Poetry

[ScottSabourin 0]

I'm about to post one of my four favourite works... anyone who has read the Perks of Being a Wallflower should know it.

 

 

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Chops"

because that was the name of his dog

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A

and a gold star

And his mother hung it on the kitchen door

and read it to his aunts

That was the year Father Tracy

took all the kids to the zoo

And he let them sing on the bus

And his little sister was born

with tiny toenails and no hair

And his mother and father kissed a lot

And the girl around the corner sent him a

Valentine signed with a row of X's

and he had to ask his father what the X's meant

And his father always tucked him in bed at night

And was always there to do it

 

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Autumn"

because that was the name of the season

And that's what it was all about

And his teacher gave him an A

and asked him to write more clearly

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because of its new paint

And the kids told him

that Father Tracy smoked cigars

And left butts on the pews

And sometimes they would burn holes

That was the year his sister got glasses

with thick lenses and black frames

And the girl around the corner laughed

when he asked her to go see Santa Claus

And the kids told him why

his mother and father kissed a lot

And his father never tucked him in bed at night

And his father got mad

when he cried for him to do it

 

Once on a paper torn from his notebook

he wrote a poem

And he called it "Innocence: A Question"

because that was the question about his girl

And that's what it was all about

And his professor gave him an A

and a strange steady look

And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door

because he never showed her

That was the year that Father Tracy died

And he forgot how the end

of the Apostle's Creed went

And he caught his sister

making out on the back porch

And his mother and father never kissed

or even talked

And the girl around the corner

wore too much makeup

That made him cough when he kissed her

but he kissed her anyway

because that was the thing to do

And at three A.M. he tucked himself into bed

his father snoring soundly

 

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

Because that's what it was really all about

And he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

And he hung it on the bathroom door

because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.

 

___

My others are:

The Robert Frost one about the two splitting paths (can never remember the name)

Shakespeare's Sonnet CXLI

Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven

[Mithraia Coeur 0]

Perks of Being A Wallflower is one of my favorite books! Awesome!

 

I love poetry, it's hard for me to try and pick a few I really love. There are too many.

 

I love Sonnet 116 by Shakespeare. Mad Girl's Love Song by Plath...And a ton more I couldn't even begin to list.

[ScottSabourin 0]

haha!

Perks of Being a Wallflower is my favourite book.. ever... ... really ;)

 

::looks up Sonnet 116::

Ah... yes, I remember this... I love it :P

[Images 0]

My favourite poets? Well for his absolute metaphysical sexual obsession I'll go with John Donne. And for his extreme darkness and melancholy nature I shall go with William Blake.

 

Both genius!

[Mithraia Coeur 0]

John Donne is AWESOME.

 

 

.. I wub you for knowing his work. ;)

[Images 0]

John Donne is AWESOME.

 

 

.. I wub you for knowing his work. ;)

Awwwwww, I'm wubbed!

 

Of course dude! He's the man. "The Sun Rising"'s my personal favourite. I know a few of his others are much deeper but that's the one I enjoy reading the most. Just rolls off the tongue the most.

[Nicolas Lepage 0]

If I had to name my favourite English poems I'd have to say quite a few of Shakespeare's sonnets, maybe Sonnet 29 the most.

Edited June 18, 2005 by Nicolas Lepage

[Taalix 0]

  The Robert Frost one about the two splitting paths (can never remember the name)

The Road Less Traveled?

 

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 onto 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 took the one less traveled by

And that has made all the difference

 

I love that poem.

 

I always loved My Shadow by Robert Louis Stevenson when I was little:

 

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.

[Mithraia Coeur 0]

Awwwwww, I'm wubbed!

 

Of course dude! He's the man. "The Sun Rising"'s my personal favourite. I know a few of his others are much deeper but that's the one I enjoy reading the most. Just rolls off the tongue the most.

Lots and loves of wub! :P

 

"The Sun Rising" is definitely awesome. One of my faves. I also really adore "Love's Alchemy", "Farewell to Love" & "To His Mistress Going to Bed".. though I really admire all his work.

 

Ah.. you rock. ;)

[Images 0]

Ah.. you rock. ;)

*Bows and bows*

 

Lovely to meet a chick interested in the metaphysical poets. Most I know go for Sylvia Plath or Haiku :P

[DigitalLava 0]

 

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag

he tried another poem

And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"

Because that's what it was really all about

And he gave himself an A

and a slash on each damned wrist

And he hung it on the bathroom door

because this time he didn't think

he could reach the kitchen.

 

The last stanza of the poem is very sad...but i like the poem alot.

[JesusTrekkie 0]

I like Ogden Nash, Emily Dickinson, and of course Shel Silverstein...

[Seiben 0]

I like Robert Frost, and Poe as poets. As for a favourite poem.. I don't know. Didn't really get into poetry that much.. sucks to be me. ;)

[STSF NDak 0]

I'm a Poetry Geek ;)

 

My favorites are Elie Wiesel, Charles Reznikoff, T. S. Elliot, Walt Whitman, Carl Sandberg, Jim Morrison, Allen Ginsburg, and a few others...

 

My Favorite poem (okay I have two...well actually I like a whole bunch of poems but these two are the winners...)

 

The Hollow Men, by T.S. Elliot

 

Mistah Kurz - he dead. A penny for the Guy

 

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats' feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar

 

 

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

 

 

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

 

 

II

 

 

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

In death's dream kingdom

These do not appear:

There, the eyes are

Sunlight on a broken column

There, is a tree swinging

And voices are

In the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn

Than a fading star.

 

 

Let me be no nearer

In death's dream kingdom

Let me also wear

Such deliberate disguises

Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves

In a field

Behaving as the wind behaves

No nearer --

 

 

Not that final meeting

In the twilight kingdom

 

 

III

 

 

This is the dead land

This is cactus land

Here the stone images

Are raised, here they receive

The supplication of a dead man's hand

Under the twinkle of a fading star.

 

 

Is it like this

In death's other kingdom

Waking alone

At the hour when we are

Trembling with tenderness

Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone.

 

 

IV

 

 

The eyes are not here

There are no eyes here

In this valley of dying stars

In this hollow valley

This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

 

 

In this last of meeting places

We grope together

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

 

 

Sightless, unless

The eyes reappear

As the perpetual star

Multifoliate rose

Of death's twilight kingdom

The hope only

Of empty men.

 

 

V

 

 

Here we go round the prickly pear

Prickly pear prickly pear

Here we go round the prickly pear

At five o'clock in the morning.

 

 

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

 

 

For Thine is the Kingdom

 

 

Between the conception

And the creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

 

 

Life is very long

 

 

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

 

 

For Thine is

Life is

For Thine is the

 

 

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

 

 

 

and

Never Shall I Forget, by Elie Wiesel

 

Never shall I forget that night,

the first night in camp,

which has turned my life into one long night,

seven times cursed and seven times sealed.

 

Never shall I forget that smoke.

Never shall I forget the little faces of the children,

whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke

beneath a silent blue sky.

 

Never shall I forget those flames

which consumed my faith forever.

Never shall I forget that nocturnal silence which deprived me,

for all eternity, of the desire to live.

 

Never shall I forget those moments

which murdered my God and my soul

and turned my dreams to dust.

 

Never shall I forget these things,

even if I am condemned to live as long as God Himself. Never.

[Mithraia Coeur 0]

*Bows and bows*

 

Lovely to meet a chick interested in the metaphysical poets. Most I know go for Sylvia Plath or Haiku ;)

Heh, well .. I like those too. But I remember really enjoying the metaphysical poets in school. It was my favorite subject to study. Which made me want to read more.

 

I just basically appreciate anything that happens to touch me. :P

[Travis Kroells 0]

The sad duck song...

 

I am very sad today

I can not pay my bill

I do not belive the whooping crane

And doubt the whippoorwill

 

::looks around::

 

What?

[Kestra 0]

I'm currently studying Greek lyric poetry, and I'm amazed by Sappho. Anyone else?