant
>Like a voluptuous cat beside a queen;
>
> To see her body flowering with her soul
>Freely develop in her mighty games,
>And in the mists that through her gaze would roll
>Guess that her heart was hatching sombre flames;
>
> To roam her mighty contours as I please,
>Ramp on the cliff of her tremendous knees,
>And in the solstice, when the suns that kill
>
> Make her stretch out across the land and rest,
>To sleep beneath the shadow of her breast
>Like a hushed village underneath a hill.
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Old 01-08-2007, 11:15 AM   #48
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Default someone said they wrote it for me lol--don't know if its true but i like it anyway.

if you know where this is from could you tell me? it sounds familiar but i can't place it.

Your Curves are a Poem

From: largehipslover
Date: Sep 2, 2006 3:35 AM


your curves are a monument
a monument to fertility
your curves are the hips of a real woman
inviting as a siren
and seductive like mother earth
your opulent smile
makes you beautiful as a goddess
and your thighs, oh, your thighs
what a sight
full and magnificient like a calm ocean of love
and my words are not enough
for all that abundant beauty
that surrounds your presence
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Old 01-08-2007, 04:07 PM   #49
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Default

From "The Garden of Proserpine" by Algernon Charles Swinburne:

"From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives forever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea."
__________________
Now all you women,
Don't you come around
Unless you weigh
'Bout fo' hundred pound...
-- Dr. Feelgood & the Interns
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Old 01-08-2007, 04:33 PM   #50
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Wink

My most favorite poem was penned by Theodore Roethke. It's titled:



I Knew a Woman

I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)

How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin:
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing did we make.)

Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved.)

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways.)



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