ITT post poems you like

[Ram27]

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poe...-56d235e0d871e

Sea-Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

[buzzard]

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage

[smashingjj]

zero zero zero

[Joey Goldberg]

A poem, if you will:
Gentle waves rise
just off the fingertips
All I breathe is mine
By name alone
Shape-shifter questions
To strip skin off slow
Devoid of sex
I mix up unions in the offering
The hushed-up voices are here
But they are sated full
Waiting for the stumble
That must surely come
"this time," he declares loudly
(annonymous town square)
"this time there will be no stumble"
and the crowd, on cue, errupts wildly in unison, "hooray"

while I sleep they come in pairs
to pat my head and teach old verse
I try to tell them my life is redundant
By placing my finger to my temple to show knowing
With bruises at the ready I am
Blinking with fists

The chorus lines up to sing
A deep breath, ready to begin
A crying baby breaks the silence
Awkward laughter ensues, on cue
"divine order," says someone

falling down chimneys, thru veins, out limbs
into masterpieces drawn in dirt
the figures are portrayed in a stunning act of repose
their bindings on their wrists
they are still blinking


Copyright © 2004 Billy Corgan

[topleybird]

There were strangers in the group.
Names we didn't know,
handles and pseudonyms
and what passed in the twenty first century as a nom de plume. The system fan
screamed its pallid scream,
a feeble imitation of the shuddering storm of nonsense it was slaved to render.

Everything hissed and popped like it had been left sitting a deep fryer
by some kitchen hand who had dropped their apron and walked off into the night.
They didn't go home,
or to a bar,
or to a bridge of such an adequate height
that potential energy gathered when jumping from it might be sufficient,
upon dispersal, to turn off their
pilot light.
They just crossed the parking lot and trudged off into the corn field
in company of a sallow moon,
nothing crackling but a mute prayer for the corn field to extend forever
so that they could avoid whatever variation lay
beyond
it.

All the while, we were sitting
in the boiling oil;
thermal energy thrumming,
heaving in violent plumes invisible above the surface,
the heating element unflinching in the face of
its
chaos,
unmoved by the clumsy, abject violence
it had unwittingly become party to.

Eventually, perhaps,
someone would come and find it all
and rectify it.
Perhaps nobody would come,
but eventually up the invisible chain somwhere,
some abstract element,
perhaps a minute filament forged a world away, by some
enumerated
individuals each one
ignorant of its eventual
specific
purpose and by extension
inculpable in its inevitable failure, would give,
and the power supply would stop, and the heating element
would fade from its ephemeral perfect white back to a lowly mortal silver,
and the
violence
would dim and then slow and then stop, and we
would rest.

But that filament was made perfect,
copied from a
model meticulously
engineered to run a thousand lifetimes before entropy finally popped it,
first time every time.
The kitchen hand was not coming back.
No customers would discover and right this
obscenity.

There was nothing to do but wait,
and endure,
and try to become one,
if not in form then at least in spirit,
with
the
writhing
oil.

[slunken]

We wanted to believe. We wanted to call out. On August 20 and September 5, 1977, two spacecraft were launched from the Kennedy Space Flight Center Florida. They were called Voyager. Each one carries a message. A gold-plated record projecting images, music and sounds of our planet. Arranged so that it may be understood if ever intercepted by a technologically-mature extraterrestrial civilization. Thirteen years after its launch, Voyager One passed the orbital plane of Neptune and essentially left our solar system. Within that time, there were no further messages sent. Nor are any planned.

We wanted to listen. On October 12, 1992, NASA initiated the high resolution microwave survey. A decade-long search by radio telescope scanning ten million frequencies for any transmission by extraterrestrial intelligence. Less than one year later, first term Nevada senator Richard Bryan successfully championed an amendment which terminated the project.

I wanted to believe. But the tools had been taken away. The X-Files had been shut down. They closed our eyes. Our voices have been silenced. Our ears now deaf to the realms of extreme possibilities.

[Disco King]

"Erosion"
Edwin John Pratt

It took the sea a thousand years,
A thousand years to trace
The granite features of this cliff,
In crag and scarp and base.

It took the sea an hour one night,
An hour of storm to place
The sculpture of these granite seams
Upon a woman's face.

[yo soy el mejor]

Oda a un gran atún en el mercado

En el mercado verde,
bala
del profundo
océano,
proyectil
natatorio,
te vi,
muerto.

Todo a tu alrededor
eran lechugas,
espuma
de la tierra,
zanahorias,
racimos,
pero
de la verdad
marina,
de lo desconocido,
de la
insondable
sombra,
agua
profunda,
abismo,
sólo tu sobrevivías,
alquitranado, barnizado,
testigo
de la profunda noche.
Sólo tú, bala oscura
del abismo,
certera
destruida
sólo en un punto,
siempre
renaciendo,
anclando en la corriente
sus aladas aletas,
circulando
en la velocidad
en el transcurso
de
la
sombra
marina
como enlutada flecha,
dardo del mar,
intrépida aceituna.

Muerto te vi,
difunto rey
de mi propio océano,
ímpetu
verde, abeto
submarino,
nuez
de los maremotos,
allí,
despojo muerto,
en el mercado
era
sin embargo
tu forma
lo único dirigido
entre
la confusa derrota
de la naturaleza:
entre la verdura frágil
estabas
solo como una nave,
armado
entre legumbres,
con ala y proa negras y aceitadas,
como si aún tú fueras
la embarcación del viento,
la única
y pura
máquina
marina:
intacta navegando
las aguas de la muerte.

-------------------------------------------
En Ingles:

Ode to a large tuna in the market

Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
a swimming
projectile,
I saw you,
dead.

All around you
were lettuces,
sea foam
of the earth,
carrots,
grapes,
but
of the ocean
truth,
of the unknown,
of the
unfathomable
shadow, the
depths
of the sea,
the abyss,
only you had survived,
a pitch-black, varnished
witness
to deepest night.

Only you, well-aimed
dark bullet
from the abyss,
mangled
at one tip,
but constantly
reborn,
at anchor in the current,
winged fins
windmilling
in the swift
flight
of
the
marine
shadow,
a mourning arrow,
dart of the sea,
olive, oily fish.
I saw you dead,
a deceased king
of my own ocean,
green
assault, silver
submarine fir,
seed
of seaquakes,
now
only dead remains,
yet
in all the market
yours
was the only
purposeful form
amid
the bewildering rout
of nature;
amid the fragile greens
you were
a solitary ship,
armed
among the vegetables
fin and prow black and oiled,
as if you were still
the vessel of the wind,
the one and only
pure
ocean
machine:
unflawed, navigating
the waters of death.

[redbreegull]

my favorite poem

W.B. Yeats -- An Irish Airmen Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

[Elijah Moon]

I like these fragments from Lawrence Ferlinghetti poems:

"I am a playerpiano
in an abandoned casino
on a seaside esplanade
in a dense fog
still playing"

and

"Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
there were no rootless Christmas trees
hung with candycanes and breakable stars"

I've actually recently acquired two books of poetry: Rimbaud's 'A Season in Hell' and Kerouac's 'Mexico City Blues'. I haven't really started them yet, but if some lines take my fancy I'll post them here.

[slunken]

serious answer: One of my favorite passages from a favorite dude:

It’s time to go back inside our bodies.
We can sleep here, the weather is right.
All my life, can I say this yet?
I have wanted to be a little older,
a little more dead in the nerves
(but not in the heart)
and the result is this noise and distance.

[slunken]

one of my favorite books of all time

[slunken]

"I approach the house in tiger pants/ thinking of surrender and of holding on."

is one of the greatest opening lines ever IMO

[vixnix]

The Maori Jesus - James K. Baxter
I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa. When he smiled it looked like the dawn. When he broke wind the little fishes trembled. When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.
The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the shit out of the pores. One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the rubbish can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.
The Maori Jesus said, 'Man, From now on the sun will shine.'
He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.
The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a screw the sun would stop rising. The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor, 'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised; The brain of God was cut in half.

On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness Sat on the earth from then till now.

[MyOneAndOnly]

Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather around yourself
Everyone gather around yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone, everyone, everyone yaaaaa
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone, everyone, everyone yaaaaa
Faraway love, faraway love anywhere, anywhere love
Faraway love, faraway love anywhere, anywhere love
Faraway life, faraway love anywhere, anywhere life
Faraway life, faraway love anywhere, anywhere life
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather around yourself
Everyone gather around yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone, everyone, everyone yaaaaa
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather among yourself
Yourself, Everyone, Everyone
Everyone, everyone, everyone yaaaaa
Everyone gather among yourself
Everyone gather around yourself
Everyone gather around yourself

- billy corgan

[TheAlter]

I like driving.

I'm in my car, and I'm all alone,
or I'm in my car and I'm being blown,
driving alone or being blown.

I get some gas, I get some ass,
and no one with me is smoking grass,
and if I want to I sure can pass.

Drivin' drivin' all alone, with no one no one on my back.
Just me alone me alone, in my big black Cadillac.

-----

From The Big Schlep
(Essay for Dutch Magazine, August 2000)
By Vincent Gallo

[yo soy el mejor]

biggest blowhard ever, that guy. one of the biggest anyway.

[TheAlter]

Coming from the biggest blowhard of the board, that is high praise indeed. You love him!

[yo soy el mejor]

[Joey Goldberg]

[buzzard]

[TheAlter]

I’m one of those people who looked completely different as a young boy than I did as a teenager or do as an adult. The transitions were very dramatic and happened fast. I was twelve years old when it all went wrong. From straight blond hair to curly, greasy brown hair. From a beautiful all-American baby face to whatever my face is now. Sort of Dracula meets an insect. I know what I look like. It’s certainly not how I would have made myself look. Don’t blame me.

[Joey Goldberg]

beautiful poym

[ilikeplanets]

Ugh people that pronounce it that way disgust me. Like saying "crown" instead of "crayon."

[yo soy el mejor]

Lol the alter trynna talk about his normal experience (of looking different as older
) as being something magical to deflect from the fact he got ROASTED.

he posted a dumb poem by a dumb guy and that's just how it goes

[yo soy el mejor]

‘Ode to Ice Cream’

I like ice cream a whole lot
It tastes great when days are hot
On a cone or in a dish
This would be my only wish
Vanilla, chocolate, rocky road
Even with pie, a la mode

[Joey Goldberg]

Originally Posted by ilikeplanets

Ugh people that pronounce it that way disgust me. Like saying "crown" instead of "crayon."

or "carmel" stead of "caramel" innit

[buzzard]

Buoy.

[yo soy el mejor]

omg wudder instead of water

/gag

[Ram27]

row-te instead of roote grates me