ITT post poems you like

[Joey Goldberg]

now y'all just makin' up shit...

[Joey Goldberg]

can i get another delicious POIME please?

[ilikeplanets]

Originally Posted by Ram27

row-te instead of roote grates me

I say it this way, sorry!

And my entire extended family, parents included, say "wooder" instead of "water." One of my earliest memories is actively fixing my pronunciation of water, because some girl at summer camp couldn't understand what I was saying [let's go swim in the wooder!]. I've had a mostly neutral accent ever since, I think. No one can ever tell where I'm from or where I've lived, except for my continued use of "y'all."

My time in Alabama was also full of hideous words. Poh-leese si-reen (police siren) was especially ugly.

[ilikeplanets]

How about a poem about ugly accents?

[Joey Goldberg]

john went down the wrong rowt
with a bag full of carmel
and a head full of poims

he made it to the clear wudders of a nearby lake
and jumped in with all his clothes,
swimming quickly to the buoy
with childlike dreams of multi-colored crowns


ok, that's more of a short story than a poem I guess, but quite honestly I'm still trying to wrap my head around what you 2 meant with "crown" & "buoy"

[ilikeplanets]

I meant "crown" like on a king's head said in place of "cray-on." "Cray-in" is another ugly way to say it. I have absolutely no idea about buoy, though. Must be an NZ thing.

[ilikeplanets]

Ugly Accents

The accent slurs and slips,
Grating on my ears.
Words mispronounced and mangled,
syntax strange appears.

Vowels stretched in awkward ways,
Consonants dropped or misplaced.
The melody and flow are lost,
Rhythm and rhyme erased.

Comprehension interfered,
By strange and ugly sounds I hear.
The meaning and the message lost,
In speech mangled so unclear.

The towers of Babel rise anew,
With voices harsh and grating too.
When communication breaks apart,
Due to accents ugly and askew.

Give me a clear and pleasant tone,
With words well formed and shaped.
An ugly accent I can't condone,
My ears would rather be escaped.

[Joey Goldberg]

Originally Posted by ilikeplanets

I meant "crown" like on a king's head said in place of "cray-on."

yeah but who says it like that?

eerie... really eerie!

[ilikeplanets]

I've heard it so many times! You must be lucky to have dodged it. It's a thick Southern accent

[Joey Goldberg]

[ilikeplanets]

"Missourah"

[buzzard]

Originally Posted by Joey Goldberg

I'm still trying to wrap my head around what you 2 meant with "crown" & "buoy"

Buoy will ideally rhyme with hoi polloi and allow for all the rampant hilarity of pun-based brand names such as NautiBuoy Marine.

It'll probably turn out that the word was originally derived from an Aramaic expression coined at the time of Jesus' floating and was totally pronounced BOO-ee, but I just cannot accept how this sounds.

[Elijah Moon]

I think this is such a sad poem, but lovely too:


The Two-Headed Calf, by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.

[MyOneAndOnly]

At every doorway
before you enter,
you should look around,
you should take a good look around-
for you never know
where your enemies
might be seated within.

- The Wanderer's Havamal

[yo soy el mejor]

Originally Posted by Elijah Moon

I think this is such a sad poem, but lovely too:


The Two-Headed Calf, by Laura Gilpin

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this
freak of nature, they will wrap his body
in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north
field with his mother. It is a perfect
summer evening: the moon rising over
the orchard, the wind in the grass. And
as he stares into the sky, there are
twice as many stars as usual.

:'[

[ovary]

i been fucking with this shit lately

[ovary]

Blackberrying by Sylvia Plath

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.

Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.

The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills’ northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.