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Old 04-21-2013, 08:10 PM  
Holladay Holladay is offline
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your favorite poem

My son has a school project. What is MY favorite poem. I have no idea, other then Roses are Red..etc.

Gimme your best shot.
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Old 04-21-2013, 08:53 PM   #16
Raiderhader Raiderhader is offline
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Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't really fuzzy
Was he?
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Old 04-21-2013, 08:55 PM   #17
Raiderhader Raiderhader is offline
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A yellow bird
With a yellow bill
Landed on my window sill
I lured him in with some crumbs of bread
And then I smashed his yellow head



The crap I learned from my father growing up.....
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-- George Orwell, Shooting an Elephant
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Old 04-21-2013, 08:58 PM   #18
KChiefer KChiefer is offline
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This is one that hung on the wall of my French class if your kid REALLY wants to seem like he's "up his own ass":

Quote:
Déjeuner du matin

Il a mis le café
Dans la tasse
Il a mis le lait
Dans la tasse de café
Il a mis le sucre
Dans le café au lait
Avec la petite cuiller
Il a tourné
Il a bu le café au lait
Et il a reposé la tasse
Sans me parler
Il a allumé
Une cigarette
Il a fait des ronds
Avec la fumée
Il a mis les cendres
Dans le cendrier
Sans me parler
Sans me regarder
Il s'est levé
Il a mis
Son chapeau sur sa tête
Il a mis
Son manteau de pluie
Parce qu'il pleuvait
Et il est parti
Sous la pluie
Sans une parole
Sans me regarder
Et moi j'ai pris
Ma tête dans ma main
Et j'ai pleuré.
Quote:
Breakfast

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He poured the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He stirred it
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without speaking to me
He lighted a cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He put the ash
Into the ashtray
Without a word
Without looking at me
He got up
He put a hat on his head
He put on his raincoat
As it was raining
And he left
Into the rain
Without speaking to me
Without looking me
And I put
My head into my hands
And I cried.

-Jacques Prévert
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Old 04-21-2013, 09:00 PM   #19
Brendan08901 Brendan08901 is offline
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"Stopping by Woods on Snowy Evening"
By Robert Frost
"He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sounds a sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake."

I'm Back
By Eminem
"Sorry Puff but I don't give a **** if this chick was my own mother,
Id still **** her with no rubber and cum inside her and a son and a new brother at the same time,
and just say that it aint mine"

Both geniuses ahead of their time.
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Old 04-21-2013, 09:02 PM   #20
angelo angelo is offline
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I am weak
Looking to get stronger
When I open my eyes all the way
It's all there is for me
Kindness is strength
It's easier to close a door, than to keep it open
Hatred is easy
Frustration is life on pause
These are truths that are hard for me to deal with
I learned a lot this year
I think I am stronger than last year
Self-creation is painful
Trying to take my parent's blood out of mine
Trying to stand on my own two feet
Without leaning on someone else
Looking to myself for total strength
To be
One
From
None

Henry Rollins
O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.


O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Walt Whitman

Ang
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Old 04-21-2013, 09:04 PM   #21
SPATCH SPATCH is offline
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"Ode to a Grecian Urn" by Keats
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Old 04-21-2013, 09:35 PM   #22
Mrs. Loopner Mrs. Loopner is offline
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Always like this one... and it might be more your son's speed...

Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!

by Jack Prelutsky
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:12 PM   #23
Reaper16 Reaper16 is offline
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Many of my favorite current poets would probably be too...different for your son's project. So I'll recommend Auden. 'As I Walked Out One Evening' perhaps, or 'Musee des Beaux Arts'
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:17 PM   #24
Planetman Planetman is offline
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Raiderhader View Post
A yellow bird
With a yellow bill
Landed on my window sill
I lured him in with some crumbs of bread
And then I smashed his yellow head



The crap I learned from my father growing up.....
Sounds like the poetry my father recites to me.

The woodpecker pecked on the school house door.
He pecked and he pecked til his pecker was sore.
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:19 PM   #25
Agent V Agent V is offline
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A Story That Could Be True

- William Stafford

If you were exchanged in the cradle and
your real mother died
without ever telling the story
then no one knows your name,
and somewhere in the world
your father is lost and needs you
but you are far away.

He can never find
how true you are, how ready.
When the great wind comes
and the robberies of the rain
you stand on the corner shivering.
The people who go by--
you wonder at their calm.

They miss the whisper that runs
any day in your mind,
"Who are you really, wanderer?"--
and the answer you have to give
no matter how dark and cold
the world around you is:
"Maybe I'm a king."
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:19 PM   #26
Shogun Shogun is offline
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I've read everything Charles Bukowski ever wrote, This is the best of them all.

That man is a legend.

Let It Enfold You

either peace or happiness,
let it enfold you

when I was a young man
I felt these things were
dumb, unsophisticated.
I had bad blood, a twisted
mind, a precarious
upbringing.

I was hard as granite, I
leered at the
sun.
I trusted no man and
especially no
woman.

I was living a hell in
small rooms, I broke
things, smashed things,
walked through glass,
cursed.
I challenged everything,
was continually being
evicted, jailed,in and
out of fights, in and out
of my mind.
women were something
to screw and rail
at, I had no male
freinds,

I changed jobs and
cities, I hated holidays,
babies, history,
newspapers, museums,
grandmothers,
marriage, movies,
spiders, garbagemen,
english accents,spain,
france,italy,walnuts and
the color
orange.
algebra angred me,
opera sickened me,
charlie chaplin was a
fake
and flowers were for
pansies.

peace an happiness to me
were signs of
inferiority,
tenants of the weak
an
addled
mind.

but as I went on with
my alley fights,
my suicidal years,
my passage through
any number of
women-it gradually
began to occur to
me
that I wasn't different

from the
others, I was the same,

they were all fulsome
with hatred,
glossed over with petty
greivances,
the men I fought in
alleys had hearts of stone.
everybody was nudging,
inching, cheating for
some insignificant
advantage,
the lie was the
weapon and the
plot was
empty,
darkness was the
dictator.

cautiously, I allowed
myself to feel good
at times.
I found moments of
peace in cheap
rooms
just staring at the
knobs of some
dresser
or listening to the
rain in the
dark.
the less I needed
the better I
felt.

maybe the other life had worn me
down.
I no longer found
glamour
in topping somebody
in conversation.
or in mounting the
body of some poor
drunken female
whose life had
slipped away into
sorrow.

I could never accept
life as it was,
i could never gobble
down all its
poisons
but there were parts,
tenous magic parts
open for the
asking.

I re formulated
I don't know when,
date, time, all
that
but the change
occured.
something in me
relaxed, smoothed
out.
i no longer had to
prove that I was a
man,

I did'nt have to prove
anything.

I began to see things:
coffee cups lined up
behind a counter in a
cafe.
or a dog walking along
a sidewalk.
or the way the mouse
on my dresser top
stopped there
with its body,
its ears,
its nose,
it was fixed,
a bit of life
caught within itself
and its eyes looked
at me
and they were
beautiful.
then- it was
gone.

I began to feel good,
I began to feel good
in the worst situations
and there were plenty
of those.
like say, the boss
behind his desk,
he is going to have
to fire me.

I've missed too many
days.
he is dressed in a
suit, necktie, glasses,
he says, 'I am going
to have to let you go'

'it's all right' I tell
him.

He must do what he
must do, he has a
wife, a house, children.
expenses, most probably
a girlfreind.

I am sorry for him
he is caught.

I walk onto the blazing
sunshine.
the whole day is
mine
temporailiy,
anyhow.

(the whole world is at the
throat of the world,
everybody feels angry,
short-changed, cheated,
everybody is despondent,
dissillusioned)

I welcomed shots of
peace, tattered shards of
happiness.

I embraced that stuff
like the hottest number,
like high heels, breasts,
singing,the
works.

(dont get me wrong,
there is such a thing as cockeyed optimism
that overlooks all
basic problems just for
the sake of
itself-
this is a shield and a
sickness.)

The knife got near my
throat again,
I almost turned on the
gas
again
but when the good
moments arrived
again
I did'nt fight them off
like an alley
adversary.
I let them take me,
i luxuriated in them,
I bade them welcome
home.
I even looked into
the mirror
once having thought
myself to be
ugly,
I now liked what
I saw,almost
handsome, yes,
a bit ripped and
ragged,
scares, lumps,
odd turns,
but all in all,
not too bad,
almost handsome,
better at least than
some of those movie
star faces
like the cheeks of
a baby's
butt.

and finally I discovered
real feelings of
others,
unheralded,
like lately,
like this morning,
as I was leaving,
for the track,
i saw my wife in bed,
just the
shape of
her head there
(not forgetting
centuries of the living
and the dead and
the dying,
the pyramids,
Mozart dead
but his music still
there in the
room, weeds growing,
the earth turning,
the toteboard waiting for
me)
I saw the shape of my
wife's head,
she so still,
I ached for her life,
just being there
under the
covers.

I kissed her in the,
forehead,
got down the stairway,
got outside,
got into my marvelous
car,
fixed the seatbelt,
backed out the
drive.
feeling warm to
the fingertips,
down to my
foot on the gas
pedal,
I entered the world
once
more,
drove down the
hill
past the houses
full and empty
of
people,
I saw the mailman,
honked,
he waved
back
at me.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by CHENZ A! View Post
I'm just saying there's all sorts of shit i could be doing! I could watch a movie, play a video game, rub one out, read a book, learn a foreign language, etc.. But i'm still watching the assholes because i love them, and I hate myself
- On watching the Royals.
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:19 PM   #27
Planetman Planetman is offline
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I sent this little gem to a woman via text when asked for a poem.

Roses area red
Violets are blue
Poems are hard.
So am I.
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:25 PM   #28
'Hamas' Jenkins 'Hamas' Jenkins is offline
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Yeats' "The Second Coming" is the most referenced poem of the 20th century; "He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven" might be the most beautiful;

Pound's "Hugh Selwyn Mauberly" is dense enough to stand up to dozens of readings but accessible enough not to require poring over to get a drip of info out of.

Ted Hughes' "Daffodils" is wonderful

Others:

Wallace Stevens: The Snowman

Stanley Kunitz: The Wellfleet Whale

Randall Jarrell: The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

Frost: Nothing Gold can Stay

Wilfred Owen: Dulce et Decorum est
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:28 PM   #29
Direckshun Direckshun is offline
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The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me—he complains of my gab and my loitering.

I too am not a bit tamed—I too am untranslatable;
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
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Old 04-21-2013, 10:44 PM   #30
Discuss Thrower Discuss Thrower is online now
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This Be the Verse
BY PHILIP LARKIN
They **** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were ****ed up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
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- credit goes to BoneKrusher for the pic

"Inception: (in-ˈsep-shən)--n. the act of convincing a female (usually out of one’s league) to have sex with you by making the female think it is her own idea.
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