Poetry

[zheer]

   share some poetry, i will start with one.



 LONESOME CORNER


   I went down to the corner
   I stood there feelin' blue -
   I used to go round the corner,
   Babe, and call on you.


   Old lonesome corner!
   People pass by me _
   But none of them peoples
   Is who I want to see. 



   By LANGSTON HUGHES

 

[rimv2]

Ah stab her
it is a glorius sight
ah stab her
it brings her to the light
ah stab her
her warm blood touches mah face
ah stab her
its sweet to the taste
ah stab her
it feels meh with joy
ah stab her
ah realize...she's a boy

[zheer]

Thats horrible rimv2, you is not de romantic type.   

[pianistimo]

yes.  that was about as shocking as the psycho thriller on the other day.  every girl this one guy dates ends up dead (but he doesn't kill them).  anyway, it ends up being his friend that does it. 

rimv2, you have nothing up on thalbergmad. 

now - can you explain a little bit of this psychological trauma you were referring to in the other thread.  i sort of want to get to the bottom of this.  did your mother beat you?

[thalbergmad]

Poem written by me.


Roses are red

Violets are blue

I'm schizophrenic

and so am I


What do you think??

[zheer]

Not bad thalb

  Here is another poem.

    HOPE

   Sometimes when I'm lonely,
   Don't know why,
   Keep thinkin' I wont't be lonely
   By and by.


  By LANGSTON HUGHES

[thalbergmad]

Who is Langston Hughes??

Is it a name you write poetry under??

[zheer]

Who is Langston Hughes??

Is it a name you write poetry under??

   No

[pianorama]

Just look at my signature.

If all good people were clever,
And all clever people were good,
The world would nicer than ever
We thought it could possibly could

But somehow 'tis seldom or never
The two hit it off as they should,
The good are so harsh to the clever,
The clever, so rude to the good!

So friends, let it be our endeavour
To make each by each understood;
For few can be good, like the clever,
Or clever, so well as the good.

              Elizabeth Wordsworth

[pianorama]

Here is a (sort of) dirty Clerihew written by myself:

 Micheal Jackson
 Started prancin',
 When he saw, dead ahead,
 A young boy in his bed.

[princessdecadence]

Poem written by me.


Roses are red

Violets are blue

I'm schizophrenic

and so am I


What do you think??

I think it's a cute poem but wouldn't this apply to multiple personality rather than schizo?

[thalbergmad]

I think it's a cute poem but wouldn't this apply to multiple personality rather than schizo?

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I'm multiple personality

And so am I


Good idea, but it don't fit in right.

[zheer]

You is too funy thalb, anyway here is another poem.

     BORN WITH A DIFFERENT FACE?


     O why was i born with a different face?
     Why was I not born like the rest of my race?
     When I look, each one srarts!when I speak, I offend;
     Then I'm silent & passive & lose every Friend.


    By WILLIAM BLAKE

[allthumbs]

Poem written by me.


Roses are red

Violets are blue

I'm schizophrenic

and so am I


What do you think??

A poem not written by me

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Some poems rhyme,

But mine don't!

[rimv2]

rimv2, you have nothing up on thalbergmad. 

that hursht mah feelingsh

now - can you explain a little bit of this psychological trauma you were referring to in the other thread

Ah have no idea what you are talking about

 

i sort of want to get to the bottom of this.  did your mother beat you?

Of course mah mother bate, er beated, meh?

Whose mother hasnt beated the hell out of them whilst telling them she hates them and that they ruined her life?

It's just love right?

Burnings and pushings followed up with Munchausen by proxy? Afraid to hug them? Ashamed to hug them?

Having asthma yet never once feeling short of breath?

Self hating mother? Its was my fault. I was nauughty.

Staying up past 7:30. Not cleaning my room. I should have shared more. I talked in class once. When I was 8, I rode my bike down the street; I was suppose to stay in front of the house. I hit my uncle once -wham right in the eye; she really let me have it; they both let me have it.

All 8 year old spend time in their rooms crying by themselves, contemplating just ending it all, its normal?

All ten year olds spend their days in a tree by themselves, right?

Hours upon hours? Forgetting the sound of their own voice?

Every 12 year old contemplates killing someone, right?

Jumped by naughty 6th graders, I looked one right in the eye. He had torn my coat. I pictured it over and over in my head; how I would do it. He stood next to the edge of the school building. The brick's edges were sharp. I could run fast. I would run up to him and grab him by the throat; the adams apple. I was a sucker for pressure points. I would continue to run while holding his throat, then -boom. The back of his soft head against the hard sharp edge of the building. I'd give him one final chop to the throat to seal the deal. If only he knew what I was contemplating as I stared him in the eye. His cowardly friend said from afar "He wont do anything." If only the idiot knew. I lounged at him. I was about to let loose. I could see the fear in his eyes. Closing the distance. 10 feet, 5 feet... I stop. He jumps back. His friend, now with a crackling voice "S-see, I told you." They keep their distance. I wonder why they're both still alive. It was winter. If I hid them in the bushes no one would find them for days. It snowed later that day.

[thalbergmad]

There was a young man called Dave

Who dug up a prostitutes grave

She was ...........................................



Sorry, I have had to censor the rest of this.

[pianistimo]

barely alive
but she took him by surprise
and killed him with a wink and a bat

when the police came
and no evidence to blame
she left with a hop and whistle

[lisztisforkids]

On a different note...

What are you wailing about, night wind, what are what are you lameting so frantically?What does your strange voice, now muffled and paintive, now loud signify? In a language intelligible to the heart you speak of torment past comprehension, and you dig and at times stir frenzied sounds in the heart!

Oh, do not sing these fearful songs about ancient, native chaos! How avidly the world of night within the soul listens to the loved story! It longs to burst out of the mortal breast and to merge with the Unbounded... Oh, do not wake the sleeping tempests: beneath them chaos stirs.

Medtner based one of his sonatas on this poem...

[semme]

A generation raised in darkness
Controlled, polluted - fed with the truth
A truth that blinds their view
Their ways and fates decided - implanted sorrows kill their needs
A common way to happiness, but I never learned to sell myself

Poets became silent,
While clowns arose and burned the books again
No thinkers daring vision grew,
Where thieves ran free and crippled human dignity
In the noise of unimportance
And stupidity the sceptic's whispers went unheard

Be sure, this storm will not drown my voice
Be sure, my hands will sow the seeds of reason
I'll never be a minor, I'll never be a happy slave

May this cold sever my face
And my the pain weaken my fists
No inner strife will touch me
The only truth is in my heart

hsb

[pianistimo]

lisztisforkids,  you must have some howling winds in your area, too.  last night was we had amazingly strong winds for our area, too.  a lot of good poets on this forum.   

it doesn't add up

when i was her age
it was easy to be...
a child with a future
not planned for need

but, sixth grade math
has changed since then...
and i can't figure out
how to do #10.

it's all about bridges
and supports and angles...
with angle xyz ~
formula in my tangle.

holding the pencil
and acting all brave...
i finally give up and
say - what is this ~?

what is this, and this
and this over here...
it doesn't make sense
and is not at all clear.

if she had no father
there'd be no hope...
her math wouldn't get done
and i'd look like a dope.

[allthumbs]

Here's the only poem that I ever memorized...


Reflections on Ice-Breaking

Candy

Is dandy,

But liquor

Is quicker.

                Ogden Nash

... and it served me well when I was young and single for 'cherchez la femme'! hahaha

(you see, the women thought I was debonair when I recited poetry to them)


Cheers

allthumbs

[zheer]

... and it served me well when I was young and single for 'cherchez la femme'! hahaha

(you see, the women thought I was debonair when I recited poetry to them)


Cheers

allthumbs

   One thing i have learnt over the years is not to try to impress women, it does not work. Infact it has the reverse effect.

      Anyway here is another poem        (  Thalb is going to like this one  )
)
                Tread lightly, she is near
                 Under the snow,
                Speak gently, she can hear
                 The daisies grow.

                 All her bright golden hair
                Tarnished with rust,
                She was young and fair
                 Fallen to dust.
 
                  Lily like,white as snow,
                 She hardly knew
                She was a woman,so
                 Sweetly she grew.

                 Coffin board, heavy stone,
                  lie on her breast,
                 I vex my heart alone,
                 She is at rest.

                  Peace, peace, she cannot hear
                 Lyre or sonnet,
                  All my life's buried here.
                 Heap earth upon it.


               By OSCAR WILDE

[thalbergmad]

What is Oscar Wilde doing writing poetry like that about women??

I thought he batted for the other side.

[allthumbs]

   One thing i have learnt over the years is not to try to impress women, it does not work. Infact it has the reverse effect.    

D*mn... no wonder I never scored!!!

[bananafish]

-You are not even pretty-

Your voice scares me

Please don't sound so sexy

I'm underage and I'll tell my mommy

plus you are not even pretty

[rimv2]

Pulled out my gun; a glock 9
rolled up to his house; it was bout that time

put a grenade through the window; to let him know what i was about
popped one in his head; when he came running out

the grenade went off; ah dashed out in a hurry
forgot about the baby crib; stil on the second story

his wife was sleep; she died in the blast
ah juss killed his whole famly; over a bit of lost cash

could have made it all back; maybe in a night or two
but the *** kept braggin; what was i suppose to do

two day later i came home; my house wasnt there
cuhzo's lookin for retribution; now i gotta disappear

[nanabush]

I'm sure some of you have read this poem, "jabberwocky" before. We talked about this poem in my theory of knowledge class.  I don't know why, but I really enjoy this poem.


`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.

[lau]

poetry is stupid!  But yet, so beautiful

[arensky]

Buffalo Bill's
        defunct
               who used to
               ride a watersmooth-silver
                                        stallion
        and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonsjustlikethat
                                                         Jesus
        he was a handsome man
                             and what i want to know is
        how do you like your blueeyed boy
        Mister Death

                -- E. E.  Cummings

[pianorama]

I'm sure some of you have read this poem, "jabberwocky" before. We talked about this poem in my theory of knowledge class.  I don't know why, but I really enjoy this poem.


`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.

I read that just about a month or so ago. (*gasp!*I'm a poet but I didn't know it!) My teacher read it to us in Language Arts, and we got into groups of 4 and had to act it out to show what we thought it meant. (Language arts is Elementary version of english class.) Lewis Carrol actually made a list to what the words actually meant, though all I remeber of it is that brillig is as just after lunch, about 3-4pm.

[m1469]

 
Wanting something deeper
to satisfy this need.
Climbing hillsides steeper,
than before, indeed.

Digging through my sources,
finding, and holding, a gentle clue.
Traveling untrod courses,
taking footsteps due.

Listen, the whispering voice,
follow with courage, please.
What really is my choice ?
I won't allow my feet to freeze.

See, the hidden corner,
with small light, it shines the way.
The child who is the mourner,
goes to the light, and there she may...

Find needed food, and peace-filled rest.




m1469

[pianorama]

Here is a valentine poem I wrote this Valentine's Day (2006):

Love
It won't wait
Go away!
Why bother? Cupid always wins
Kiss me! Why not? I know you're on fire.
Oh, the tempest of love!
It sweeps you, blows to the sky
Until you ask the question

And the answer is no
A battle that leaves you with many scars
It is a rosebush, beautiful when admired,
Yet it is decieving, with unseen thorns

Love
It won't wait
But everyone needs it





I wrote that all by myself. It's my favourite poem so far that I have made up.

[musik_man]

From Mahler's 5-Rueckert Lieder

Ich bin der Welt abhanden gekommen,
 Mit der ich sonst viele Zeit verdorben,
 Sie hat so lange nichts von mir vernommen,
 Sie mag wohl glauben, ich sei gestorben!
 
 Es ist mir auch gar nichts daran gelegen,
 Ob sie mich für gestorben hält,
 Ich kann auch gar nichts sagen dagegen,
 Denn wirklich bin ich gestorben der Welt.
 
 Ich bin gestorben dem Weltgetümmel,
 Und ruh' in einem stillen Gebiet!
 Ich leb' allein in meinem Himmel,
 In meinem Lieben, in meinem Lied!

English
I am lost to the world
 with which I used to waste so much time,
 It has heard nothing from me for so long
 that it may very well believe that I am dead!

 It is of no consequence to me
 Whether it thinks me dead;
 I cannot deny it,
 for I really am dead to the world.

 I am dead to the world's tumult,
 And I rest in a quiet realm!
 I live alone in my heaven,
 In my love and in my song!
(It's alot better in German )

-Friedrich Rueckert


From Schubert's Winterreise Der Lindenbaum

 Am Brunnen vor dem Tore
 Da steht ein Lindenbaum;
 Ich träumt in seinem Schatten
 So manchen süßen Traum.
 Ich schnitt in seine Rinde
 So manches liebe Wort;
 Es zog in Freud' und Leide
 Zu ihm mich immer fort.

 Ich mußt' auch heute wandern
 Vorbei in tiefer Nacht,
 Da hab' ich noch im Dunkel
 Die Augen zugemacht.
 Und seine Zweige rauschten,
 Als riefen sie mir zu:
 Komm her zu mir, Geselle,
 Hier find'st du deine Ruh'!

 Die kalten Winde bliesen
 Mir grad ins Angesicht;
 Der Hut flog mir vom Kopfe,
 Ich wendete mich nicht.

 Nun bin ich manche Stunde
 Entfernt von jenem Ort,
 Und immer hör' ich's rauschen:
 Du fändest Ruhe dort!

English
By the fountain, near the gate,
There stands a linden tree;
I have dreamt in its shadows
So many sweet dreams.
I carved on its bark
So many loving words;
I was always drawn to it,
Whether in joy or in sorrow.

Today, too, I had to pass it
In the dead of night.
And even in the darkness
I had to close my eyes.
And its branches rustled
As if calling to me:
"Come here, to me, friend,
Here you will find your peace!"

The frigid wind blew
Straight in my face,
My hat flew from my head,
I did not turn back.

Now I am many hours
Away from that spot,
And still I hear the rustling:
There you would have found peace!

-Willhelm Mueller