A Poem Thread

Discussion in 'Art & Culture' started by Angelus, Nov 9, 2002.

  1. Avatar smoking revolver Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    19,083
    Thanks

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    The artwork is not by me though.
     
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  3. Avatar smoking revolver Valued Senior Member

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    19,083
    Dragon's cookie nightmare


    One night, when the Moon was setting,
    an eye had just opened - a dragon awoken!
    It shrieked, it moaned, it had dreamed,
    that all the cookies had been eaten by thieves!

    With fire and thunder the dragon took flight
    and flew to the kitchen with terrible might,
    but all the cookies were laying at rest
    awaiting the dragon to soak them in milk.

    The cookie dragon now smiling and calm,
    with all the fright gone with the dawn,
    opened a packet of freshly laid eggs
    and poured flour and sugar over his face.
     
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  5. Ripley Valued Senior Member

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    1,411
    I don't see the point. Window shopping in Manhattan? Why are you in Manhattan? Don't you live in Australia?
     
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  7. SkywalkerJedi アスラン・ザラ ( Athrun "Alex" Zala ) Registered Senior Member

    Messages:
    1,493
    Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
    Through passion, I gain strength.
    Through strength, I gain power.
    Through power, I gain victory.
    Through victory, my chains are broken.
    The Force shall set me free.
    —The Sith Code
     
  8. toolzombie Registered Member

    Messages:
    62
    If I had a gun I would cock it
    shoot your eyes right out of their sockets
    spray you with mace
    and spit in your face
    then cram your eyes in your pockets.

    Haha, just kidding.
    Well, I really did write that, but...on a more serious note:

    I put my head in my hands, smelling traces of cigarettes and baby
    shampoo, and wonder where it all went wrong. Why do you see nothing
    when you look at me?
    How did I become so transparent?
    Maybe there's nothing wrong with me at all.
    Perhaps it's your eyes.
    Your vision has become obscured by an unknown device,
    and I heard somewhere that the eyes are the gateway to the soul.
    Your eyes betray what your mouth
    produces, and I can no longer pretend that they can co-exist.
    My smile is fixed, what vain hope is this,
    that once again yours will be sincere.
    Tears slip down my face like profanities
    Each so seemingly delicate and fragile, but with the capability of leaving vicious scars.
    Collecting in puddles along the seams of my soul, rusting my very existence.
    No more bending, I only break.
    As you tear this up, you tear me down.
    Thinking that you'll be able to put the pieces back together when you're ready to pretend again,
    only to find that the edges have frayed and they no longer fit.
    I'm real, after all, and what did you expect to accomplish?
    Such an easy victim I've become.



    Sounds like fun, yeah?
     
  9. shichimenshyo Caught in the machine Registered Senior Member

    Messages:
    5,110
    Man you are one damaged chick....wanna get married?
     
  10. toolzombie Registered Member

    Messages:
    62
    Aah...a better compliment never recieved.
    You sure know how to attract a lady.
    How are you doing financially?

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  11. redarmy11 Registered Senior Member

    Messages:
    7,658
    What a shame to bury this here. Deserves a thread of its own.

    Aubade: written by Philip Larkin at 4am

    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 anaesthetic 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.


    >> More poems by Philip Larkin <<
     
  12. EmmZ It's an animal thing Registered Senior Member

    Messages:
    1,449
    A poem entitled, You Cockknocker, I hope you die cut into a thousand pieces

    That I didn't break,
    That I didn't shatter.
    That I didn't die
    That you don't matter.

    That you never won,
    That I wasn't beat.
    That you couldn't run,
    That I made you weak.

    That we both meld,
    That we seemed to fit.
    That you're not mine,
    That I felt shit.

    That once it was,
    That's never more.
    That you walked out
    That one way door.

    That broke the spell,
    That little sip,
    That's devil's cup,
    That made me sick.

    That memories fade,
    That time will heal.
    That fucking lie,
    That death toll peel.
     
  13. draqon Banned Banned

    Messages:
    35,006
    Тальков Игорь

    Я мечтаю вернуться с войны
    На которой родился и рос,
    На руинах нищей страны
    Под дождями из слёз.
    Но не предан земле тиран,
    Объявивший войну стране,
    И не видно конца и края этой войне.
    Я пророчить не берусь,
    Но точно знаю, что вернусь
    Пусть даже через сто веков
    В страну не дураков, а гениев.
    И, поверженный в бою,
    Я воскресну и спою
    На первом дне рождения
    Страны, вернувшейся с войны.
    А когда затихают бои,
    На привале, а не в строю,
    Я о мире и о любви
    Сочиняю и пою.
    Облегчённо вздыхают враги,
    А друзья говорят: "Устал"...
    Ошибаются те, и другие - это привал.
    Я завтра снова в бой сорвусь,
    Но точно знаю, что вернусь
    Пусть даже через сто веков
    В страну не дураков, а гениев.
    И, поверженный в бою,
    Я воскресну и спою
    На первом дне рождения
    Страны, вернувшейся с войны.
    С войны...
    Я завтра снова в бой сорвусь,
    Но точно знаю, что вернусь
    Пусть даже через сто веков
    В страну не дураков, а гениев.
    И, поверженный в бою,
    Я воскресну и спою
    На первом дне рождения
    Страны, вернувшейся с войны.
    Вернусь...
    С войны...
     
  14. stretched a junkie's broken promise Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    1,244
    Who is dreaming and which countries do you speak of Draco?
     
  15. draqon Banned Banned

    Messages:
    35,006
    A soldier is dreaming of his homeland, Russia...on a battlefront at Afghanistan...well actually its a guy who sings how he never got to be in Afghanistan is now meeting a buddy who lost his arm and talks about war in Afghanistan
     
  16. Vkothii Banned Banned

    Messages:
    3,674
    Le mot
    qui traverse la surface ondulant


    A breath that rushes in and empties out
    A note sliding up and down a scale with no start or end
    The same note but made new
    la même cadence encore

    Behind you they swell up in a chorus of remembered rhythms
    They strum and shiver, slap and shake your journey
    through the breaking waves
    ton trajet soutenu des vagues deferlent
     
    Last edited: May 17, 2008
  17. Go Down Moses Registered Senior Member

    Messages:
    16
    Some good stuff in this thread.
     
  18. OilIsMastery Banned Banned

    Messages:
    3,288
    Here are my 2 favorite poems by perhaps the greatest living English speaking poet.

    On a Side Street

    If there are small shops
    With illegible signs,
    Don’t come near them
    Or look in their windows.

    Keep to where the sky can be seen
    In its cloudless twilight splendor
    Above the dark buildings,
    Dark even on darkest nights.
    If someone’s following you,
    And he limps, and he’s got a watch
    He puts to his ear smiling,
    Run from him and his watch.

    There’s a wide, well-lit avenue
    Close by. Thousands have come out
    Just to see you, though
    They make believe you’re invisible
    As you step into the light
    Out of that dark side street,
    With your face so pale
    It seems powdered for a carnival.

    Shading Exercize

    This street could use a bit of shade
    And the same goes for that small boy
    Playing alone in the sun,
    A shadow to dart after him like a black kitten.

    His parents sit in a room with shades drawn.
    The stairs to the cellar
    Are hardly used anymore
    Except for an occasional prowler.

    Like a troop of traveling actors dressed to play Hamlet,
    The evening shadows come.
    They spend their days hidden in the trees
    Outside the old courthouse.

    Now comes the hard part:
    What to do with the stones in the graveyard?
    The sun doesn't care for ambiguities,
    But I do. I open my door and let them in.

    * * *

    Best living in English: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Simic
    Runner up: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carolyn_Forche
    Best American of all time: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frost
    Best Brit of all time: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Shakespeare
    Runner up: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Hardy
    Best French: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arthur_Rimbaud
    Best Spanish: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pablo_Neruda
     
    Last edited: Jun 20, 2008
  19. Vkothii Banned Banned

    Messages:
    3,674
    The Old Roman:

    Have I seen thee
    Thy uncertain form

    Not amongst the spears and clashing
    Or the cries of those
    Who sought thy hurried favour
    On red-streaked and stinking fields

    Long you sought to turn my gaze
    But well I held the shield
    And pressed with strength upon the foe
    Though Mars were as with our host
    We stepped as one into the cleft

    They screamed to you anew as their blood was offered
    To buzz and be scattered; their coils strewn
    To your dusty house

    Thine eyes have yet
    My face to behold

    Are you looming as a twilight on a misting glade
    Through which I will wander as
    No other way opens ahead

    Do I know thee, Death
    I know you do not lay and wait
    Or need any plan or arrangement
    The distant hills are not
    From whence you need to come

    No
    I will not see you tonight
    Nor any other that is
    Left to me to dream in
    I will not see thy gaze, as I walk along
    Alone, into your embrace


    (translated by /me from a Latin poem by D. LaTrobe-Easte)

    P.S. Dang it, I can't get a vague-ish link to a certain Roman general who became an Emperor, then went to live on a certain island with certain animals on it (it was even named after them), connected to: "stepping into the cleft", sort of like "climbing nimbly up the rock face", and how Mars being "as with our host" means "in the house" - whose house? The Emperor's/general's house, natch - Capricorn. There's also a vague-ish meaning of sacrificial animals (goats were sacrificed by Romans for all sorts of reasons) with the "offering" side of it. Roman legionaries, like most people of the day, believed that flies came from blood, rather than flies arriving from somewhere, because they seemed to appear "from nowhere", so they must come from spilled blood, simple really.
    English don't do it so good, some of the times.
     
    Last edited: Jun 22, 2008
  20. draqon Banned Banned

    Messages:
    35,006
    Which way do rivers flow?
    I ask myself sometimes...
    which way do rivers flow
    I wonder. if I can swim with current

    Deep sadness in me brings back memories
    Deep water below me is dark as my destiny
    Deep sadness in me brings back memories
    Deep water below me reflecting my body in it

    If I could fly sometimes
    for all eternity
    If I could fly sometimes
    the quiet wind in my arms
    floats just alike the clouds
    in my memories sadness brings back
    in the waters below me

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  21. Vkothii Banned Banned

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    3,674
    The Mistress

    The Maiden:

    Not she, a lady flaxen haired
    Walking in an ivy-strewn morning hour

    Nor does she strew a fresh bouquet
    Upon a lazily swinging chair in any bower

    Is She not fair and beauteous?
    Her glowing, soft skin cares not for the faint-of-heart

    If she but extends her touch
    To chill, perhaps to stop a quickening pulse

    How Electra's hair amazes
    See, it blazes a fantastic halo, and a holograph she wears

    Her hands are many-fingered
    And shining diamond points her nails

    The coloured coruscating swirls and trails
    That tunnel from her hand and cross, but to the right

    There, a digit's black tip
    Jet-dark the others shimmer with peculiar waves, as they alight
     
    Last edited: Aug 3, 2008
  22. Vkothii Banned Banned

    Messages:
    3,674
    I'm still composing the music for that one.
    Something kind of Celt, or Folkish. Bit of Handel on a mandel.
     
  23. Quantum Quack Life's a tease... Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    23,328
    A loaded gun called Despair.


    Looking for a reason to stay,
    Searching for life in the Cherry-apple Blossom
    scattered around my feet,
    and found nothing but death and decay,
    repugnent stench and the rotting fruit of dreams
    Reaching to the heavens, the stars I ask:
    "Is there reason to stay?"
    and felt no reply, felt only his care
    God must be sharing this grief in his heart of mine
    as I pulled the trigger of this gun called despair.
    Amazed to hear an empty click,
    I felt the question rise in my mind:
    "Is there reason to go?"


    qq 07/08/2008
     
    Last edited: Aug 6, 2008

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