Poetry

Luminosity

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Ok this isnt my OWN poetry ( I only WISH it was lol ) .... some of my poetry is on my personal site , under 'Musings' if ya wanted to peek at it....
THIS , however , is something that made my heart warm and squishy-like when I heard it for the first time .....some of you may be familiar with it .....

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

-- William Butler Yeats

I think , with a few poetic souls that appear to be on this site , that we need a lil thread for poetry .... sooooo guys & girls .... if you have any poetry of your own you wanna share with us .. ;) ....feel free to post it here .. :sillysmi:
 
One of my favorites, by Blake...


The Garden of Love
___________________________________________
I went to the Garden of Love
and saw what I ne'er had seen
A chapel was built in the midst
where I used to play on the green

But the gates of this chapel were shut
and 'Thou shalt not' writ o'er the door
So I turned the Garden of Love
that so many sweet flowers bore

And I saw it was filled with graves
and tombstones where flowers should be
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds
and binding with briars my joys and desires.
 
Must we post only pure poetry? Or is poetry set to music, like...song lyrics, okay? :D
 
Thanks Luminosity :)


The Game

We had a squirrel once.

She would take a peanut from our hands
to hide it in a pile of peanuts.

It was a simple game
- and we loved her for it.

Father played the game too,
but he played it differently.
It took years for us to see that something was missing.
We waded through piles of men;
he was hiding somewhere else.





This is one of my favorites:

Troubled Woman

She stands
In the quiet darkness,
This troubled woman
Bowed by
Weariness and pain
Like an
Autumn flower
In the frozen rain,
Like a
Wind-blown autumn flower
That never lifts its head
Again.

~

by Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

from [ame=http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/stores/detail/-/books/0679764089/glance/103-6045775-8307862/poemonline/103-6045775-8307862]The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes[/ame]
by Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel




Must we post only pure poetry? Or is poetry set to music, like...song lyrics, okay
... I'm not sure what Luminosity had in mind, but I'd love to see your lyrics.
 
i'm a concretist, but the romanticism is there.....

you just have to think.

and feel.

______________________________________

autumn leaves


once in a while
i want bad coffee
semi-sweet
burnt mocha
dotted with curdled expired cream
once in a while
to remind me of those days
before the
albino fawn
spotted chocolate
in sugar rain
-WFC
_____________________________________
 
terri said:
Must we post only pure poetry? Or is poetry set to music, like...song lyrics, okay? :D

Ya betcha Terri ( meanin yes lol ) ! Any sorta passage , be it poetry , song lyrics , limericks ( for the leprechauns amongst us ;) ) etc ...

That squirrel poem took a turn I wasnt expecting ... its like the squirrel is more of a family member .... was THERE for the family in a way... when the father wasnt. Thats my angle on it , someone else could see a different perspective but thats the sign of good poetry ;). Second one is good too.
Lol the bad coffee one is great, Motcon ! :sillysmi:
 
Its a bit rhymish... but short n sweet

You remind me of a single white rose
That gently waves in the breeze as it grows
You blossom and grow for all to see
A single white rose, so happy and free

-Unknown
 
one of my all time favorites (both the poem and the poet):

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

e e cummings
 
here's a couple...

here it is, another week, another boring day
where's the sun and all the fun, i wanna go and play

I'm stuck inside, trapped in work, sitting on the forum
i wanna be out, without a doubt, away from all this boredom

At the beach, down at the pod, i wanna real long cruise
5000 revs the tacho says that'll kill the blues

an open road, a bitchin' dub and sun is all i need
c'mon boss, i wanna day off, don't make me beg and plead

if she said yeah, i'd be gone and out, I'm a driver thru and thru
I'm like the others, i'm just a dubber, this is what i do!

I sit in fields, i grill some snags, i go to lots of shows
i listen to punk 'n' get real drunk and take some crap photos

watch the racing, buy some cr*p, a weekend with nowt to do
'cept chillout with friends on a day with no end.... i can't wait. Can you?


and an ode to my cat.
my cat is sat
on the mat
and i've just stood
where he just shat.

:D
 
The Day Lady Died
FRANK O’HARA

It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the people who will feed me

I walk up the muggy street beginning to sun
and have a hamburger and a malted and buy
an ugly NEW WORLD WRITING to see what the poets
in Ghana are doing these days

I go on to the bank
and Miss Stillwagon (first name Linda I once heard)
doesn’t even look up my balance for once in her life
and in the GOLDEN GRIFFIN I get a little Verlaine
for Patsy with drawings by Bonnard although I do
think of Hesiod, trans. Richmond Lattimore or
Brendan Behan’s new play or Le Balcon or Les Nègres
of Genet, but I don’t, I stick with Verlaine
after practically going to sleep with quandariness

and for Mike I just stroll into the PARK LANE
Liquor Store and ask for a bottle of Strega and
then I go back where I came from to 6th Avenue
and the tobacconist in the Ziegfeld Theatre and
casually ask for a carton of Gauloises and a carton
of Picayunes, and a NEW YORK POST with her face on it

and I am sweating a lot by now and thinking of
leaning on the john door in the 5 SPOT
while she whispered a song along the keyboard
to Mal Waldron and everyone and I stopped breathing

*************************************************************
that's always been one of my favorites. it helps that i love billie holiday i guess. :p that last stanza though... gets me every time. gives me chills and a bit of a lump in my throat. :)
 
He wishes for the cloths of heaven
is one of my alltime favourite poems, Lumi, with Yeats being one of my favourite poets.

I adore...this could have been written about me.

Mad Girl's Love Song


"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

--Sylvia Plath
 

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