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Poetry....Your favorites, and your own.
#1
As I lie here counting days
I realize I've been dead for weeks.
I watch as my wife walks my way
She sits and then she starts to speak

"I love you and I always have,
though you were rather wild
and as you lie here in your grave
I've come to you with child."

As I lie here counting days
I've soon been dead 10 years.
I watch two people walk my way,
ones eyes are filled with tears.

"I've brought our son." she says to me.
"I hope to be no bother.
But you have all eternity,
and he wants to meet his father."

As I lie here counting days
years have passed but time can't hide me
from my endless lonely days.
Though my wife lies now beside me.

I watch a man come to our graves
He leaves a rose behind him.
I wish him joy for all his days.
May his heart and soul help guide him.

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#2
Happy Birthday

You were with me through the laughter,
and you held me through the tears.
But we walked into disaster,
and split apart after long years.

Now at last I finally see you,
but there's nothing I can say
to erase the hurt I've caused you
or make the past just fade away.

As I stand here in the graveyard,
I have come with grief to mourn.
and the words that still come so hard
on the day that you were born.

I could tell you that I love you,
but words won't let me say.
Maybe one day I will see you,
until then..."Happy Birthday."
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#3
Think of me

Think of me sweetly as I lie in this hell.
Think of me often, think of me well.
Think of the bad times and do not regret me.
Think of the good times and never forget me.
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#4
I'm old my son, I've lived my life.
I have had my time.
The winter cuts me like a knife,
when summer was once mine.

My world is gone,yours took its place.
My youth has since passed by.
I look long at my wrinkled face,
and know that next am I.

The time I have is not much left.
So, soon I must abide
the daemon responsible for the theft
of life before I've died.

So, in parting my son, let me say,
I have this one last gift to give.....
Don't let time take life away,
before you really live.
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#5
Black darkness, burning bright
milking my cow, I lie depressed
in a horrible squalor.
Damn the electric fence! Take rockford!
Milking my cow, black milk of satan.
Satanic cruelty.
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#6
Gruber is my new favorite artiste.
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#7
"Now and Always."

Believe me when I tell you this:
To you I've never lied.
I'm grateful for your happiness,
but a part of me has died.

I know you love him and I'm glad
to find that love's candle will not dim.
Although I stand alone and sad
that you chose not me, but chose him.

So, I wish you all the fondest
of memories in life.
But for all his love and kindness
I wish you weren't his wife.

And so I leave you with a kiss,
for all your dreams to soon come true.
But, believe me when I tell you this:
That now and always, I'll love you.

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#8
John Peale Bishop, "A Recollection"

Famously she descended, her red hair
Unbound and bronzed by sea-reflections, caught
Crinkled with sea-pearls. The fine slender taut
Knees that let down her feet upon the air,

Young breasts, slim flanks and golden quarries were
Odder than when the young distraught
Unknown Venetian, painting her portrait, thought
He'd not imagined what he painted there.

And I too commenced with that golden cloud:
Lipped her delicious hands and had my ease
Faring fantastically, perversely proud.

All loveliness demands our courtesies.
Since she was dead I praised her as I could
Silently, among the Barberini bees.
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#9
there once was a man fom Nantucket
whose nob was so long he could suck it
he said with a grin
wiping spunk from his chin
if my ear was a cunt I would fuck it
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#10
That is beautiful prose.
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#11
Is anyone familiar with the Bishop piece I posted? I fell in love with it when I figured it out.
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#12
My personal favourite:


Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup
Formed from a Skull
by
Lord Byron
Newstead Abbey, 1808

Start not --- nor deem my spirit fled;

In me behold the only skull,

From which, unlike a living head,

Whatever flows is never dull.


I lived, I loved, I quaff'd, like thee:

I died: let earth my bones resign;

Fill up --- thou canst not injure me;

The worm hath fouler lips than thine.


Better to hold the sparkling grape,

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood;

And circle in the goblet's shape

The drink of gods, than reptile's food.


Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,

In aid of others' let me shine;

And when, alas ! our brains are gone,

What nobler substitute than wine ?


Quaff while thou canst: another race,

When thou and thine, like me, are sped,

May rescue thee from earth's embrace,

And rhyme and revel with the dead.


Why not ? Since through life's little day

Our heads such sad effects produce;

Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay,

This chance is theirs, to be of use.
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#13
Wonderful!
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#14
Broken

I can't eat
I can't sleep
All that I see
reminds me of you

I never
wanted this
Never needed it
You convinced
me otherwise

Damn you

I always expected
to die alone
I just never expected
it to hurt this much

You made me this way
You did this to me
You took all that I had and

you

left

me

broken
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#15
Down on the road
Of each little street and the smell of the corn like dew in the night
Nutritious and it was delicious
The little two-by-four post office and wrote my aunt a penny postcard
He only stole cars for joy rides
Eagerly down the winter streets
Race
Of the corn like dew in the night
After my wife and I split up
Dean ate supper at my house
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#16
26
Attack brown cups doing extra flurries
Gorge hell in judge's kangaroo lair
Mother needs options putting QUARASHI
Reeks silently together under what
Xylophone yes Zeke.
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#17
262
Jokes granting low demeanor mooch
Quad piss kills open Nigeria fools
Cacophonous intercollegiate humping
Rationalizing telephones so water ever
Zeal attributes velvet XANDER yahoo
Underground bees
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#18
Innocence of a Little Brother

Waking up in the morning,
Not concerned with what time it is,
Running throughout the house,
Waiting until Big Brother wakes up.

Once he rises,
There must be questions asked,
Which are thought up on a whim,
To ask experience or Big Brother.

Experience of a Big Brother

Trying to get rest,
Not being able to succeed at that,
Being asked questions that are so simple,
Yet so complicated.

Trying to shield the young,
Because the world is so harsh,
Besides, more things are important,
Than spending time with one’s Little Brother.
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#19
Here's some Poe for ya.....

1843
The Conqueror Worm
by Edgar Allan Poe

Published as a part of Ligeia

Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly --
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!

That motley drama! --oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! --it writhes! --with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out --out are the lights --out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

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#20
Umm...here are some haikus I wrote about 8 years ago:

monster truck rally
mud splatters on clear windshield
beer man come here please

hooker on corner
beckoning young men to her
hey there big boy zip

Andy Griffith show
Don Knotts is hilarous
love that Barney Fife
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#21
Perfect face
perfect teeth
perfect hair
perfect world

I am an outsider
never perfect
alone and ugly

wishing to be part
of the ordinary
To be like
everyone else

I watch as the
perfect people
with their
perfect lives
live perfectly
happily

and I know
that it will
never be me

I want to smile
and laugh
to be happy
to be part
of the crowd

I've never felt
that I belong
anywhere

I am not perfect
or beautiful
or necessary to the
world

I am an outsider
and I don't belong here
because I am not perfect.
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#22
C'mon, that can't be all you guys got....Are there no more poets? I'll go cry by myself now. Thanks.
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#23
Those two that I put up are mine.
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#24
Well, it looks like I'll have to keep this thread alive all by myself.....
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#25
John Ashbery, "Some Trees"

These are amazing: each
Joining a neighbor, as though speech
Were a still performance.
Arranging by chance

To meet as far this morning
From the world as agreeing
With it, you and I
Are suddenly what the trees try

To tell us we are:
That their merely being there
Means something; that soon
We may touch, love, explain.

And glad not to have invented
Some comeliness, we are surrounded:
A silence already filled with noises,
A canvas on which emerges

A chorus of smiles, a winter morning.
Placed in a puzzling light, and moving,
Our days put on such reticence
These accents seem their own defense.
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#26
Quote:

Dances with Chainsaws:
C'mon, that can't be all you guys got....Are there no more poets? I'll go cry by myself now. Thanks.

That's what poets do best; shed tears in a pit of self-absorbtion, filling this hole of isolation with the waters of pity. Then, the poet may reflect on the eternal sadness of his character, and like Narcisissus, lose himself in perpetual self absorbtion.
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#27
Quote:

Adam Warren:
Quote:

Dances with Chainsaws:
C'mon, that can't be all you guys got....Are there no more poets? I'll go cry by myself now. Thanks.

That's what poets do best; shed tears in a pit of self-absorbtion, filling this hole of isolation with the waters of pity. Then, the poet may reflect on the eternal sadness of his character, and like Narcisissus, lose himself in perpetual self absorbtion.

Now THAT was poetry.
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#28
Quote:

let's go flyers:
Is anyone familiar with the Bishop piece I posted? I fell in love with it when I figured it out.

Prease to exprain.
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#29
Quote:

Dances with Chainsaws:
C'mon, that can't be all you guys got....Are there no more poets? I'll go cry by myself now. Thanks.

I promise I will add some of my own as soon as I can find the stupid book. It's buried somewhere out in the garage in a box.

Nice work, one and all.
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#30
Quote:

Saucy Jack:
Quote:

let's go flyers:
Is anyone familiar with the Bishop piece I posted? I fell in love with it when I figured it out.

Prease to exprain.

I don't want to totally give it away, it's much cooler if you figure it out for yourself, but consider this:

Bishop is a modernist. His piece is a commentary on the traditional sonnet. He is challenging the way we read poetry.
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#31
Is it just the, uh, profanity-laced hidden message, or is the poem describing something other than what it appears to be describing?
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#32
It's a commentary on the sonnet, and similar uncreative poetry. He's basically saying, "I intened to write one thing, and in the process just bullshitted a sonnet that could stand alongside yours. Try harder, people."

I love it. Shocking stuff when you're reading it and thinking, "Why the hell is this modernist?" Then you realize...
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#33
Huh. That just seems kind of childish to me, although I may be misinterpreting it. If he's knocking specific poets, fine, but if he's suggesting that all of the poetry he's (badly) aping is as meaningless and vapid as his version is, that's pretty ig'nant.

It makes me think of some pre-teen goth girl putting up her poetry online and not wanting to learn the history or rules of the art form because she's "already a real poet."

Still, it's hard to condemn a poem with cussing in it.
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#34
Sorry, I should be more specific: he's reacting to the poets who saw modernism, rejected it as a farce, and went back to old ways, like the sonnet.

He knows the history, but he's basically condemning people to scared/lazy to push forward.
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#35
Ah, OK. Danke. Saucy approves of this Bishop feller.
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