Poetry Thread

I dare not put this in the general forum, or i'd get a ton of "Ewww" reactions. Poetry is something i came to appreciate a few years ago, around the same time i discovered philosophy. Its not just something for girls and weenies. it is a serious artform. Here is a poem from my favorite poet, e.e. cummings (he never capitolized it)

WARNING: Cummings, you could say, is a little... "Abstract"

e. wrote: pity this busy monster,manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
---electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange;lenses extend

unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born---pity poor flesh

and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if---listen:there's a hell
of a good universe next door;let's go

My favorite poem of his is "look at this)" ill see if i can remember it all...

e.e. wrote: look at this)
a 75 done
this funny
he was
my pal

we were buddies
now lift the
poor cuss
this side

up fragile
handle with
care

and send his home
to mother in a nice new pine box

(collect

Kinda sad

I also enjoy Robert Frost.

"Birches" wrote: When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

very long but very good

Robert wrote: Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

If you read "The Outsiders", its in there too.

i dont like Emily Dickenson really, but this poem is good.

Emily wrote: Tell all the Truth but tell it slant--
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our Infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanations kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind--

Questions? Comments? Rantings? Ravings? Poems/Poets you like/Wish to Share? Anyone? Anything?

---

- Edited By Dr_Zoidberg On Fri 16th, Apr 2004 @ 1:19:02am

i can write poems! i can write shakespearian sonnets in iambic potameter!

meh poem titled "meh future"
underneath the blanket of black
there is a world totally surreal
in a blanket we've made a crack
one which we cannot touch or heal
ripping bigger opening to light
it pierces below on yonder hill
though this is out of sight
the blanket of black may no longer fill
we've destroyed its cover of dark and cold
we've lost its power to cover the shine
its history cannot unfold
for its history was mine
ripping it was only a sin
but now we'll see how much trouble we're in.

sexah huh ?

Remembering: Today was a day like any other day. Saw your smile. Saw your face. Today was a day like any other day. Remembered your voice. Remembered your touch. Tomorrow will be yesterday like any other day. Wishing you were here. Wanting you. Needing your smile. The day after will be like the day before. Like any other day. Dreaming the day I see you again. Wishing the days pass and stop repeating.

Finally saw your face, and it melted me away. Saw your smile and it lifted my heart. Saw you today and my pain went away. I felt you all over my body and it took my breath away.

- Edited By BlueWolf72 On Fri 16th, Apr 2004 @ 3:34:42am

Mute
an introspective disaster

The beautiful reverie echoes off the walls and soaks the furniture
In blood.
With the volume down everyone is a joke.
Ignore an itch long enough and it becomes
An infected cavity.
Composure lost and the cavity is a crater
Of broken flesh.
I can still hear the wet packing sound of my shattered face,
Introduced to Him via his fist.
Gargling my own fluids reminds me of
Childhood.
I am the bastard son of an impotent demigod,
Fed his ego Intravenously.
Occasionally, atop his knee, we would explore
Deep caverns of mischief and barren wastelands of adventure.
I'd kiss his knuckles goodnight and slip away to
(Unconscious) "Dreamland".
Dried blood tastes like uncooked steak by morning.
I pick myself up off the cross hatch insewn carpet
And shake hands with the mirror
Well, the largest piece of it.
I tell them I don't know of Pain, though
I am familiar with His work.
On display like an exhibit, lick the salt from my
Broken countenance.
There is a brief silence, and deafening applause.
Something taps me on the lung.
Oh, it's the mirror. (Hi.)
I had almost forgotten
What?
Father forgive me, for I know not what you do,
Though I feel it.
Every
Time
I
Smile.
Tell me that you love me.
Tell me something, anything sincere.
Tell me of my good deeds.
Father says, __________.
Me teeth come loose as I laugh.
I see a purple trail in the blue carpet,
Wet to the touch.
Tangy.
____________, Father says.
But...I can't
!!!, Father says.
Hello, Fist. Nice to see you again.
A gentle kiss, and I lower the volume.
An incisor escapes as I laugh.
Mute.

I burn-
-from deep within my chest
-for wasted lives
-until my heart's arrest
-for blinded eyes

I burn-
-for every wand'ring soul
-from down below
-for that which makes me whole
-because I know

I see-
-the blood upon the land
-my paradise
-what you can't understand
-through rosy eyes

- Edited By 40ozFreak On Fri 16th, Apr 2004 @ 1:38:29am

@bluewolf & 40oz - did you guys write that stuff ? :o

--

- Edited By Dr_Zoidberg On Fri 16th, Apr 2004 @ 1:52:38am

Yes

Im in halmark and bluemountain

i thought that was you

I - me, my soul, my mind, and my heart filled a great amount of . . . LOVE - an emotion far greater than any other, that is impossible to expalin, and which I have a multitude for . . . YOU - the person I care for, dream of, and adore.

im sick of poetry now

he he

*me dropkicks old blue in the face

"oh.. sorry about that."

//me tapes blue's nose back on

whats thaT about?

he laughs at my aggeration

takes a true man to laugh at a clown :de:

whos laughing?? wow im even more confused now x2

BlueWolf72 wrote: he he

his meniacal laugh echoes out into the deep chambers within my soul

he was laughing with you, not at you

I LOVE POETTRY!!!!!!!!!!111

i do'nt feel comfortable sharing it but I STILL LOVE POETRY!!!!!!!!!!11111

i looove youuuu!!!11

wait.. no.. i hate you

- Edited By carni On Sat 17th, Apr 2004 @ 12:09:26am

Okay guys, this is cosmos.

oh yea.. well

to love is to hate
and to hate is to lie
to lie is to fall
and to fall is to die

so in the end.. bye..

love me, the ever persistent original amazing valiant nostalgic Carni.. master of the hedgehog! king of the bumble bee! emperor of the ostrich! for i.. i... am the walrus.. coo coo cachoo!

that poem at the top actually is good
Also, kudos on the beatles reference

you dont just have to write a poem, though. post you favorite poets or something.

i like to create.. not observe..

and no this is not a tree-hugging movement..

yet---

I enjot Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson also I like Edgar Allen Poe some of his poems are quite interesting, but one of my favorite poems if you can call it that is

And when he gets to heaven,
To St.Peter he will tell.
One more soldier reporting sir,
I've served my time in hell.

carni wrote: i looove youuuu!!!11

wait.. no.. i hate you

- Edited By carni On Sat 17th, Apr 2004 @ 12:09:26am

O GOD NOOOOOOOOOO HE HATES ME I'M GONNA CRY!!!!!!!1

*me starts crying

ooo a straberry

*me feels better

hm.... straberry fields for ever.. nice song... i'd post it but i'm to lazy check it out though

- Edited By 2cos2 On Sat 17th, Apr 2004 @ 5:49:57pm

guys , this is cosmos