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Poetry
Mar 15, 2010 20:28:07 GMT -5
Post by chelseeyuh on Mar 15, 2010 20:28:07 GMT -5
What's your favorite poem? Post it here! Or if you write poetry and want to share it, do that, too. This is my favorite poem: anyone lived in a pretty how town by e. e. cummings anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
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ElfLady
Planet
I'm a crazy!
Posts: 409
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Poetry
Mar 15, 2010 21:36:18 GMT -5
Post by ElfLady on Mar 15, 2010 21:36:18 GMT -5
That poem is amazing!!!!!!!!!!!!! <33333333333333333333333 ^_^ I love e. e. cummings I shall post in here later! (I love Poetry)
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Poetry
Mar 15, 2010 22:03:15 GMT -5
Post by swan on Mar 15, 2010 22:03:15 GMT -5
The Raven, not the most original choice but it's still my favourite.
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Poetry
Mar 15, 2010 23:57:37 GMT -5
Post by mashuga31 on Mar 15, 2010 23:57:37 GMT -5
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 12:25:57 GMT -5
Post by Ricky on Mar 16, 2010 12:25:57 GMT -5
My favorite poet is Pablo Neruda, and my favorite poem is Clenched Soul.
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Yokailo
Star
[AWD:020307]
I like things.
Posts: 734
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 12:29:50 GMT -5
Post by Yokailo on Mar 16, 2010 12:29:50 GMT -5
The Lady of Shalott, by Lord Tennyson.
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 13:46:10 GMT -5
Post by katefosh on Mar 16, 2010 13:46:10 GMT -5
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 20:39:55 GMT -5
Post by Joey on Mar 16, 2010 20:39:55 GMT -5
-------Alone forever Looking for someone to help -------I will stand with you
_________________ Poem from lit class. Dont remeber and cant find on internetz.
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bleabot
Moon
Set phazors to dance, Mr. Warf.
Posts: 109
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 21:52:57 GMT -5
Post by bleabot on Mar 16, 2010 21:52:57 GMT -5
O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.
An awesome poem by Walt Whitman about the death of Abraham Lincoln. I've always liked this poem...it has a fantastic flow to it.
I used to hate poetry, but I've slowly become more accustomed to it over the years. Now I love it!
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Poetry
Mar 16, 2010 23:48:33 GMT -5
Post by mashuga31 on Mar 16, 2010 23:48:33 GMT -5
I don't usually read too much poetry, but other than the stuff i've written (gotta have pride in your work lol) my favorite types of poems are lymmericks.
There once was a man from brazil, Who of pumpkin ate more than his fill, He thought it no matter, That he grew fatter, But he burst which makes me quite ill.
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Poetry
Mar 17, 2010 20:11:37 GMT -5
Post by Ryan on Mar 17, 2010 20:11:37 GMT -5
I have a couple of favorites, but they're all saved on my computer at home - and I'm away. But here's one I wrote, enjoy!
The Ignorant Stink Ryan Walker
There’s something in rhyme That none can explain An essence, a sound A joy without pain
For no matter the words The sound that they make Pleases the ear That it might overtake
So to send you a message I write you this rhyme That you may hear it and listen And enjoy the good time.
The message to give, Well it really began, When a man came about A man with a plan
His plan, you see Was to make other men think For if they think and they think Then they’re less likely to stink
This stench though, it dost Not protest the nose For this stench is of ignorance As any man knows
But while ignorance gives A bliss not found with thought Nobody likes The ignorant bot
So for this plan to work This man had to find Something that could Make a man use his mind
And so he thought and he thought That with riddles and rhymes He could plant the seeds That would grow into vines
And so he wrote poems Full of meaning and thought To make other men think What they might had forgot
And you see sir, this plan Well it started to spread And other men thought That they might use their head
So many men wrote A riddle or rhyme And many men thought Since that first great man’s time
And that man who had hatched This idea so great Quietly lived To the end of his fate
But after he died His plan, it went on And many more thought Even though he was gone
So who was this man? Whose idea had spread? And after his death Continued his stead?
Well, he was known As a doctor of sorts Though his title would not Hold up in the courts
Many have heard Of the cat in the hat Well the man in this poem Is the author of that!
And that is the reason As you may see That this poem you’re reading Is written by me
For I believe that that doctor Was so great and so smart To inspire to think Those who wish to take part
So I wrote this poem That you might think And no longer smell The ignorant stink
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Poetry
Mar 18, 2010 0:01:08 GMT -5
Post by mashuga31 on Mar 18, 2010 0:01:08 GMT -5
^ luv it
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Poetry
Mar 18, 2010 2:58:08 GMT -5
Post by chelseeyuh on Mar 18, 2010 2:58:08 GMT -5
Ryan Wow, that was great
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Poetry
Mar 18, 2010 12:08:35 GMT -5
Post by Ferrrrrre on Mar 18, 2010 12:08:35 GMT -5
Poem 1 by unknown: "Somewhere there's someone who dreams of your smile, and finds in your presence that life is worth while. So when you are lonely, remember it's true Somebody somewhere is thinking of you."
Poem 2 by e.e. cummings :
"I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart.
I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear. And whatever is done by only me, is your doing, my darling.
I fear no fate. For you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world so beatiful. You are my world, my true.
Here is the deepest secret no one knows Here is the root of the root And the bud of the bud And the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows higher than a soul can hope Or mind can hide
Here is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart.
I carry your heart
I carry it in my heart
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Alex Stolte
Meteorite
I wrote a four word letter.
Posts: 13
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Poetry
Mar 18, 2010 14:40:23 GMT -5
Post by Alex Stolte on Mar 18, 2010 14:40:23 GMT -5
anything by Bukowski is awesome, id have to say bluebird is my favorite;
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I pur whiskey on him and inhale cigarette smoke and the whores and the bartenders and the grocery clerks never know that he's in there. there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too tough for him, I say, stay down, do you want to mess me up? you want to screw up the works? you want to blow my book sales in Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I'm too clever, I only let him out at night sometimes when everybody's asleep. I say, I know that you're there, so don't be sad. then I put him back, but he's singing a little in there, I haven't quite let him die and we sleep together like that with our secret pact and it's nice enough to make a man weep, but I don't weep, do you?
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Poetry
Mar 19, 2010 22:23:12 GMT -5
Post by Ryan on Mar 19, 2010 22:23:12 GMT -5
Poem 1 is by K. Blackburn Ferre - it's up there on my list of fav's
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Poetry
Mar 21, 2010 15:41:58 GMT -5
Post by varalidaine on Mar 21, 2010 15:41:58 GMT -5
PLastic Eyes -Leanne Taylor
---It's kind of based on that whole "ignorance is bliss" thing
Plastic eyes to see Only what I want A mask for all reality A vision that is not
Plastic eyes to heal And help to hide the scars To cover what is real To keep me in the dark
A pair of plastic eyes If nothing but to believe All the painted lies Everyone keeps telling me
A pair of plastic eyes A very last attempt To keep reality and its ties Hidden by plastic innocence
Plastic eyes at best For their artificial scenes To view my life as the rest And let denial take hold of me
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Poetry
Mar 21, 2010 18:59:31 GMT -5
Post by Lex on Mar 21, 2010 18:59:31 GMT -5
THE THING WHO WALKS
He is the Thing Who Walks. He comes of scabrous ears and knotted locks, With weedy ribbons that stitch his face Sourced by gusts belting highest place. Damned, what is forsaken, he shall trace.
What Thing Who Walks and does not speak? From furthest glance, it is that which is weak. Without the teeth and devoid of jaws, In desperate Earth, scratches and claws. Relinquished now, the dust withdraws.
But now, ten miles beyond the mount; Eight hundred steps, the Thing did count, With a famished look as much as he, A boy withering aside a withered tree. A forlorn treasure, the Thing did see.
Torpid, though the boy did seem, The Thing gathered this jewel of a dream. In the paw of the Thing, the boy left ground, With precious elevation and silent in sound, Vivaciously reeling, a friend he had found.
Alone no longer, their trek had begun, Through callous desert, beneath shadow sun. With fifty steps and thirteen less, In the paw of the Thing, the boy did press. Awoken now was the Thing’s success.
The miserable sound which the boy did make Was a foreign garble the Thing did not take. Through his dripping ears, the Thing had heard Not a legible echo or decipherable word. A cry for help, though mangled and slurred.
The eve tore onward through day into night. The Thing traced tracks without end in sight. The boy’s thirsting shrieks were understood to be cheers. Merrily still, the Thing forgot fears While the boy tore his eyes on salt-dry tears.
At hazy twilight, the howls had ceased. Steadily then, the silence increased. In time, the Thing became alone. Inside the darkness, the desert did groan. The last echoing cries were blown.
In the dust, the Thing did fall. And aside the western crumbled wall, He lay the boy in stony den. With the child’s corpse relinquished then, The Thing began to walk again.
He is the Thing Who Walks. He suffers in the dust and rocks. Continuous fate, he awaits in dawn. Cursed to live in friends foregone, Forever damned, the Thing walks on.
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Poetry
Mar 23, 2010 17:33:32 GMT -5
Post by kevinguy247 on Mar 23, 2010 17:33:32 GMT -5
I love love LOVE Robert Frost. This is my favorite poem by him and also my favorite poem ever.
The Tuft of Flowers: By Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after one Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.
The dew was gone that made his blade so keen Before I came to view the levelled scene.
I looked for him behind an isle of trees; I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.
But he had gone his way, the grass all mown, And I must be, as he had been,--alone,
`As all must be,' I said within my heart, `Whether they work together or apart.'
But as I said it, swift there passed me by On noiseless wing a 'wildered butterfly,
Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.
And once I marked his flight go round and round, As where some flower lay withering on the ground.
And then he flew as far as eye could see, And then on tremulous wing came back to me.
I thought of questions that have no reply, And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;
But he turned first, and led my eye to look At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,
A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.
I left my place to know them by their name, Finding them butterfly weed when I came.
The mower in the dew had loved them thus, By leaving them to flourish, not for us,
Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him. But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.
The butterfly and I had lit upon, Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,
That made me hear the wakening birds around, And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,
And feel a spirit kindred to my own; So that henceforth I worked no more alone;
But glad with him, I worked as with his aid, And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;
And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.
`Men work together,' I told him from the heart, `Whether they work together or apart.'
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Poetry
Mar 23, 2010 17:38:30 GMT -5
Post by kevinguy247 on Mar 23, 2010 17:38:30 GMT -5
Poem 1 by unknown: "Somewhere there's someone who dreams of your smile, and finds in your presence that life is worth while. So when you are lonely, remember it's true Somebody somewhere is thinking of you." Poem 2 by e.e. cummings : "I carry your heart with me. I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear. And whatever is done by only me, is your doing, my darling. I fear no fate. For you are my fate, my sweet. I want no world so beatiful. You are my world, my true. Here is the deepest secret no one knows Here is the root of the root And the bud of the bud And the sky of the sky of a tree called life, which grows higher than a soul can hope Or mind can hide Here is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart. I carry your heart I carry it in my heart Ferre! I LOVE this poem! I can't believe I didn't think of it! Do you know Somewhere I have Never Traveled by e e cummings?
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