what is your favorite poem?

Since: Jul 12

Tucker, GA

#63 Jan 22, 2013
Here I sit
All broken hearted
Came to $hit
But only farted
Old timer

Owensboro, KY

#64 Jan 22, 2013
Simple-Jack wrote:
Here I sit
All broken hearted
Came to $hit
But only farted
Back in the days of outhouses, when people got their water from wells, and their houses had no plumbing, that was one of the two best known and most common outhouse writings. The other one was this:

Those who write on outhouse walls
Roll their shit in little balls
Those who read these words of wit
Eat these little balls of shit

“I'm almost awesome”

Level 5

Since: Dec 12

jersey city

#65 Jan 22, 2013
howl wrote:
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,
Allen Ginsberg. Newark, NJ baby. He's one of my favs. Probably best modern or beat poet. My opinion anyway.

“I'm almost awesome”

Level 5

Since: Dec 12

jersey city

#66 Jan 22, 2013
The second time I ever heard of Allen Ginsberg was his rapping in Ghetto Defendant on Combat Rock. Still one of the greatest albums ever. IMO.

/ Do the worm on the accropolis
/ Slamdance the cosmopolis
/ Enlighten the populace
Hungry darkness of living
Who will thirst in the pit?
/ Hooked in metropolis
She spent a lifetime deciding
How to run from it
/ Addicts of metropolis
Once fate had a witness
And the years seemed like friends
/ Girlfriends
Her babies can dream
But dreams begin like the end
/ Shot into eternity
/ Methadone kitty
/ Iron serenity
Ghetto defendant
It is heroin pity
Not tear gas nor baton charge
That stops you taking the city
/ Strung out committee
Walled out of the city
Clubbed down from uptown
Sprayed pest from the nest
Run out to barrio town
/ The guards are itchy
Forced to watch at the feast
Then sweep up the night
Flipped pieces of coin
/ Broken bottles
Exchanged for birthright
/ Grafted in a jiffy
/ Strung out committee
/ Sitting pretty
/ Graphed in a jiffy
/ No pity, pretty
The ghetto prince of gutter poets
Was bounced out of the room
/ Jean Arthur Rimbaud
By the bodyguards of greed
For disturbing the tomb
/ 1873
His words like flamethrowers
/ Paris commune
Burnt the ghettos in their chests
His face was painted whiter
And he was laid to rest
/ Died in marseille
/ Buried in charleville
/ Shut up
Soap floods oil in water
All churn in the wake
On the great ship of progress
The crew can't find the brake
Klaxons are blaring
The admiral snores command
Submarines boil in oceans
While the armies fight with suns
bigD

Morganfield, KY

#67 Jan 27, 2013
Roses are red. My name is not Dave. This poem makes no sense. Microwave.
Unpoet

Owensboro, KY

#68 Jan 27, 2013
bigD wrote:
Roses are red. My name is not Dave. This poem makes no sense. Microwave.
Actually, if you microwave roses, they will be more brown than red.
Hmmm

Campbell, NY

#69 Jan 27, 2013
Why did I think the last line should read "Burma-Shave"?
Unpoet

Owensboro, KY

#70 Jan 27, 2013
Hmmm wrote:
Why did I think the last line should read "Burma-Shave"?
Putting Burma Shave on roses is almost as bad for them as the microwave. I don't even know when those Burma Shave commercials were on. Was it the 1950's or when? Most roses will have wilted severely since then, Burma Shave or none.
Hmmm

Campbell, NY

#71 Jan 27, 2013
Burma-Shave advertised on a series of small signs spaced a few seconds apart on highways all over America when I was a kid in the 1950s. The last sign was always "Burma-Shave". The poems passed for roadside entertainment in a simpler time. I kinda miss 'em.
Sappho

Princeton, KY

#72 Jan 27, 2013
Poetry about women in love or having sex is hot.
red stang....

Brandenburg, KY

#73 Jan 27, 2013
I really enjoy Robert Frost

In Neglect

They leave us so to the way we took,
As two in whom they were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

“I'm almost awesome”

Level 5

Since: Dec 12

jersey city

#74 Jan 27, 2013
[QUOTE who="red stang...."]I really enjoy Robert Frost
In Neglect
They leave us so to the way we took,
As two in whom they were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.
Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.[/QUOTE]

Yes, Frost is always a good choice. I like "In Neglect" too.

“Still counting”

Since: Jan 13

Owensboro

#75 Jan 29, 2013
Poets. Priests of nothing. Legends. And I thought there was a connection.
hmmm

Princeton, KY

#76 Jan 29, 2013
Lisa_is_allinkedup wrote:
Poets. Priests of nothing. Legends. And I thought there was a connection.
Stevie nicks?
spam

Cadiz, KY

#77 Jan 29, 2013
More like ham. Huha!
musicispoetry

Princeton, KY

#78 Jan 29, 2013
On a long and lonesome highway
East of Omaha
You can listen to the engine
Moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman
Or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering
The way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours
And there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin',
You just wish the trip was through

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page

Well you walk into a restaurant,
Strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you
As you're shakin' off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you
But you just want to explode

Most times you can't hear 'em talk,
Other times you can
All the same old cliches,
"Is that a woman or a man?"
And you always seem outnumbered,
You don't dare make a stand

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page

Out there in the spotlight
You're a million miles away
Every ounce of energy
You try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body
Like the music that you play

Later in the evening
As you lie awake in bed
With the echoes from the amplifiers
Ringin' in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette,
Rememberin' what she said

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
There I go
There I go
hmmm

Princeton, KY

#79 Jan 29, 2013
musicispoetry wrote:
On a long and lonesome highway
East of Omaha
You can listen to the engine
Moanin' out his one note song
You can think about the woman
Or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering
The way they always do
When you're ridin' sixteen hours
And there's nothin' much to do
And you don't feel much like ridin',
You just wish the trip was through

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page

Well you walk into a restaurant,
Strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you
As you're shakin' off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you
But you just want to explode

Most times you can't hear 'em talk,
Other times you can
All the same old cliches,
"Is that a woman or a man?"
And you always seem outnumbered,
You don't dare make a stand

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page

Out there in the spotlight
You're a million miles away
Every ounce of energy
You try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body
Like the music that you play

Later in the evening
As you lie awake in bed
With the echoes from the amplifiers
Ringin' in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette,
Rememberin' what she said

Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
Here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
There I go
There I go
Bob Seger.
Bukowski

Princeton, KY

#80 Jan 29, 2013
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

@Charles Bukowski
toastranger

Princeton, KY

#81 Jan 29, 2013
PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,
You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking,(it comes to me, as of a dream,)
I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,
All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,
You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,
I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body
mine
only,
You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard,
breast,
hands, in return,
I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,
I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,
I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Walt Whitman
Silentium Amoris

Princeton, KY

#82 Jan 29, 2013
As often-times the too resplendent sun
Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon
Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won
A single ballad from the nightingale,
So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail,
And all my sweetest singing out of tune.

And as at dawn across the level mead
On wings impetuous some wind will come,
And with its too harsh kisses break the reed
Which was its only instrument of song,
So my too stormy passions work me wrong,
And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.

But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show
Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung;
Else it were better we should part, and go,
Thou to some lips of sweeter melody,
And I to nurse the barren memory
Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.
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