[stewtheking]

This is my favourite poem.

I believe it's called "first fig".. but i'm not sure.

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light!

And this one.. The bird-catcher, i think...

Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
Swept off his tall hat to the Squire's own daughter,
So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
Singing about her head, as she rode by.

Short poems are always better I feel, as the audience is left to fill in their own story and meanings.

 

[StevieDvd]

T'was on a frosty morning,
with my Ipod in my hand.
I was listening to some beatle song,
about Sargeant Peppers Band.

When suddenly a screech was heard,
t'was certainly no sonnet.
The dire sign of battery,
failing on my Hornet.

In rage and fury did I feel,
and shouts and screAms did utter.
The people on the tube did look,
and shouted "What a nutter!"

From daylight dream I slowly woke,
it seemed to take for years.
The deadly quiet, what was the cause?
Oh, the Etys in my ears!

 

[Duggeh]

Genius Steviedvd.

I cba reading any of these long ones though.

 

[Yikes]

Some people don’t like the night; they look upon it with fright, and hide in the light.
Me, I like the night. Who’s afraid of a little bite? Sometimes it’s fun to take flight into the night.

 

[hembergler]

My favorite poem, and pretty much the only one I have memorized.

The Jabberwocky, by Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.


`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.



And of course, haikus are always good....

Bunnies

Bunnies are quite cute,
Their fluffy grey and white fur,
Very edible.

 

[Jesse Peters]

Missed Time
by Jin Ha

My notebook has remained blank for months
thanks to the light you shower
around me. I have no use
for my pen, which lies
languorously without grief.

Nothing is better than to live
a storyless life that needs
no writing for meaning—
when I am gone, let others say
they lost a happy man,
though no one can tell how happy I was.

 

[GlendaleViper]

Excerpts from The Golden Book of Bovinities, the sacred book of cows

By Robert Moore

From Museum Absconditum
Wolsak and Wynn, 2006
ISBN 1-894987-13-6





Cows only know one joke. It's the one about the cow.
It takes a lifetime to tell. No one knows how it ends.

Avoid eye contact with humans: it gives them ideas,
most of which are ultimately subject to freezer burn.

On the very brink of life's conclusion, count on a brief
but electrifying period of panic and bloody confusion.

It is said that no man suffers seeing his own ox gored.
But as one of them so famously put it: Sacred cows
make the best hamburgers.

There are three kinds of cows: beef, dairy and decorative.
Oh, there were others once but they failed to catch on.

If a man ever approaches you from an oblique angle
carrying a sledgehammer, prepare to be absolutely astounded.

Cows have over eleven hundred words for grass.
Oddly enough, feed is not among them.

Lightening never fails to strike the heart: burning tongues
too thin for the blue rain, dancing round the saltlicks.

There is no cow like an old cow.
There is no cow like an old cow.

When in doubt, recall the words of Flossie the Stout:
A cow in clothes is a man turned inside out.

And on the twentieth day, the Brown Cow thrice did cry,
saying unto the Creator, A soul would have been nice.
To which the Creator did instantly reply, Okay,
who's been talking to the cow?

It's time we admitted the cows will never come home.
Honestly, we wouldn't even know where to begin.

 

[redshifter]

some velenore angie wastes
for runsicle partels paste
under fotian proogeltom hamfistery
rubs languid a stern mystery

calamoonisty driglefrap knock
wisty ispy passey stlok
vershuketies vanquors vorn
toolashmade rot unborn

 

[Contrastique]

I thought of one poem in particular wich isn't a funny one. I found it somewhere on the net and it is about a highschool shooting in America. It deeply touched me so I thought I'd share:

Tommy brought a gun to school
He told his friends that it was cool
And when he pulled the trigger back
It shot with a great crack
Mom, I was a good girl
I did what I was told
I went to school, I got straight A's
I even got the gold
But Mom, when I went to school that day
I never said goodbye
I'm sorry Mom, I had to go, but Mom
Please don't cry
When Tommy shot the gun
He hit me and another
And all because Tommy
Got the gun from his older brother
Mom, please tell David
That it wasn't just a crush
And tell my little sister
That she is the only one now
And please tell grandma
I'll be waiting for her now
And tell my wonderful friends
That they always were the best
Mom, I'm not the first
I'm not better then the rest
Mom, why did it have to be me?
No one deserves this
Mom, warn the others
Mom, I left without a kiss
And Mom please tell the doctors
I know they really did try
I think I even saw a doctor
Trying not to cry
Mom, I'm slowly dying
With a bullet in my chest
But Mom remember
I'm in heaven with the rest
Mom I ran as fast as I could
When I heard that crack
Mom, listen to me if you would
I'm not coming back
I wanted to go to college
I wanted to get married
I wanted to have kids
I wanted to be an actress
Mom, I wanted to live
But Mom I must go now
The time is getting late
Mom tell David
I'm sorry I had to cancel our date
I love you Mom, I always have
But now, as I slowly die
Mom all I wanted to say is
I love you and goodbye

In memory of the schoolshootings

 

[Vicomte]

Quote:

Originally Posted by Contrastique /img/forum/go_quote.gif I thought of one poem in particular wich isn't a funny one. I found it somewhere on the net and it is about a highschool shooting in America. It deeply touched me so I thought I'd share: Tommy brought a gun to school He told his friends that it was cool And when he pulled the trigger back It shot with a great crack Mom, I was a good girl I did what I was told I went to school, I got straight A's I even got the gold But Mom, when I went to school that day I never said goodbye I'm sorry Mom, I had to go, but Mom Please don't cry When Tommy shot the gun He hit me and another And all because Tommy Got the gun from his older brother Mom, please tell David That it wasn't just a crush And tell my little sister That she is the only one now And please tell grandma I'll be waiting for her now And tell my wonderful friends That they always were the best Mom, I'm not the first I'm not better then the rest Mom, why did it have to be me? No one deserves this Mom, warn the others Mom, I left without a kiss And Mom please tell the doctors I know they really did try I think I even saw a doctor Trying not to cry Mom, I'm slowly dying With a bullet in my chest But Mom remember I'm in heaven with the rest Mom I ran as fast as I could When I heard that crack Mom, listen to me if you would I'm not coming back I wanted to go to college I wanted to get married I wanted to have kids I wanted to be an actress Mom, I wanted to live But Mom I must go now The time is getting late Mom tell David I'm sorry I had to cancel our date I love you Mom, I always have But now, as I slowly die Mom all I wanted to say is I love you and goodbye In memory of the schoolshootings

That was a horridly crafted poem. Poorly written, constructed, and executed.

Note that I'm not commenting on school shootings in any way, shape or form, just the poetry.

This is something I came across on the 'net as well. I had almost forgotten I'd saved it.

Knowledge is power
Ignorance is bliss
Does power feel like this?
Mere hours of power
and only pain since
My Power has gone sour
And I miss my Ignorance.

I sort of like that.

 

[Ampl1tude]

nothing feels real anymore,
lifes like the movies, played out, nothing more.
blood spilled for a coming fate,
war fought for the slice of heaven's cake.

Science to prove why we are non-existence,
who is science to prove, when we proved we are something more.
Law to obey, struck down by the society's grip,
Laws to set us at bay, looking only to the right hand of the truth.

Love comes to haunt us and leave us,
Love comes only to disappear.
Voices spoken only to decieve us,
pictures of hurt, tooken from us, to only display.

Commentaries only to ruin the movie,
psychic's to only ruin our lives.
Prices to pay when we grow up to glisten,
Money to make when we grow up to pay.

Forests claimed the land they once loved,
we proclaimed the land, the land of the free.
Settled bars into houses to capture,
locked up people, to frighten our future, to tax down the prices of sheets.

Payments make due to your leaders,
Payments to unscrew the payment of wars.
Taxes to brighten your paths,
Lights to blind you as you pass.

And as i drive my car down this town,
i notice why people leave, and why people are left behind.
Saw street signs as i pass by,
Saw society rott as I unfolded these blinds if mine.

And you,
your house on the corner.
Memories,
left but not movin'.

Your eyes,
glistened in sunlight,
Your face,
Disappearing with time.

You left me stranded so lonely,
You came but didn't take my hand.
You took what you wanted incase,
You took your belonging, incase you didn't return.

Now, night has been falling for so long,
or, memories of mine, been pumping up, too strong.
Sheeps counted and sorted,
Numbers, already infinite in my head.

Put your name under my pillow,
hope it brings me a present of you.
Kiss your lips good-bye as i waken,
I knew, this time it was for good.

It was years ago...

 

[gmoffatt]

Quote:

Originally Posted by milhouse6 /img/forum/go_quote.gif Though popular, still my favourite after many years... let's start a magazine ... - E. E. Cummings, No Thanks (1935)

I'm not much for poetry, but I do enjoy e.e. cummings. This is the one that first caught my attention:

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
with 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

 

[redshifter]

Quote:

Originally Posted by gmoffatt /img/forum/go_quote.gif I'm not much for poetry, but I do enjoy e.e. cummings. This is the one that first caught my attention: 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 with 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

nice. very musical.

 

[Zarathustra19]

The Ball Turret Gunner

From my mother's dream I fell into the State
and hunched in its belly til my wet fur froze
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life.
When I died, they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

 

[catachresis]

Quote:

Originally Posted by Zarathustra19 /img/forum/go_quote.gif The Ball Turret Gunner From my mother's dream I fell into the State and hunched in its belly til my wet fur froze Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life. When I died, they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Yeah, that's a classic. Tell everybody that's imposed on the patience of thread-readers with 80+ line poems to look again at this one by Randall Jarrell, or the nasty one by ee cummings. There's a line and a bit and a bob lost from up top. Here's the complete version.

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from the dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.

Learn the difficulties and rewards of reading a fourteen-line poem and you won't be so glib to throw out a prose translation of the first book of the Odyssey.

Robert Frost - "Design"

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.
What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.