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Thread: poetry

  1. #101
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    because i enjoyed it

  2. #102
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    Quote Originally Posted by drumsandfire View Post
    The last time I was drunk I got the urge to write a poem. Here is the result.

    -------------------------------------------------------------------
    A (THE) GROCERY LIST

    1. one egg

    2. upon entering, Mr. James T. Celibate, who until most recently had died of an autoerotic asphyxiation related mishap, raised his hands triumphantly above his head and cried out for all to hear: "Let none suffer the burden of misguided alacrity, for I have lied to you all!"

    3. one ham, three eggs, maple syrup

    4. after the brisk yet kindhearted funeral, Mr. James, now tucked comfortably inside his coffin, thought to himself: "Boy, do I wish they hadn't cut off my electricity last month"

    5. four loaves of wheat bread, seven eggs, birthday candles

    6. The last straw was drawn on his eighth wedding anniversary with his peculiar wife (who had grown quite infamous due to chronic bunions) at the Cantonese restaurant; their waiter was a squat Vietnamese crooner with eyes that could pierce your soul, a charming disposition, and a most curious obsession with the occult and the writings of martin buber.

    7. low-fat mayonnaise, nine eggs, a nice plump pair of chicken breasts

    8. things are mostly swell

    9. BAKERS DOZEN
    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    I don't know why I bothered to share this.
    Greatest poem ever

  3. #103
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    Truth

    Truth is everywhere, it has to be,
    Itís there.

    I am me.

  4. #104
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    Grey Morn

    What a normal morning;
    in fact, it even seems sub-par,
    with a dreary, grey sky and a light, cold drizzle;
    it is the prettiest morning Iíve born witness.
    Murky clouds above
    eat the sunís rays, transforms them,
    and lets out
    a new dull light.
    As sad as that sounds,
    this grey shroud only serves
    to brighten
    the colors of the morning.

    This place has a different feel
    than my home, a different atmosphere, a different mood.
    This placeís lurking familiar is less familiar,
    but no less.

    Congregations of ferns are
    smiling nymphs, spindly fingers dancing merrily
    in tune with the wind. And
    the towering oaks are wise old men
    watching. Watching
    over and through, with cloudy intentions
    of kindness or amusement or mischief.
    Any intentions but evil.
    How could this place be evil?
    How could this be anything but marvelous,
    when these beings, with petaled hair
    of colors fire and spark, and
    mossy beards gently scratching the pavement;
    how could this be anything but marvelous?
    This is the prettiest morning
    I have ever seen,
    Today.

  5. #105
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    Nov 2003
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    NE
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    THE SKY DID BLOOM TO SAY


    the borning rise of falling time
    and blooming noise
    with morning noise
    to catch the rise of time to fall

    to seal the drifts of misty wrongs
    with eyes of wood
    i knew you would
    undo the wrongs when lights arose

    with falling parts that fell along
    the misty moors
    and that much more
    you gather up to joy around

    the morning lights of sky in bloom
    the bowling greens
    the blessed greens
    which lather wet in trees of spring

    when eyes rise up through burning noise
    the shapes of breath
    the breath we left
    before we lay our heads to churn

    where language moves through dreams of fall
    the crimson leaves
    before you left
    to meet your death too long before

    the sky in bloom could sing your words

  6. #106
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    Nov 2009
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    Planet Gong
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    Quote Originally Posted by Joey G View Post
    I think the fundamental problem with the poem is the lack of a) tits and b) guns. Sex and violence are the key to any successful creative project. That's why Michael Bay rules Hollywood and we sit at home in tears.
    This, exactly. Poetry will never thrive in pop-culture unless we birth a genre of "action poetry".

  7. #107

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    Hate to say it, but poetry is probably a dead/dying medium and can't be saved. Same reason why we don't enjoy cave paintings regularly anymore.

  8. #108
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    Quote Originally Posted by Abel View Post
    Hate to say it, but poetry is probably a dead/dying medium and can't be saved. Same reason why we don't enjoy cave paintings regularly anymore.
    on its own, dying but never dead...film/music just takes poetry to another level
    Oh my loves Iím waiting for our little hopes to break on through
    https://www.last.fm/user/lenn9o9n
    https://sickofnevers.bandcamp.com/releases

  9. #109
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    Feb 2010
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    The current "definition" of poetry is just a bit stuffy, that's all. When you free up its presentation, I think poetry is more alive and well than anyone realizes - it's just not always on a piece of paper with a title. But short, self contained pieces of writing meant to convey thought and evoke emotion appear everywhere.


    This is cool, because the two pieces at the bottom are anagrams of each other. Found poetry.

  10. #110

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    More like Comp. Lit.

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