poetry thread!

[Quilford]

wooooooo

http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ is a great resource with thousands of poems, a great proportion of which are read aloud by Garrison Keillor in his fantastic voice.

Also poetry in general is fantastic, you should post poems that you've read or sought out and liked and poems that you've written too because poetry is the best.

Here's a great poem to start off, by Tony Hoagland, entitled 'Lawrence', from his collection

Donkey Gospel

(1998).

Spoiler: Lawrence

On two occasions in the past twelve months
I have failed, when someone at a party
spoke of him with a dismissive scorn,
to stand up for D. H. Lawrence,

a man who burned like an acetylene torch
from one end to the other of his life.
These individuals, whose relationship to literature
is approximately that of a tree shredder

to stands of old-growth forest,
these people leaned back in their chairs,
bellies full of dry white wine and the ovum of some foreign fish,
and casually dropped his name

the way pygmies with their little poison spears
strut around the carcass of a fallen elephant.
“O Elephant,” they say,
“you are not so big and brave today!”

It’s a bad day when people speak of their superiors
with a contempt they haven’t earned,
and it’s a sorry thing when certain other people

don’t defend the great dead ones
who have opened up the world before them.
And though, in the catalogue of my betrayals,
this is a fairly minor entry,

I resolve, if the occasion should recur,
to uncheck my tongue and say, “I love the spectacle
of maggots condescending to a corpse,”
or, “You should be so lucky in your brainy, bloodless life

as to deserve to lift
just one of D. H. Lawrence’s urine samples
to your arid psychobiographic
theory-tainted lips.”

Or maybe I’ll just take the shortcut
between the spirit and the flesh,
and punch someone in the face,
because human beings haven’t come that far

in their effort to subdue the body,
and we still walk around like zombies
in our dying, burning world,
able to do little more

than fight, and fuck, and crow,
something Lawrence wrote about
in such a manner
as to make us seem magnificent.

[Junpei]

He just sits, and watches the people in the boxes
Everything he sees he absorbs and adopts it
He mimics and he mocks it
Really hates the box but he can't remember how to stop, it
Uh, so he continues to watch it
Hoping that it'll give him something that he can box with
Or how the locksmith, see the box as, locked in the box
Ain't got the combination to unlock, it
That's why he watch-es, scared to look away
Cause at that moment, it might show him
What to take off the locks with
So he chained himself to the box, took a lock and then he locked it
Swallowed the combination and then forgot, it
As the doctors jot it all down, with they pens and pencils
The same ones that took away his voice
And just left this instrumental, like that

[Psyche]

Do you see all of this?
It's not for you.

[Alduskkel]

How strictly are we defining poetry?

[BS2000]

I predict haikus
Haikus all over this thread
Haikus are bullshit

[Psyche]

last line could use some improvement

[ActionDan]

MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

[ActionDan]

Soul
O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet ; and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye ; and there
Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains
Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.
Tortur'd, besides each other part,1
In a vain Head, and double Heart.

Body
O who shall me deliver whole,
From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul?
Which, stretcht upright, impales me so,
That mine own Precipice I go;
And warms and moves this needless Frame:
(A Fever could but do the same.)
And, wanting where its spight to try,
Has made me live to let me dye.
A Body that could never rest,
Since this ill Spirit it possest.

Soul
What Magic could me thus confine
Within anothers Grief to pine?
Where whatsoever it complain,
I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.
And all my Care its self employes,
That to preserve, which me destroys:
Constrain'd not only to indure
Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure:
And ready oft the Port to gain,
Am Shipwrackt into Health again.

Body
But Physick yet could never reach
The Maladies Thou me dost teach;
Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear:
And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.
The Pestilence of Love does heat :
Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
Joy's chearful Madness does perplex:
Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.
Which Knowledge forces me to know;
And Memory will not foregoe.
What but a Soul could have the wit
To build me up for Sin so fit?
So Architects do square and hew,
Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

[Redelphic]

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My poetry sucks,
Does that bother you?

[Junpei]

life

from city to city I really did it for y'all
from the itty bitty small to the really really tall
where they paw, and they living in a shelter
begging with their kids, they're too helpless to help her

if you walk in a trailer park today
or the park where the grounds' too harsh to lay
or the projects, where's there's no park to play
and it's too dark to read
and you too marked to leave

Where wick, only buys juicy juice and kicks
it's a trip cause the youth is usually used to this

and that's strength
and you gotta be strong
when the drama's on your back
and your clothes don't match
and your father is gone
and on top of all of that

your water isn't on and your dishes don't match.

the teachers say they only go to school to flunk but,
there's some that only go to school for lunch

and that's life

[quadz08]

I wrote this today at work with no internet. There may be more tomorrow! (I would love critiques, btw.)



A group of people walked down a steep hill. The hill was dotted with strawberry bushes, and tiny hummingbirds flitted nearby. At the bottom of the hill, one of the people turned to another one of the people.
“Arin,” said Jude,
“My legs are getting tired.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The group of people stopped walking when they reached a small graveyard at the bottom of the hill. The skilled engravings on the headstones had begun to erode away, and wild flowers had begun to grow. The group stood in silence for a while.
“Arin,” spoke Jude,
“My feet are beginning to ache.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

Soon enough, the group of people began to walk again. They exited the graveyard though a vine-covered stone arch on the opposite side from where they had entered, and continued walking through a field of green grass and golden dandelions.
“Arin,” muttered Jude,
“My legs are starting to itch.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The sun began to set behind the snowcapped mountain range over their left shoulders. Elegant shadows fell towards the group of people, and a shimmering orange-and-violet cloak settled comfortably about the mountains’ peaks.
“Arin,” complained Jude,
“It’s getting cold.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The sun melted into the horizon, and the mountains’ cloak fell away, much as a robe would fall away from a pair of perfectly symmetrical shoulders. The group looked up into the star-specked sky, daydreaming of sailing across the babbling white brook that was the Milky Way.
“Arin,” intoned Jude,
“My neck is stiff.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The group of people turned east, continuing their walk alongside a small stream. Apart from their footfalls, now muffled by the powderlike sand, the only audible sounds were the gurgling of the water, the slightly-too-cold breeze sighing through branches, and an occasional cricket.
“Arin,” whispered Jude,
“This silence is making me uncomfortable.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The darkness eventually began to give way to soft light, and the trees began to thin, allowing the group of people to see the smoke waving amicable greetings from nearby chimneys. The group’s steps slowly became audible, as the sand became first raw earth, then skillfully-cobbled pavement.
“Arin,” opined Jude,
“It smells like something was burnt.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

The group of people began to split up, small parties and couples and individuals turning down well-lit side-streets and into friendly doorways. When just about half of the group had made their way indoors, one particular pair found their way up a small set of stone steps and through their own doorway, which was neither overly ornate nor overly simple.
“Arin,” sighed Jude,
“I’m happy we did that.”
Arin responded,
“I know how you feel.”

[Psyche]

I have this fear that happiness is the highest value a human can aspire to.
That the one great thing that I can ever do is feel great.
That the call to service, to science, to innovation, to domain-specific excellence,
Is all just a call to a more difficult, more demanding course to happiness.

[Bicephalous Bob]

How strictly are we defining poetry?

Great poem.

[hitogoroshi]

I haven’t laughed once
since it happened.

Haven’t cried, either
which puts me up on that stupid manliness scorecard
kids keep pointing to.
It’s not like I’ve started buying in to that shit,
it’s just more like I’m
dry inside.

I guess I get a little close,
5:16 PM, mondays through fridays,
driving back from work.
I know they just have the same list every day
but it feels like they’re picking it each time,
like they know she was singing about
some man taking her breath away
right when you lost yours for the last time
and they want to make sure I don’t forget.

I could change the station,
but this bubble gum shit was all you listened to,
and you knew it made me mad
but you’d try to switch it when I had my hands on the wheel
and couldn’t fight back
changing it now
just doesn’t seem sporting.

Remember that little dashboard ornament you gave me?
One of those eastern gods that you’re mad at me for not remembering.
Sometimes I like to pretend
he can grant wishes
and I think about wishing you back.

I’ve seen the movies
maybe you’d be a zombie
or a vampire
this is a big city, though.
some blood bags, a few brains
no one will notice the absence
and life will go on.
Even if you don’t remember me,
I could keep you in the shed
and at least you could go back
to listening to your crap music.

But
do you remember that day?
We were on the lake shore
and you didn’t know about what was
growing in your lungs yet.
We promised each other
we would see other people
because I didn’t think
you were serious
and you didn’t know
it would matter.

Well, I tried.
Remember Carol?
You liked Carol,
Carol likes me,
and my stupid pamphlet said
by month six
I had to do something
with someone.
(I waited a few more days
in case she was looking at a calendar.)

I mean
it wasn’t bad.
It was loud music
and dancing
but we sat and tried to talk over it
and I thought it had gone okay
until I remembered
how much I loved loud music
and how I always, always danced.

And it sort of got me thinking
that I wouldn’t wish you back
after all.
Because even if you’re not a zombie
or a vampire
and you just go back
to you before the cancer
I don’t think I can go back
to me before I lost you.

You said you were only with me
for my sense of humor
and
I haven’t laughed once.

(this is 100% not based on true events honestly don't know where it came from)

[Quilford]

That's pretty nice, hitogoroshi. Your style makes the persona feel very genuine.

[Quilford]

here's an untitled tanka from Dorothy McLaughlin:

chipped sugar bowl
he’s learning to forget
who did it
she’s learning
not to see the blemish

[Psyche]

Hesitated on the perfect picture shot.
Had a good story, but threw it away.
Jumped to conclusions all too soon.
Stayed in on a beautiful day.

[Korts]

Someone in scumchat asked me to post in this thread a while ago.
Here are some notes I took on my phone.
I haven't gotten around to doing anything with them yet.
My days are half a size too small and all the minute seams are giving way.
I'm trying to listen, because I have no idea what you said.
The uncurtained windows of a dorm are masturbating at the pedestrians below.
The sky is drooling all over the place, the moon hangs between the stars like an inflamed uvula. Flick it and watch the bile spew.
The city pushes up against the doorstep until the door won't budge.
I forget the rest of the words. I guess I don't need them any more.

[Svenskt Stål]

He just sits, and watches the people in the boxes
Everything he sees he absorbs and adopts it
He mimics and he mocks it
Really hates the box but he can't remember how to stop, it
Uh, so he continues to watch it
Hoping that it'll give him something that he can box with
Or how the locksmith, see the box as, locked in the box
Ain't got the combination to unlock, it
That's why he watch-es, scared to look away
Cause at that moment, it might show him
What to take off the locks with
So he chained himself to the box, took a lock and then he locked it
Swallowed the combination and then forgot, it
As the doctors jot it all down, with they pens and pencils
The same ones that took away his voice
And just left this instrumental, like that

life

from city to city I really did it for y'all
from the itty bitty small to the really really tall
where they paw, and they living in a shelter
begging with their kids, they're too helpless to help her

if you walk in a trailer park today
or the park where the grounds' too harsh to lay
or the projects, where's there's no park to play
and it's too dark to read
and you too marked to leave

Where wick, only buys juicy juice and kicks
it's a trip cause the youth is usually used to this

and that's strength
and you gotta be strong
when the drama's on your back
and your clothes don't match
and your father is gone
and on top of all of that

your water isn't on and your dishes don't match.

the teachers say they only go to school to flunk but,
there's some that only go to school for lunch

and that's life

love these. the have great tempo when i read them to myself.

where is the second one from?

[Alduskkel]

From this game. The poem does relate heavily to the gameplay, but whether or not you play the game is up to you.


When she awoke from the coil
Time didn't wait for her
It just watched her whimper
As it crushed her ego
Cracking her just enough
To reach inside

He whispered as she was divided
This will make you remember
That I'm a part of you
Each cell is marked by my name
You can't ever leave me
I'm all that you have.

When he released her
She could feel his wet hair run through her fingers
As she descended into the darkness
His face, distorted by the distance, drifted into the night.
She was alone
Yet she could still feel him inside her
The feeling was comforting and familiar
But his presence scared her
She knew he was still there, watching her
Just out of the light, waiting.

She would find herself reaching out to others
Taking small pieces of them as mementos
These are the things she felt were important,
The things that made people significant.

Every aspect of her being was composed of others.
Her arms grew stronger with every embrace
And lips grew fuller with every kiss.

She would lead them to him
Watching as his hands reached out to pull them away,
Their essence consumed and nothing remained.
She would fantasize what it was like
To feel his hands on her body
Penetrating her and draining her into nothing

But time did pass.
They fell into one another at first glance.
Their fingers intertwined as they walked.
This wasn't what she was used to
But from here on things wouldn't be the same
And even though the longing lingered
For once in her life she forgot about him

After the dust settled and everyone had moved on
Once again she was alone
And she only had herself to blame
If she had just embraced her feelings when they called to her
Maybe she wouldn't have taken in so many
Of the things she later grew to hate.
And maybe it was time to change
So she closed her eyes
Pushing out every aspect of everyone she'd taken in
Back into a world she never asked to be part of.

She could feel him in the room with her
Her eyes darted around searching for movement
In the darkness frantic and confused
Her breathing became fast and shallow
As her eyes welled up with tears.
He was here, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
She was scared
Scared of all the things she would be leaving
Scared of how she would be treated
Scared of what she had done

As the room grew dim
She could feel his hand reaching out for her
Touching her
In a way that was comforting and familiar
She was leaving

As he picked her up he pressed his cheek to hers

"From here there is nothing. Just as it was before."

[Svenskt Stål]

Adult language

Spoiler:

BALLAD OF THE FROGMAN

I’ve been around the world twice,
talked to everybody once,
Seen two white whales ****,
been to two pigmy picnics
and met a man with a marble head and a wooden cock,
been to three world’s fairs, tow sheep shears, and a pig ****,

drank everything from Rum to Cum, seen a goat rope, two worms arm wrestle, and watched a monkey try to **** a football, seen a six pearl petered pino form Diego Garcia and watched the water burn on the Persian Gulf,
I’ve pushed more peter, more sweeter, more completer than any other peter pusher in town, cause I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m an American Naval UDT/SEAL diver, that’s a rootin, tootin, lootin, shootin, parachutin, double cap cripping, scuba diving, Ka-bar carrying, Rolex wearing FROGMAN!!!- last of the bare-knuckle fighters!!!

There’s no sky too high, no sea to deep, no muff to tuff, we dive at five and that’s no jive, that’s eat, ****, suck, nibble, bite, chew, hog style, dog style, any kinda style, wine, dine, intertwine, ejaculate, masturbate, copulate, ream, steam and dry clean,

And I can drive anything the Navy has to offer, them 2x’s 4x’s 6x’s 8x’s, them big ass mother****ers that bend in the middle and go shooo shooo when you step on the breaks, now lady if you don’t like my face you can **** it, birds do it and fly from it, bee’s do it and die from it, dogs do it and stick to it,

So here’s to it, and from it, and to it again, and if you don’t do it to it when you get to it, you won’t do it to when you get to it again,
So up the old red rooster, just like she use to whip it to her, smack her on the ass, send her on her way and never mind her skinny ass legs!!!!!!!!

[hitogoroshi]

A flight of angels
sang Hamlet to his rest.
I don't think I'm getting that,
personally.

But I came up with
a two-step plan.

First off, I'm going to figure out
who I am.
Then, I'm going to live my life
in a way that yells it out,
as loud as I can.

The way I see it,
life is so colossal and empty
it will echo
again and again,
and when I die
there should still be
a faint reverberation
to see me off.

It probably won't be
as loud as angels
but at least
I pick the words.

[Quilford]

Choices
by Tess Gallagher

I go to the mountain side
of the house to cut saplings,
and clear a view to snow
on the mountain. But when I look up,
saw in hand, I see a nest clutched in
the uppermost branches.
I don’t cut that one.
I don’t cut the others either.
Suddenly, in every tree,
an unseen nest
where a mountain
would be.

[Quilford]

(by the way hito yours is really good omg. how do you do it?)

[Oman]

"You've made the air flammable.
These walls are just paper.
And blood is gasoline.
You shouldn't have come here, made of fireworks, if you didn't want me to play with fire.

I need a light."

I have a copy of I Wrote This For You sitting on my coffee table, and I'm utterly in love with it.