RE: What's your favorite poem?

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SteelofUtah -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/4/2009 10:39:09 PM)
SO as not to seem TOO arrogant. My Favorite Poem done by someone else is one a friend of mine used to do Open Mic Night at Cafe Copioh in Las Vegas when I used to host it. David W. Title: Pen My Pen..... .....is running...... ....out.... ....of.... ...In I am being honest this is one of my favorite poems and I reciet it all the time. Always giving David Credit .....however sometimes I wish I had Wrote it. Steel

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/5/2009 12:38:48 AM)
I'm also considerably fond of this one: age of war we live in the age of war have lived for millenia it’s hoped we’re near an end centuries from now we’ll look back on the age of war like the one’s of stones & caves as the folly of those who knew no better copyright 2007 by Kia Gabrielle McLean

LLH -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/5/2009 1:10:51 AM)
My favorite poem is by Lord Byron When we Two parted WHEN we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sunk chill on my brow— It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me— Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met— In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears.

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/5/2009 3:49:23 AM)
Okay, one of my favorite old dead poet poems, this is just so sexy: I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling -firm-smoothness and which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of you, I like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs, and possibly I like the thrill of under me you quite so new. EE Cummings

intenze -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/5/2009 2:52:32 PM)
short, sweet hawt: You Called Me Corazón That was enough for me to forgive you. To spirit a tiger from its cell. Called me corazón in that instant before I let go the phone back to its cradle. You voice small. Heat of your eyes, how I would've placed my mouth on each. Said corazón and the word blazed like a branch of jacaranda. Sandra Cisneros

SirPantySniffer -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/5/2009 4:52:11 PM)
"The Golden Journey to Samarkand" by James Elroy Flecker - too long to quote in full here. It inspires all those with wanderlust as well being the house poem for a certain Regiment.

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/6/2009 4:01:41 AM)
This was one of the first poems I ever fell in love with, & I never understood why, but luckily it never mattered why, either: Kiss my lips. She did. Kiss my lips again she did. Kiss my lips over and over and over again she did. I say lifting belly and then I say lifting belly and Ceasars. I say lifting belly gently and Ceasars gently. I say lifting belly again and Ceasars again. I say lifting belly and I say Ceasars and I say lifting belly Ceasars and cow come out. I say lifting belly and Ceasars and cow come out. Can you read my print? Gertrude Stein

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/6/2009 11:38:29 PM)
standing on the shoulders we stand on the shoulders of giants before us surely that’s not new to you we stand to look over the horizon the taller the more we can see & just as surely you know the giants are always just we standing on the shoulders of us & as often as a better view we stand on each other to hold us all down sometimes, i think the best parts of giants survives their deaths noble ideas explaining better than that before fears & human foibles left moldering in graves only elegant simplicity striking bold beauty left for the fearful living afraid of you holding me up or down afraid of height & distance making me small afraid of knowing i am a mote in god’s mind we stand on the shoulders of giants before us we may feel we crouch at their feet while we use their gifts when we are really the shoulders of tomorrow copyright 2006 by Kia Gabrielle McLean

fluffypet61 -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/8/2009 9:12:44 AM)
i like limericks. Johann Sebastian Bach (pronounced like "batch") Wrote music that no one can match. Twarn't fussy like Brahms and Debussy (pronounced like "deBUSsy") Come, let me play you a snatch.

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/9/2009 11:26:35 PM)
Okay, love this as a poem & as a song . .. . . Stinkfist by the band, Tool Something has to change. Undeniable dilemma. Boredom's not a burden anyone should bear. Constant - over - stimulation numbs me but I would not want you any other way. It's not enough. I need more. Nothing seems to satisfy. I don't want it. I just need it. To breathe/to feel/to know I'm alive. Finger deep within the borderline. Show me that you love me and that we belong together. Relax, turn around and take my hand. I can help you change tired moments into pleasure. Say the word and we'll be well upon our way. Blend and balance pain and comfort deep within you till you will not want me any other way. It's not enough. I need more. Nothing seems to satisfy. (I said) I don't want it. I just need it. To breathe/ to feel/ to know I'm alive. Knuckle deep inside the borderline. This may hurt a little but it's something you'll get used to. Relax. Slip away. (Whispering...) Something kinda sad about the way that things have come to be. Desensitized to everything. What became of subtlety? How can it mean anything to me, if I really don't feel anything at all? (Yeah) I'll keep digging till I feel something. Elbow deep inside the borderline. Show me that you love me and that we belong together. Shoulder deep within the borderline. Relax, turn around and take my hand.

kidwithknife -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/13/2009 2:02:44 PM)
As other people are posting their own work hopefully it will look les vain if I do the same. [;)] The Moon on a Stick So I'm sitting in the corner of the pub, Nursing a pint of lager, Listening to Rev Hammer on my personal stereo, As you do. When a women comes over and sits opposite me, This strikes me as odd, as there are plenty of spare seats, And I don't come across as particularly 'approachable' at the best of times, If you know what I mean. Still, I'm in one of my vaguely sociable moods, And she's obviously hoping to strike up a conversation, So I turn my stereo off, (Well, you've got to make an effort). And we strike up one of those pointless 'break the ice' conversations, The kind when you're just sounding each other out, Talking about music and the weather, That kind of thing. And then the conversation drifts away, And she moves it towards my fears, hopes and dreams, Which is highly unreasonable of her, because I do that shit to others, Not the other way around. But I'm feeling vaguely accommodating, So I indulge her by telling her some stuff, Nothing really deep-rooted or significant, but enough that she feels we "Like, connect on a really deep personal and spiritual level". So I talk about wanting a better world, And how I want a job that I'll enjoy and without that dress code bollocks, And being published would be nice, That sort of thing. And she looks at me and says "Your problem is you want the moon on a stick" And I reply... "Yeah, that's probably right. But if we're honest, I think that's what we all want. As children we definitely do. But we spend our time over the years 'maturing' and walling that section of ourselves off. We spend the main part of our youth learning how to fly and then the rest of our lives forgetting we ever knew how in the first place. But it never really goes away. So yeah, I still want the moon on a stick. I've come close sometimes, but it's always just slipped from my grasp at the last moment. And even if I managed it, I'm not sure how I'd get it through my front door. So in the meantime, until I work out how to acquire it for good, I spend my life trying to achieve various tangible forms of momentary ecstasy. And bearing that in mind... Do you fancy a fuck?" She gets up and moves to another table.

fluffypet61 -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/18/2009 11:21:07 AM)
My Shadow by Robert Lewis Stevenson I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow-- Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

dcnovice -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/18/2009 11:41:03 AM)
"Resume" by Dorothy Parker Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp; Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/18/2009 12:54:20 PM)
FR day job dependency everyone who has one thinks everyone else should have one as punishment or revenge or obligatory indenture fuck day jobs that suck the joy from the day fuck day jobs that waste time & energy more than detroit ever did fuck day jobs that demean & debilitate & cost a million species work is the highest expression of our best selves anything less is suicide annihilation of our souls for material survival homelessness apt reward to indolence how dare you know how to be productive without a boss how dare you organize your own time you need a day job you have to pay to play following your instincts is dangerous who knows where you’ll go a little knowledge is dangerous freedom is lethal you need a keeper someone should tell you what to do for just enough pay to get barely by to spend too much to own too many things to want too much space to hog up the whole world you need a job to justify your existence otherwise, you’re worthless get a job get a haircut you’re a bum why do we give in to this crap why put it on replay in our heads everyone who has one thinks everyone else should have one should shoulder the pain stiff upper lip leave your emotions at the door tactics of the workaholics our heroes in this land of the do-too-much (cuz we consume too much take too much, hurt too much trash too much, complain too much) but never mind that look to the gods of industry & the goddesses of media note the rewards of frenzied activity the satisfactions of owning it all being the biggest money-grubber of course a day job won’t get you there copyright 2007 by Kia Gabrielle McLean

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/19/2009 12:30:41 PM)
muse i’ve trained my brain to be a non-linear entity to flow fluid liquid till it’s oozing out my ears & fingers & it feels like the universe is in me & it wants to speak thru us all i submitted to the will of the universe as a defiant teen an act of rebellion the stars my destination & what a long strange journey it’s been wouldn’t trade in a moment writer’s job’s to be non-rational hands thrust into guts & chakras even at the price of being a bum think how the brain makes mind of that mythical less-than-15% efficiency’s built in the machine the unplumbed depths of what’s possible think of billions of cells, trillions, quadrillions each little worker ant a hothouse of work given direction by what we think believe know & manifesting minute by minute every experience we’ve ever had can live quite happily nestled in our skulls, safeguarded by our inattention (memory’s written & rewritten in proteins, forgetting can actually protect all that data) & even ones we’ve never had can be imagined visualized owned lived richly in a moment or for a lifetime or for just a short story or a poem & how to make all that data collide without taking control of every little bit a sisyphean task of which i’ve no interest easier to let go of it let the muse take charge or whatever’s in charge up there i’ve barely got command down here trust the universe ever more every day to take me where i need to be to make me eat my lima beans to bring me the muses i want to let me know how to behave from inside or out whether i like it or not i trust what goes off in my head this trained tangential tangle of transmitters puts truth to power puts me on the line everytime & everytime intuition trumps random jangle of nerves & desires guiding everyone & i’m just one of them & i have ground under my feet thank the universe copyright 2007 by Kia Gabrielle McLean

MasterHypnotist -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/29/2009 3:34:22 PM)
April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. T.S. Eliot

pissthirstysub -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/29/2009 4:22:58 PM)
This topic made me very excited! I love poetry. I like Howl by Allen Ginsberg, but I probally shouldn't copy and paste it here This poem by e.e. cummings has been a favorite since high school may i feel said he (i'll squeal said she just once said he) it's fun said she (may i touch said he how much said she a lot said he) why not said she (let’s go said he not too far said she what’s too far said he where you are said she) may I stay said he (which way said she like this said he if you kiss said she may I move said he is it love said she) if you're willing said he (but you're killing said she but its life said he but your wife said she now said he) ow said she (tiptop said he don’t stop said she oh no said he) go slow said she (cccome? said he ummm said she) you're divine!said he (You are Mine said she)

Arpig -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/29/2009 9:26:43 PM)
Me and Mr. Walker Why is it my lovers leave when I'm up, when it hurts me the most Pat me on the ass and leave me hanging in want from the whipping post And I replay each memory, images fluttering past like so many ghosts I don't want to stop, don't know why, but its what I want the most Feeling like an idiot I call and ask her to tie me up again And it ain't really right and it will only cause me more pain But I gaze at the stars and smile, and swallow my shame I know you know me well, but can you remember my name Please, Mr. Walker...Won't you help me cry Please, Mr. Walker...Don't ever ask me why Please, Mr. Walker...Don't leave me alone They all told stories about me in the girl's room back in school A bitter pill to swallow, but its the price of being so uncool One by one the lights go out, I am naked and alone, a perfect fool The more that it hurt, the closer I held my shining jewel I'm sure they don't recall, but I can't forget what they said Echoing over and over like a merry-go-round in my head I find myself asking how often they all just wished I was dead But I am the one left laughing and they lay there bleeding instead Please, Mr. Walker...Won't you help me cry Please, Mr. Walker...Don't ever ask me why Please, Mr. Walker...Don't leave me alone Seems that the promise of youth, just ain't a good deal And these scars on my wrists, well they are all to real I still have my dignity, the one thing they could not steal But I wonder do they think of me, and if so what do they feel I found a refuge there, kneeling down between your knees And upon your budding breasts, I found a place to take my ease Laying open to the sky, our skin kissed by the breeze You held her close as I made her mine, back behind the trees Please, Mr. Walker...Won't you help me cry Please, Mr. Walker...Don't ever ask me why Please, Mr. Walker...Don't leave me alone The last thing I expected was to wake up on the bathroom floor And hear someone ask if I'll do them, if they give me one more I'll save you the trouble boys, cause I have been here before I'll wipe the semen from my face and crawl slowly out the door Outside at night the sky has got a subtle orange glow The clouds reflecting the lights, reflecting off the snow Its just a simple trick of the light, but its soothing even so Just the way it was back then, not all that many years ago Please, Mr. Walker...Won't you help me cry Please, Mr. Walker...Don't ever ask me why Please, Mr. Walker...Don't leave me alone Maddy vanD

DemonKia -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/30/2009 12:50:41 AM)
Oh, I love that cummings poem, it's sexy & silly & fun . . . . Okay, nowhere near as good as that poem, but I've been wanting to post this little trifle of mine . . . . Originally it was an ad I wrote for Craigslist, lol: rope me in friends first light date-y stuff looking towards l.t.r. special people apply who get my point & might get me freaky is fabulous ethically founded morally based practicing patience filtering thru the clueless filtered thru each other’s shallowness we’re looking to dominate & be dominated owned by that which we think we own copyright 2007 Kia Gabrielle McLean

angelikaJ -> RE: What's your favorite poem? (4/30/2009 5:58:16 AM)
Sweet Darkness When your eyes are tired the world is tired also. When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you. Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own. There you can be sure you are not beyond love. The dark will be your womb tonight. The night will give you a horizon further than you can see. You must learn one thing: the world was made to be free in. Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong. Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you. David Whyte (House of Belonging)

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