A Poem Thread

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

  1. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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    4,944
    I like that, Michael. ^^


    Give a bad love
    A small reason to leave
    And watch as it walks
    Out the door

    Give a good love
    A small reason to stay
    And watch as your life
    Changes forever


    By Topher Kearby
     
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  3. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

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    12,143
    "Wild Geese"
    by Mary Oliver

    "You do not have to be good.
    You do not have to walk on your knees
    for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
    You only have to let the soft animal of your body
    love what it loves.
    Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
    Meanwhile the world goes on.
    Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
    are moving across the landscapes,
    over the prairies and the deep trees,
    the mountains and the rivers.
    Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
    are heading home again.
    Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
    the world offers itself to your imagination,
    calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
    over and over announcing your place
    in the family of things."

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  5. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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  7. Marathon-man Registered Member

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    33
    On June 18, 1818, If Bonaparte won at Waterloo
    There would have been no need for world war One or World war Two

    Had Napoleon Bonaparte got what he desired
    A united Europe, under Napoleonic law, would have transpired

    A reformist Tsarist Russia would have dispelled of Communist Lenin
    and tens of millions would not have expired
    From the Holocaust to the Cold war would not have been

    (Bernard Wijeyasingha)
     
  8. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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  9. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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    Axes & Wings

    Some friends carry axes
    to cut you down
    when you grow tall

    Others fit you
    with feathered wings
    to make sure
    that you soar


    --Topher
     
  10. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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  11. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

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    12,143
    After a Rainstorm
    By Robert Wrigley

    "Because I have come to the fence at night,
    the horses arrive also from their ancient stable.
    They let me stroke their long faces, and I note
    in the light of the now-merging moon

    how they, a Morgan and a Quarter, have been
    by shake-guttered raindrops
    spotted around their rumps and thus made
    Appaloosas, the ancestral horses of this place.

    Maybe because it is night, they are nervous,
    or maybe because they too sense
    what they have become, they seem
    to be waiting for me to say something

    to whatever ancient spirits might still abide here,
    that they might awaken from this strange dream,
    in which there are fences and stables and a man
    who doesn’t know a single word they understand."
     
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  12. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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  13. Michael 345 New year. PRESENT is 69 years old Valued Senior Member

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    7,678
    Neat

    Water

    A poem by Michael George Woodhams written over 40 years ago
    Placed on website Poem.com which is a Vanity Publishing site and currently up for sale

    Why is liquid water wet?
    I haven't found the answer yet.
    I've looked in oceans, lakes and streams.
    No answers there, or so it seems

    I've looked in showers, baths tubs too.
    Everywhere but still no clue.
    I wonder should I look again,
    And go out in the pouring rain?

    I'm standing here, I'm soaked all through,
    From matted hair to soggy shoe.
    I think, I think, I think and yet,
    I still don't know why waters wet.

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  14. dumbest man on earth Real Eyes Realize Real Lies Valued Senior Member

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    2,903
    The Smoke Off

    In the laid back California town of sunny San Rafael
    Lived a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly knew her well.
    She'd been stoned fifteen of her eighteen years and the story was widely told
    That she could smoke 'em faster than anyone could roll.
    Her legend finally reached New York, that Grove Street walk-up flat
    Where dwelt The Calistoga Kid, a beatnik from the past
    With long browned lightnin' fingers he takes a cultured toke
    And says, Hell, I can roll em faster, Jim, than any chick can smoke!

    So a note gets sent to San Rafael, For the Championship of the World
    The Kid demands a smoke off! "Well, bring him on!" says Pearl,
    "I'll grind his fingers off his hands, he'll roll until he drops!"
    Says Calistog, "I'll smoke that twist till she blows up and pops!
    So they rent out Yankee Stadium and the word is quickly spread
    "Come one, come all, who walk or crawl, price just two lids a head
    And from every town and hamlet, over land and sea they speed
    The world's greatest dopers, with the Worlds greatest weed
    Hashishers from Morocco, hemp smokers from Peru
    And the Shamnicks from Bagun who puff the deadly Pugaroo
    And those who call it Light of Life and those that call it boo.

    See the dealers and their ladies wearing turquoise, lace, and leather
    See the narcos and the closet smokers puffin' all together
    From the teenies who smoke legal to the ones who've done some time
    To the old man who smoked reefer back before it was a crime
    And the grand old house that Ruth built is filled with the smoke and cries
    Of fifty thousand screaming heads all stoned out of their minds.
    And they play the national anthem and the crowd lets out a roar
    As the spotlight hits The Kid and Pearl, ready for their smokin' war
    At a table piled up high with grass, as high as a mountain peak
    Just tops and buds of the rarest flowers, not one stem, branch or seed.

    Maui Wowie, Panama Red and Acapulco Gold.
    Kif from East Afghanistan and rare Alaskan Cold.
    Sticks from Thailand, Ganja from the Islands, and Bangkok's Bloomin' Best.
    And some of that wet imported shit that capsized off Key West.
    Oaxacan tops and Kenya Bhang and Riviera Fleurs.
    And that rare Manhatten Silver that grows down in the New York sewers.
    And there's bubblin' ice cold lemonade and sweet grapes by the bunches.
    And there's Hershey's bars, and Oreos, case anybody gets the munchies.
    And the Calistoga Kid, he sneers, and Pearly, she just grins.
    And the drums roll low and the crowd yells GO! and the world's first Smoke Off begins.

    Kid flicks his magic fingers once and ZAP! that first joint's rolled.
    Pearl takes one drag with her mighty lungs and WOOSH! that roach is cold.
    Then The Kid he rolls his Super Bomb that'd paralyze a moose.
    And Pearley takes one super hit and SLURP! that bomb' defused.
    Then he rolls three in just ten seconds and she smokes 'em up in nine,
    And everybody sits back and says, "This just might take some time."
    See the blur of flyin' fingers, see the red coal burnin' bright
    As the night turns into mornin' and the mornin' fades to night
    And the autumn turns to summer and a whole damn year is gone
    But the two still sit on that roach-filled stage, smokin' and rollin' on
    With tremblin' hands he rolls his jays with fingers blue and stiff
    She coughs and stares with bloodshot gaze, and puffs through blistered lips.
    And as she reaches out her hand for another stick of gold
    The Kid he gasps, "Goddamn it, bitch, there's nothin' left to roll!"
    "Nothin' left to roll?", screams Pearl, "Is this some twisted joke?
    I didn't come here to fuck around, man, I come here to SMOKE!"
    And she reaches 'cross the table And grabs his bony sleeves
    And she crumbles his body between her hands like dried and brittle leaves
    Flickin' out his teeth and bones like useless stems and seeds
    And then she rolls him in a Zig Zag and lights him like a roach.
    And the fastest man with the fastest hands goes up in a puff of smoke.

    In the laid-back California town of sunny San Rafael
    Lives a girl named Pearly Sweetcake, you prob'ly know her well.
    She's been stoned twenty-one of her twenty-four years, and the story's widely told.
    How she still can smoke them faster than anyone can roll
    While off in New York City on a street that has no name.
    There's the hands of the Calistoga Kid in the Viper Hall of Fame
    And underneath his fingers there's a little golden scroll
    That says, Beware of Bein' the Roller When There's Nothin' Left to Roll.
    by Shel Silverstein


    Sheldon Allan "Shel" Silverstein - gone for 20 years now - one of the great American Poets of the Twentieth Century.
     
    Last edited: Jun 25, 2019
  15. Write4U Valued Senior Member

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    11,462
    This is sheer poetry of humor.
     
  16. Michael 345 New year. PRESENT is 69 years old Valued Senior Member

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    7,678
    Brenda

    Beneath the weeping willow tree
    Runs a river, deep and wide
    Ever flowing to the sea
    Never stopping, till its tide
    Dances on some distant shore
    And the sun sets by its side

    Those with a keen eye will note the first letter each line spells Brenda
    She was a friend of a girlfriend

    I did others but lost from memory

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  17. Bob-a-builder Registered Senior Member

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    119
    "Roses are brown, violets are green. I'm a terrible poet... and I'm colorblind" - Some radio disc jockey. Still my favorite poem.

    also

    "Haikus are easy
    but sometimes they don't make sense.
    Refrigerator".
     
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  18. sideshowbob Sorry, wrong number. Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    5,606
    Roses are brown,
    Violets are brown.
    I'm a bad gardener
    And a worse poet.
     
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  19. Neddy Bate Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    1,838
    Sometimes it's nice to hear a poem recited out loud. Especially if it's by the author, and they have a nice voice



    Do not go gentle into that good night
    Dylan Thomas

    Do not go gentle into that good night,
    Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
    Because their words had forked no lightning they
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
    Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
    And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
    Do not go gentle into that good night.

    Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
    Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

    And you, my father, there on the sad height,
    Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
    Do not go gentle into that good night.
    Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
     
  20. Gawdzilla Sama Valued Senior Member

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    3,482
    As I was going through a stair,
    I met a me who wasn't there.
    I wasn't there again today!
    But did I ever pass this way?

    (With apologies to Ogden Nash.)
     
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  21. wegs Matter & Pixie Dust Valued Senior Member

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    If, by ee cummings

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  22. DaveC426913 Valued Senior Member

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    I wrote a poem once.

    It was for my Betta fish, Spike.

    It was called Ode to Spike, and it went like this:

    .

    I like Spike.


    .

    .

    wtf do you want? Homer's Iliad? Jesus, it was just a fish.

    .
     
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  23. Michael 345 New year. PRESENT is 69 years old Valued Senior Member

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    7,678
    I did not know poems could be a single line of text

    I wonder what I will learn next

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