#1
Hey pit. I need to find a poem to read for english class, and it needs to be one to two minutes long when i read it. I really don't like poetry and i dont know any poems that I could read, any help would be appreciated. Thanks in advance.
#8
Why don't you read some Dr. Seuss?
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#9
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence

EDIT: Maybe its a bit longer than I remember
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Last edited by Dopey_Trout at Jan 31, 2009,
#10
wish I could help dude
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#11
Look up some Edgar Allen Poe, and check out some of his shorter poems.

The Raven is really good, you would've seen a shorter reading on the Simpsons.

Just google 'edgar allen poe the raven'.
#13
I read the thread title as "Help finding porn..."

That's all I have to contribute to this thread

good day sir, and good luck finding the poem
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#14
Try one of E.E. Cummings' poems based around symbols rather than words. You'll have a whale of a time trying to read that out.
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You're exactly the kind of person who'd have sex in a bar drunk
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#16
Read some Dragonforce lyrics and claim it's by a guy named Vincent Holt.
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#18
Check out some James Kavanaugh. He's my favorite poet, who isn't a lyricist.
I can honestly say I have really been far even as decided to use even go want to do look more like.


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#19
Sick
by Shel Silverstein

"I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more--that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"
Soon you will sit on the bench
of those who deny I have my soul
You sell a dream you create
Condemned by what you condemned before
Smooth are the words you sing down and high
Underground is your joy your laws
#23
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Jabberwockey.

+1! That'd be a perfect one to read, everyone would be like wtf. Kudos dude.
#24
e e cummings: she being brand /-new

Srsly. If you get what it is, you'll understand.
she being Brand

-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(having

thoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.

K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her

up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried and

again slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my

lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinity

avenue i touched the accelerator and give

her the juice,good

(it

was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed on

the
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce and

brought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.

stand-
;Still)


[IN PHIL WE TRUST]


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#26
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am i the only one that read that as 'help finding p0rn?'
I read it as 'help finding porn'
#27
Read one of Sylvia Plath's poems like Daddy or Tulips.
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#28
Quote by goth clash
Read one of Sylvia Plath's poems like Daddy or Tulips.


God, or Edge, then have the whole classroom queuing for the nearest gas oven... I much prefer the middle of her career, when she and Hughs had influenced each other in interesting ways and she was interested in violent nature. That's not to say that her later poems are in any way worse, just that I prefer my overwhelming sense to be of discovery, not depression.

On topic - Dawn's Rose by Ted Hughes, or any other of his 'Crow' poems:

Dawn's Rose

Is melting an old frost moon.

Agony under agony, the quiet of dusk,
And a crow talking to stony skylines.

Desolate is the crow's puckering cry
As an old woman's mouth
When the eyelids have finished
And the hills continue.

A cry
Wordless
As the newborn baby's grieving
On the steely scales.

As the dull gunshot and its after râle
Amongst conifers, in rainy twilight.

Or the suddenly dropped, heavily dropped
Star of blood on the fat leaf.
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