Mo Poetry from Moe

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Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#1
Apr 25, 2013
 

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I tell my mother
I’ve won the Nobel Prize.

Again? she says. Which
discipline this time?

It’s a little game
we play: I pretend

I’m somebody, she
pretends she isn’t dead.

Andrea Cohen
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#2
Apr 25, 2013
 

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Strange Little Prophets
By Barbara Perez

When is the smell of a blackberry tree
a harbinger of &#8202;violent movement
rather than simply the recollection of
a childhood Sunday dress hem-dipped
in mud, handprinted with juice and seeds?
Hard to say. A mind, when playing tricks
is at its most sincere&#8201;—&#8201; at home raking
through the body’s history, repeating
the strange and nostalgic. The taste of
dirty copper, the imagined cockroach
in the corner, the sluggish slow of &#8202;the clock
&#8201;— doctors call these strange little prophets
warning signs of a seizure, synaptic misfires
looming like a song discordant, until the body
&#8201;— an unplucked string — is finally strummed.
Moron

Indianapolis, IN

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#3
Apr 25, 2013
 

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There once was a man from Nantucket....
Linda Bedsore

Indianapolis, IN

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#4
Apr 25, 2013
 
Is he black?
pole

Indianapolis, IN

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#5
Apr 25, 2013
 

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Linda Bedsore wrote:
Is he black?
Poetry has no race, but it does have color!
Linda

Indianapolis, IN

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#6
Apr 25, 2013
 

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pole wrote:
<quoted text>Poetry has no race, but it does have color!
Is there a color for this vomit
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#7
Apr 26, 2013
 
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then –'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Because I could not stop for Death
by Emily Dickinson
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#8
Apr 26, 2013
 

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"Because I could not stop for Death" is one of Emily Dickinson's most enigmatic poems (Engle). While her metaphors explore death in an intriguing and original way, they often contain as much ambiguity as significance. Most critics agree that the first two lines, "Because I could not stop for death -/ He kindly stopped for me -" (490), capture the poem's central theme, but their interpretations of that theme vary widely. Critics also disagree on the meaning of the children "in the Ring" (490) in the third stanza. Especially controversial is the puzzling reversal at the beginning of the fourth stanza - "Or rather - He passed Us -" (490), which leads to wildly different interpretations.
Although the poem is a source of considerable controversy, there are several fundamental ideas on which most critics agree. First of all, most critics accept that Dickinson personifies Death as a gentleman taking the speaker for a ride in his carriage. Second, the three images presented in the third stanza, the children "in the Ring" (490), the "Fields of Gazing Grain" (490) and the "Setting Sun" (490) indicate the stages of life, from childhood to maturity to old age and death. Third, the speaker's garments of "Gossamer" and "Tulle" (490) indicate to many critics that she could not have been expecting the carriage ride to last forever when she set out, as she "does not even have the foresight to dress warmly" (Bernhard). Fourth, the "House that seemed / A Swelling of the Ground -" (490) represents a grave. Fifth, the last two lines, "I first surmised the Horses' Heads / Were toward Eternity -" (490) seem to mean that the soul is eternal in spite of death.
Beyond these five points, however, critics' interpretations diverge. The first area of discrepancy is the meaning of the first two lines, "Because I could not stop for Death -/ He kindly stopped for me" (490). B.N. Raina presents what he considers to be the most obvious interpretation: "since the narrative subject of the poem finds herself rather too involved in the humdrum of living, with no thought of death, Death like a civil gentleman-suitor stops by in his chaise and four to take the busy persona out for the final ride" (Raina). However, Raina goes on to argue that the above translation is overly superficial. He suggests that the speaker, instead of merely ignoring death, actually conceives of death as a "nonreality" (Raina), existing only "within the time-bound finite world" (Raina), not within "the imaginitive infinity of consciousness" (Raina). When the first line is interpreted this way, the second line takes on a new significance as well. Death stops not in the sense of "stops by" but in the sense of "ceases to be" (Raina). John M. Greenberg proposes an even more radical interpretation. He claims that "the poem is not about biological death at all, but about a vision of the rest of her life, a life of creative seclusion" (Greenberg). Her life, he argues, was "so abnormal, so unlike the life any sane young woman (including Emily) would choose that it could be compared only to death" (Greenberg).
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#9
Apr 26, 2013
 

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1

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
fav

Indianapolis, IN

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#10
Apr 27, 2013
 

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Moe wrote:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
My favorite author.

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.
Count Grassy

Indianapolis, IN

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#11
Apr 27, 2013
 

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Here is a little Kahil Gibran:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

Since: Mar 13

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#12
Apr 28, 2013
 

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I was thinking about the inscription on the Statue of Liberty:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free;
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless,
Tempest-tossed to me
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#13
Apr 28, 2013
 

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“I pledge allegiance to my Flag and the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

And it gets better. The author of our pledge was Francis Bellamy—a Christian socialist. He stood for workers rights and believed in an equal distribution of economic resources. He believed in the nationalization of certain industries, because he feared their manipulation and corruption in the hands of a private sector which would put profits before people.

So a Christian, a minister at that, wrote the pledge—yet didn’t include the word “God” or “Christian” and he was a socialist. I’m sure by now most conservatives reading this will have already decided I’m making all of this up. But oh, there’s more.

In 1923, more text was added to our pledge:

“I pledge allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

So, 31 years after its origination, our pledge still didn’t contain the phrase “under God.”

In fact, it wasn’t until 1954 that the phrase “under God” was actually added to our pledge, in a response to the threat of communism.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

So it wasn’t until 62 years after its creation did our pledge include the words “under God.”
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#14
Apr 29, 2013
 

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1

1

Gods and Monsters
by Lana Del Rey

In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel,
Living in the garden of evil,
Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed,
Shining like a fiery beacon.
You got that medicine I need,
Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.
Put your hands on my waist, do it softly,
Me and God we don’t get along, so now I sing...

No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a fucked up holiday.
Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.

In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel,
Lookin' to get f**ked hard.
Like a groupie, incognito, posing as a real singer,
Life imitates art.
You got that medicine I need
Dope, shoot it up, straight to the heart, please.

I don't really wanna know what's good for me.
God's dead, I said, "Baby that's alright with me."

No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a f**ked up holiday.
Motel, speed, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.

When you talk, it's like a movie and you're makin' me crazy,
'Cause life imitates art.
If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?
You tell me, "Life isn't that hard."

No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a f**ked up holiday.
Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.

Read more: LANA DEL REY - GODS AND MONSTERS

Since: Mar 13

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#15
Apr 29, 2013
 

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Moe wrote:
Gods and Monsters
by Lana Del Rey
In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel,
Living in the garden of evil,
Screwed up, scared, doing anything that I needed,
Shining like a fiery beacon.
You got that medicine I need,
Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.
Put your hands on my waist, do it softly,
Me and God we don’t get along, so now I sing...
No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a fucked up holiday.
Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.
In the land of gods and monsters, I was an angel,
Lookin' to get f**ked hard.
Like a groupie, incognito, posing as a real singer,
Life imitates art.
You got that medicine I need
Dope, shoot it up, straight to the heart, please.
I don't really wanna know what's good for me.
God's dead, I said, "Baby that's alright with me."
No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a f**ked up holiday.
Motel, speed, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.
When you talk, it's like a movie and you're makin' me crazy,
'Cause life imitates art.
If I get a little prettier, can I be your baby?
You tell me, "Life isn't that hard."
No one’s gonna take my soul away,
I'm living like Jim Morrison.
Headed towards a f**ked up holiday.
Motel, sprees, sprees, and I’m singing:
"F**k yeah give it to me, this is? Heaven, what I truly want."
It's innocence lost.
Innocence lost.
Read more: LANA DEL REY - GODS AND MONSTERS
Yes sir, she is one sexy woman!!!
Moe

Indianapolis, IN

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#16
Apr 29, 2013
 
Moe wrote:
I tell my mother
I’ve won the Nobel Prize.
Again? she says. Which
discipline this time?
It’s a little game
we play: I pretend
I’m somebody, she
pretends she isn’t dead.
Andrea Cohen
Ms Cohen wrote me today and thanked me for being a FAN!!!

Since: Mar 13

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#18
Apr 29, 2013
 
cpeter1313 wrote:
I think little moe be a flamin mo !
The typical delusions of grandeur and self-importance of an impotent mind !
do you want a date

Since: Mar 13

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#21
Apr 30, 2013
 
cpeter1313 wrote:
Little moe still sounds like a flamin mo !
he s got a flamin ho
Alonzo X

Indianapolis, IN

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#22
Apr 30, 2013
 

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cpeter1313 wrote:
Little moe still sounds like a flamin mo !
Mo has a flamin ho.
Alonzo X

Indianapolis, IN

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#23
Apr 30, 2013
 

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cpeter1313 wrote:
I think little moe be a flamin mo !

The typical delusions of grandeur and self-importance of an impotent mind !
Do you wanna date ?

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