Where's the poetry?

[Ugly Dougly]

I'm happiest when most away
I can bear soul from its home of clay
On a windy night when the moon is bright
And the eye can wander through worlds of light.

The world was made of nothing then
This made by nothing now again
Mighty nothing unto thee,
Nothing we owe all things that be.

When I am not and none beside -
Nor earth nor sea nor cloudless sky
But only spirit wandering wide
Through infinite immensity.

The world was made of nothing then
This made by nothing now again
Mighty nothing unto thee,
Nothing we owe all things that be.

[AntiM]

Full moon desert Man
calls fire to fire
revel
playa party
My boots are dusty.

[gyre]

Unlike Cinderella
I left both slippers


Elise Masur

[Ugly Dougly]

The worlds I seek are like soft, golden chimes;
Soft merging tints that match the breeze's croon
And no false note plays in the world-scheme rhymes--
I seek the soft, vague plateaus of the moon.

[C.f.M.]

i was talking to a moththe other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you wouldnow be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tiredof using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beautyand excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a momentand be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beaut
your attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue himout of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

~the lesson of the moth By Don Marquis, in "archy and mehitabel," 1927

[ygmir]

I'm not a duck.
so, what the *%ck,

hey man, you're in high heels

call me a punk,
"just when I'm drunk"

oh boy, that piggy squeals.......

[ygmir]

I think I posted this in the wrong thread earlier, and, since it's not Haiku or a limerick.......well



To me, the true thing before I must die,
is to bring happiness, joy, or a giggle,
To help others in need, without asking why,
When a duck walks, it's tail feathers wiggle

Can I share a warm thought, with a person who needs it.
be remembered, with smile, and small tear.
Show love to a person, and a hug just to feed it
stride forward, through life, without fear.

And be thought of as funny, a wit, or a dear one,
by those whom I've loved, one and all,
Or heard in a story, related be loved ones,
to a person not known me, at all.




It's what we leave behind..........truly, the wealth of a lifetime is only shown, in the tears shed at your passing.

[gyre]

Nice

[lonestoner916]

Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!

-Emily Dickinson

[dr.placebo]

my feet hurt, but i gotta dance

my back aches, but i have to reach higher

my ribs are cracked, so hold me tight

my lips are sore, please kiss me again

i'm too old to act my age, too young to give up

i may never see the dawn, so i'll howl at the moon tonight

[lonestoner916]

Seriously excellent Dr. Placebo!!! Is it yours?

[TomServo]

Day of anger,
Day of mourning,
When to ashes,
All is burning.

Seer and Sybil, gave the warning.

Oh what fear,
Mans bosom rendeth.
when from heaven,
the judge descendeth.

On whose sentence, all dependeth.

[AntiM]

The Heart
Stephen Crane

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

[AntiM]

T.S. Eliot

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock


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
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 …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?â€

[Simon of the Playa]

from venus in Transit by H.G.Crosby


First Meeting
("lorsque Vénus est tout entière entrée dans le disque")

When you are the flower
I am the shadow cast by the flower
When I am the fire
You are the mirror reflecting the fire
And when Venus has entered the disk of the Sun
Then you are that Venus and I am the Sun.

[ygmir]

She came as the wind from the Zephyr's breath.
But Why?
Did she emerge from the maelstrom or grow as the spirit flower?

As the river of life flows and eddies change our path,
We must sink or swim
Lest we be engulfed by the same maelstrom.

Yet not for the worse.
For what is taken in the great swirling vortex
Is returned by the same storm
For another to touch, see, feel, be.

The Gods have smiled
And I am blessed with the fruits of loves creation.
But why?

The answer is self-evident,
The prophesy self-fulfilling.
Although the story be unended,
The answer to all,
"Love"

[MyDearFriend]

I want to vote this thread the highest prize, because I love it so. Thank you, UD, and thanks AntiM for bringing in that old friend J Alfred.

Here's the piece of Tolkien that sprang to mind when I saw, "where's the poetry?"

Where now the horse and the rider? where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harp-string, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning?
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

[lonestoner916]

What We Might Be,
What We Are
-X.J. Kennedy

If you were a scoop of vanilla
And I were the cone where you sat,
If you were a slowly pitched baseball
And I were the swing of a bat,

If you were a shiny new fishhook
And I were a bucket of worms,
If we were a pin and a pincushion,
We might be on intimate terms.

If you were a plate of spaghetti
And I were your piping-hot sauce,
We'd not even need to write letters
To put our affection across.

But you're just a piece of red ribbon
In the beard of a Balinese goat
And I'm a New Jersey mosquito.
I guess we'll stay slightly remote.

[robbidobbs]

Poetry? I'll tell ya where to find poetry.
Go to the porta-potties.
Relaxing poo-etry for the excreting masses.
250 different signs. Enjoy them all.

Bosco the Burner from Mars
Kept all his noomies in jars
But nobody nags
They're in ziploc bags
He takes them all back to the stars.
(Gonzo Frothwood)

Please excrete responsibly,
RobbiDobbs
Chief Poopervisor of the Pottie-Project

(ok, I'll be over here shutting up now)
edited because I missed a letter)

[dr.placebo]

Seriously excellent Dr. Placebo!!! Is it yours?

Thanks, it is mine. I think that one lives best with the knowledge that it is all too short. Pain is required, suffering is optional.

[Ugly Dougly]

Aye! Aye!
Teach me how to dougly (aye! )
They be like Smoove (what?)
Can u teach me how to dougly?
You know why?
'Cause all da bitches love me (aye! )
All I need is a beat that's super bumpin'
And for you, you, you to back it up and dump it!
Put your arms out front, lean side to side
They gon' be on you when they see you hit dat dougly right?
Ain't nobody fuckin' wid my bro from morningside
He go by Bubba and he hit dat dance wid thunder
I ain't from Dallas but I D-town boogie
I show my moves off and errbody tryna do me
I leave da function and all da ladies tryna screw me
You just do you and I'ma do me (all day)
Niggas love to hate so they try to shoot me
Bitches be stuck to me I think they tryna glue me
I make the party shine bright when it's started boomin'
Dis beat was bubblegum so I had to chew it

[lonestoner916]

Seriously excellent Dr. Placebo!!! Is it yours?

Thanks, it is mine. I think that one lives best with the knowledge that it is all too short. Pain is required, suffering is optional.

I can dig it!

[lucky.bastard]

i love to say
i'm searching
for answers to
questions i cant to define

but the truth
eats at me
like cancer
quietly devouring my mind

see i'm kinda lazy
shallow
and unconcerned

i could care less
about your problems
and the lessons
that you've learned


but if you'd like
to convert me
enlighten me
or set me free

i hope you
like disappointment
and thrive
on misery

[ygmir]

so, I was sitting thinking about all the kids in the news, and, the kids and parents I know, who suffer, in one way or another..........
And, as at times happens, this "came" to me..........I don't know, if it's a poem, song, or prayer, but, well.......



Oh joyous song,
Oh joyous day,
It is to you,
the Gods, we pray

An answer is,
But what we seek
We’ll ask it bold
We’ll ask it meek

A favor, more

We pray ye Gods
Ere one, or all
“To whom?” it matters?
Should not, at all

For what we ask
Is right, and just
For life, and laughter
The gift, we trust

We ask it for,
Our precious one
Be she daughter
Be he son

To climb the mount
To swim the lake
To laugh and smile
The hours, wake

And dream,
the dreams of youth
With wonder
To vanquish foes
Send them asunder

We ask these gifts
Of those, above
The gift of joy
The gift, of love

The time to share them
The choice to give
To walk the path
To love, to live

It is these things
To Gods, beseech
We know they are,
Within your reach

So hear me now
And heed my plea
A bargain struck
Twixt you, and me

[MOOP_Czar]

Very eloquent Yggy.

Bravo.

Moments that are mentally thrust upon us are the best sources of poetry.

If they are unasked for, then they are truly inspirational.

I need to dig around for a minute.. I know I have something here..

[MisaBlue]

Thousand cuts of butterlfy wings
Thousand marks on your white skin
Eyes wide open
Falling into deep
Kisses slowly spoken
The feeling you want to keep
I can see you
In every single wound
I can see you
Blood falling on the ground
Close your eyes now
I will catch you in your fall
Let the kisses
On your skin to snow
I can hear you
Deep down inside you leave
I can hear you
You do still breathe

[robbidobbs]

Jose the Jot's guy rakes off the fowl screens
The entitled tourist's baby-wipe scene.
You're not doing your business according to plan
That's not how we GO at Burningman

Baby-wipes sure clean up the fur
And wipes the girl parts just for her
They all go in ziplocs, and home again.
That's how we go at Burningman.

Bleeding on Playa is such a chore
The luggage you tote can be quite a bore.
You're living the dream, the best that you can.
Your doing it right at Burningman.

The right way to hover is easy to know
You lift up both lids and you squat to go
Don't leave any trace, any trash in your hand.
That's how you GO at Burningman.

[catinthefunnyhat]

Dolor

I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
Neat in their boxes, dolor of pad and paper weight,
All the misery of manilla folders and mucilage,
Desolation in immaculate public places,
Lonely reception room, lavatory, switchboard,
The unalterable pathos of basin and pitcher,
Ritual of multigraph, paper-clip, comma,
Endless duplication of lives and objects.
And I have seen dust from the walls of institutions,
Finer than flour, alive, more dangerous than silica,
Sift, almost invisible, through long afternoons of tedium,
Dropping a fine film on nails and delicate eyebrows,
Glazing the pale hair, the duplicate grey standard faces.

Theodore Roethke

[Ugly Dougly]

Your eyelashes will write on my heart
the poem that could never come from the pen of a poet.
Rumi

[H.G.Crosby]

TATTOO

I am the criminal whose chest is tattooed with a poinard above which are graven the words "mort aux bourgeois". Let us each tattoo this on our hearts.
I am the soldier with a red mark on my nakedness-when in a frenzy of love the mark expands to spell Mad Queen. Let us each tattoo our Mad Queen on our heart.
I am the prophet from the land of the Sun whose back is tattooed in the design of a rising sun. Let us each tattoo a rising sun on our heart.

Harry Crosby, 1928.