Page 1 of 2
#1
Post 'em here.

If
Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
#2
There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it.

While wiping his chin,
He said with a grin,

"If my ear were a ****, I could **** it."
#3
this my favorite haiku:

Haikus are not fun
Sometimes they don't make any sense
Refrigerator

#5
Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare

not typing it..look it up
Her friends are gazing on her,
And on her gaudy bier,
And weep!-oh! to dishonor
Dead beauty with a tear!
They loved her for her wealth-
And they hated her for her pride-
But she grew in feeble health,
And they love her-that she died.
#6
To see a world in a grain of sand,
and heaven in a wild flower;
You must hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and an eternity in an hour.
BACK LIKE A HEART ATTACK
#8
Quote by Taxi_06
this my favorite haiku:

Haikus are not fun
Sometimes they don't make any sense
Refrigerator


drop the 'any' that line has 8 syllables not 7

my favourite is:

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
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"Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake."
~Napoleon Bonaparte
#9
Quote by akack
Please stay on topic.

Poems, not haikus and the like.


From Wikipedia: "Haiku is a kind of Japanese poetry."

Anyway, poems are for homosexuals and communists. I do not believe in poetry.
I simply cannot take this god-awful place anymore. Goodbye to all the good people here. The rest can fuck off.

#10
Sorry, but I had to do it:

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock By TS Eliot, 1917

        	S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
	A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
	Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
	Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
	Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
	Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
 
 
LET us go then, you and I,	
When the evening is spread out against the sky	
Like a patient etherised upon a table;	
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,	
The muttering retreats	        5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels	
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:	
Streets that follow like a tedious argument	
Of insidious intent	
To lead you to an overwhelming question …	        10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”	
Let us go and make our visit.	
 
In the room the women come and go	
Talking of Michelangelo.	
 
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,	        15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes	
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,	
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,	
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,	
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,	        20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,	
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.	
 
And indeed there will be time	
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,	
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;	        25
There will be time, there will be time	
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;	
There will be time to murder and create,	
And time for all the works and days of hands	
That lift and drop a question on your plate;	        30
Time for you and time for me,	
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,	
And for a hundred visions and revisions,	
Before the taking of a toast and tea.	
 
In the room the women come and go	        35
Talking of Michelangelo.	
 
And indeed there will be time	
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”	
Time to turn back and descend the stair,	
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—	        40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]	
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,	
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—	
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]	
Do I dare	        45
Disturb the universe?	
In a minute there is time	
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.	
 
For I have known them all already, known them all:—	
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,	        50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;	
I know the voices dying with a dying fall	
Beneath the music from a farther room.	
  So how should I presume?	
 
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—	        55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,	
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,	
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,	
Then how should I begin	
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?	        60
  And how should I presume?	
 
And I have known the arms already, known them all—	
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare	
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]	
It is perfume from a dress	        65
That makes me so digress?	
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.	
  And should I then presume?	
  And how should I begin?
      .      .      .      .      .	
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets	        70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes	
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…	
 
I should have been a pair of ragged claws	
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
      .      .      .      .      .	
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!	        75
Smoothed by long fingers,	
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,	
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.	
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,	
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?	        80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,	
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,	
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;	
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,	
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,	        85
And in short, I was afraid.	
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,	
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,	
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,	
Would it have been worth while,	        90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,	
To have squeezed the universe into a ball	
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,	
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,	
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—	        95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,	
  Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.	
  That is not it, at all.”	
 
And would it have been worth it, after all,	
Would it have been worth while,	        100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,	
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—	
And this, and so much more?—	
It is impossible to say just what I mean!	
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:	        105
Would it have been worth while	
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,	
And turning toward the window, should say:	
  “That is not it at all,	
  That is not what I meant, at all.”
      .      .      .      .      .	        110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;	
Am an attendant lord, one that will do	
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,	
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,	
Deferential, glad to be of use,	        115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;	
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;	
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—	
Almost, at times, the Fool.	
 
I grow old … I grow old …	        120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.	
 
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?	
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.	
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.	
 
I do not think that they will sing to me.	        125
 
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves	
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back	
When the wind blows the water white and black.	
 
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea	
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown	        130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.


Not your typical "Roses are red" type poem, but absolutely genius if you take the time to take it apart.
BOOM-SHAKALAKALAKA-BOOM-SHAKALAKUNGA
#11
Quote by dayvbayb
drop the 'any' that line has 8 syllables not 7

That would make the line 6 syllables. It should read:

Sometimes they do not make sense
#13
Quote by akack
Please stay on topic.

Poems, not haikus and the like.



dude are you a retard?

haikus are poems.
Check out my music, if you please.
#15
Quote by bigwillie
From Wikipedia: "Haiku is a kind of Japanese poetry."

Anyway, poems are for homosexuals and communists. I do not believe in poetry.




You don't believe in poetry? Wow.

Can you atleast post serious haikus?
#16
Quote by Doppelgänger
That would make the line 6 syllables. It should read:

Sometimes they do not make sense

yea thanks, forgot to add that
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"Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake."
~Napoleon Bonaparte
#17
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,	
And sorry I could not travel both	
And be one traveler, long I stood	
And looked down one as far as I could	
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	        
 
Then took the other, as just as fair,	
And having perhaps the better claim,	
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;	
Though as for that the passing there	
Had worn them really about the same,	        
 
And both that morning equally lay	
In leaves no step had trodden black.	
Oh, I kept the first for another day!	
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,	
I doubted if I should ever come back.	        

I shall be telling this with a sigh	
Somewhere ages and ages hence:	
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—	
I took the one less traveled by,	
And that has made all the difference.
 


I also enjoy,


    O Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
    The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
    The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
    While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

        But O heart! heart! heart!
        O the bleeding drops of red,
        Where on the deck my Captain lies,

            Fallen cold and dead.

    O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
    Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
    For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
    For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

        Here Captain! dear father!
        This arm beneath your head;
        It is some dream that on the deck,

            You’ve fallen cold and dead.

    My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
    My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
    The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
    From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

        Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
        But I, with mournful tread,
        Walk the deck my Captain lies,

            Fallen cold and dead.
#18
Gary Soto - "Oranges"

The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighted down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone,
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a saleslady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted -
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickle in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime,
I didn't say anything.
I took the nickle from
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady's eyes met mine,
And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all
About.

Outside,
A few cars hissing past,
Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees.
I took my girl's hand
In mine for two blocks,
Then released it to let
Her unwrap the chocolate.
I peeled my orange
That was so bright against
The gray of December
That, from some distance,
Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.
#19
Fitter Happier
more productive
comfortable
not drinking too much
regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week)
getting on better with your
associate employee
contemporaries
at ease
eating well (no more
microwave dinners and
saturated fats)
a patient better driver
a safer car (baby smiling in back seat)
sleeping well (no bad dreams)
no paranoia
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down
the plughole)
keep in contact with old
friends (enjoy a drink now
and then)
will frequently check credit
at (moral) bank (hole in
wall)
favours for favours
fond but not in love
charity standing orders
on sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting
boiling water on the ants)
car wash (also on sundays)
no longer afraid of the dark
or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously
teenage and desperate
nothing so childish
at a better pace
slower and more calculated
no chance of escape
now self-employed
concerned (but powerless)
an empowered and informed
member of society
(pragmatism not idealism)
will not cry in public
less chance of illness
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in
back seat)
a good memory
still cries at a good film
still kisses with saliva
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick
that's driven into
frozen winter shit (the ability
to laugh at weakness)
calm
fitter, healthier and more productive
a pig
in a cage
on antibiotics
Living is easy with eyes closed...
--------------------------

Quote by GnR_ROK
I'm surprised you returned to this thread after cheeseman owned you.
#21
Quote by akack
Please stay on topic.

Poems, not haikus and the like.


Because haikus aren't poetry, are they?

Anyway...


How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
#22
ANNABELLE LEE

Author: Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
In diesem Herz hab ich die Macht.

Gear:
Fender MIM HSS Strat (Wine Red)
VOX Valvetronix VT20+
Kay K390 Acoustic
#23
Charge Of The Light Brigade
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Half a league half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred:
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd ?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do & die,
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd & thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack & Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke,
Shatter'd & sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse & hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
#24
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain


E.E. Cummings's punctuation, not mine. (Speaking of which, is that the correct apostrophe usage?)
#25
Quote by sporkface
ANNABELLE LEE

Author: Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love -
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me
Yes! that was the reason
(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we
Of many far wiser than we
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.


+1
That poem is great. I really like pretty much all of Poe's writings
#26
Quote by snipelfritz
Sorry, but I had to do it:

Insert The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock here


Not your typical "Roses are red" type poem, but absolutely genius if you take the time to take it apart.


Word snipelfritz, Eliot is beast, though personally I am a fan of The Hollow Men.

I know a lot of Pit Monkeys will probably disagree with me on this one, but I really love Sylvia Plath's poetry.
On the topic of construction delaying the Large Hadron Collider:

Quote by Deliriumbassist

Construction my ass. They just haven't found a good enough crowbar for Gordon Freeman when everything goes tits up.
#27
It is so hard for me to choose a favorite poem, because each poem I like says so much. I'll have to say that Fire and Ice is my favorite of those listed here, though.
#28
Quote by highvoltage66
Gary Soto - "Oranges"

The first time I walked
With a girl, I was twelve,
Cold, and weighted down
With two oranges in my jacket.
December. Frost cracking
Beneath my steps, my breath
Before me, then gone,
As I walked toward
Her house, the one whose
Porch light burned yellow
Night and day, in any weather.
A dog barked at me, until
She came out pulling
At her gloves, face bright
With rouge. I smiled,
Touched her shoulder, and led
Her down the street, across
A used car lot and a line
Of newly planted trees,
Until we were breathing
Before a drugstore. We
Entered, the tiny bell
Bringing a saleslady
Down a narrow aisle of goods.
I turned to the candies
Tiered like bleachers,
And asked what she wanted -
Light in her eyes, a smile
Starting at the corners
Of her mouth. I fingered
A nickle in my pocket,
And when she lifted a chocolate
That cost a dime,
I didn't say anything.
I took the nickle from
My pocket, then an orange,
And set them quietly on
The counter. When I looked up,
The lady's eyes met mine,
And held them, knowing
Very well what it was all
About.

Outside,
A few cars hissing past,
Fog hanging like old
Coats between the trees.
I took my girl's hand
In mine for two blocks,
Then released it to let
Her unwrap the chocolate.
I peeled my orange
That was so bright against
The gray of December
That, from some distance,
Someone might have thought
I was making a fire in my hands.

been reading your old 8th grade lit book eh?
to the people posting long poems, especially the ancient rime of the mariner guy:no one is reading them
#29
Quote by Aramis
Because haikus aren't poetry, are they?


I was just pissed off that it was going off topic and dying already. Get off my ass.
#31
Quote by akack
I was just pissed off that it was going off topic and dying already. Get off my ass.

Stop being such a pretentious ass.
The will to neither strive nor cry,
The power to feel with others give.
Calm, calm me more; nor let me die
Before I have begun to live.

-Matthew Arnold

Arguments are to be avoided; they are always vulgar and often convincing.
#32
Quote by woMANintheBOX19
Sonnet 18 by Shakespeare

not typing it..look it up

Not as good as Sonnet 130 (which by the by is in my profile blog )
And a lot of Donne's work is ace, both his Song poems are amazing.

Quote by Taxi_06
this my favorite haiku:

Haikus are not fun
Sometimes they don't make any sense
Refrigerator


We already have a Haiku thread, take it there.
I hope it doesn't seem, like I'm young, foolish, and green.
Let me in for a minute, you're not my life but I want you in it


O Dayya, te echaré de menos, siempre

Y siempre
Y para siempre
#33
Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains: round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
#34
"The Red Wheelbarrow," by William Carlos Williams:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.
#36
Sonnet XVII- Neruda
(not the best translation of it ever)

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I know no other

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.


Stop All the Clocks- W. H. Auden



Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


Because I'm cliched. But really, they're just so beautiful .
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
Last edited by DigUpHerBones at Jul 1, 2008,
#37
He clasps the crag with crooked hands ;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring’d with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls ;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

May the Force be with You.
Carmel is hawt
#38
In a poetry recitation competition at school, this guy did T S Elliot's "The Hollow Men", and it absolutely blew me away. It was very long, but exceptionally powerful.
Quote by Robbie n strat
In the changing rooms we'd all jump around so our dicks and balls bounced all over the place, which we found hilarious.



Little children should be felt, not heard.
#39
I mean, we're looking
Down on Wayne's basement. Only,
That's not Wayne's basement.

Seriously though. I'm not a big fan of poetry...
Jackson KVX10
Epiphone EB-3

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Bad Monkey
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#40
Once apon a midnight dreary, as I pondered weak and weary......
Quote by sneyob
Saw extended blue dick,
clicked X.

Sorry,
force of habit


Quote by Bmm386

There is only one solution. We need to bomb outer space. That should show those terrorist bastards who's who
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