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Thread: Favourite Poems & Poems that moved you

  1. #391
    hyggelig Array EJCC's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    173 so/sx


    "Night Errand" by Eric Berlin

    O, Great Northern Mall, you dwindling oracle
    of upstate New York, your colossal lot

    of frost-heaved spaces so vacant I could cut
    straight through while blinking and keep my eyes

    shut, I’ve come like the flies that give up the ghost
    at the papered fronts of your defunct stores,

    through the food court where napkins, unused
    to touch, are packed too tight to be dispensed,

    past the pimpled kid manning the register
    who stares at the buttons and wipes his palms.

    If I press my eyes until checkers rise
    from the dark – that’s how the overheads glower

    in home essentials as I roam through Sears,
    seeking assistance. I know you’re here.

    For this window crank I brought, you show me
    a muted wall of TVs where Jeff Goldblum

    picks his way through the splintered remains
    of a dinosaur crate. There must be fifty

    of him, hunching over mud to inspect
    the three-toed prints. I almost didn’t

    come in here at all, driving the opposite
    of victory laps, and waiting as I hoped

    for the red to leave my eyes, but my urgency
    smacked of your nothingness. I did it again –

    I screamed at the woman I love, and in front
    of our one-year-old, who covered his ears.
    and it's nice enough to
    make a man
    weep, but I don't
    weep, do

    ESTJ - LSE - ESTj (mbti/socionics)
    1w2/7w6/3w4 so/sx (enneagram)
    lawful good (D&D) / ravenclaw or gryffindor (HP) / boros legion (M:TG)
    conscientious > sensitive > serious (oldham)
    want to ask me something? go for it!

  2. #392
    hyggelig Array EJCC's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    173 so/sx


    "Great Apes & Monkey Business" by Mark Gibbons

    I don’t know about you, Joe, but I
    try to be clever in most conversations:
    swapping stories with the warehouse-boys
    at work, or talking rock-n’-roll trivia
    to my teenage sons; bullshitting friends
    I don’t see as often as I’d like,

    and (always) when I sit down to write.
    I read other poets and admire
    their cleverness, surprising details,
    a whistling ability to keep me laughing
    while they walk me through the dark.

    I’m not impressed or entertained by poems
    that hinge upon a studied knowledge of the classics.
    That kind of cleverness usually bores me (or pisses me off)
    like an inside joke I have to learn to get —
    a goddamn research project —
    when all I want is an honest song, bloody & lusty.

    No one farts or fucks in those literary cantos,
    though the allusions may be there
    if you’d care to explicate & analyze:
    “Apollo’s swift sword cuts the wind.”
    And here I am being witty again

    at the expense of my academic brethern.
    I sit in the cheap seats & take pot shots
    at those fair-haired, hard-backed-first-edition
    canon-ites who’ve made poetry what it is today:
    un-common, incorrigible, & aloof. Balls I say!
    Poetry needs more beans, more bananas & more beer.

    Gimme a Whitman, a Bukowski, or a Jim Harrison
    poem, something earthy or dirty with guts —
    like a foxy Jimi Hendrix tune. Let it swing & scream,
    let it prance & wink, make every syllable count.
    I want it to bury me like my father’s death.

    That’s the poem I want. Clever or not,
    just make it real; touch me; make me sweat.
    I want to remember what you can’t forget.
    I want to feel it, I want to breathe it,
    I want to bleed it & believe . . .
    that somehow I am this poem.
    and it's nice enough to
    make a man
    weep, but I don't
    weep, do

    ESTJ - LSE - ESTj (mbti/socionics)
    1w2/7w6/3w4 so/sx (enneagram)
    lawful good (D&D) / ravenclaw or gryffindor (HP) / boros legion (M:TG)
    conscientious > sensitive > serious (oldham)
    want to ask me something? go for it!

  3. #393
    Phoenix Flame Array cosmic royal's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jul 2015
    5w4 sx/sp
    ILI Te


    This honestly describes the damn spiral I'm in.

    The Void
    by Charles Baudelaire

    I feel null and void
    I feel disturbed confused annoyed
    angered by the lack of meaning
    meaning what I’m not sure of
    distraught by distress
    dressed without self-impress
    second-guessed fractalized into infinity
    a Void in my game-plan
    for where determinancy used to be
    awaken me!
    I can’t even sleep in this Void of non-entity
    titulate my desire to re-Create
    something worthy of being admired
    if only by Me
    the only Being that I know with constancy

    5w4 4w3 8w9 sx/sp/so

  4. #394
    hyggelig Array EJCC's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2008
    173 so/sx


    "Taking Off Emily Dickinson's Clothes" by Billy Collins

    First, her tippet made of tulle,
    easily lifted off her shoulders and laid
    on the back of a wooden chair.

    And her bonnet,
    the bow undone with a light forward pull.

    Then the long white dress, a more
    complicated matter with mother-of-pearl
    buttons down the back,
    so tiny and numerous that it takes forever
    before my hands can part the fabric,
    like a swimmer's dividing water,
    and slip inside.

    You will want to know
    that she was standing
    by an open window in an upstairs bedroom,
    motionless, a little wide-eyed,
    looking out at the orchard below,
    the white dress puddled at her feet
    on the wide-board, hardwood floor.

    The complexity of women's undergarments
    in nineteenth-century America
    is not to be waved off,
    and I proceeded like a polar explorer
    through clips, clasps, and moorings,
    catches, straps, and whalebone stays,
    sailing toward the iceberg of her nakedness.

    Later, I wrote in a notebook
    it was like riding a swan into the night,
    but, of course, I cannot tell you everything -
    the way she closed her eyes to the orchard,
    how her hair tumbled free of its pins,
    how there were sudden dashes
    whenever we spoke.

    What I can tell you is
    it was terribly quiet in Amherst
    that Sabbath afternoon,
    nothing but a carriage passing the house,
    a fly buzzing in a windowpane.

    So I could plainly hear her inhale
    when I undid the very top
    hook-and-eye fastener of her corset

    and I could hear her sigh when finally it was unloosed,
    the way some readers sigh when they realize
    that Hope has feathers,
    that reason is a plank,
    that life is a loaded gun
    that looks right at you with a yellow eye.
    and it's nice enough to
    make a man
    weep, but I don't
    weep, do

    ESTJ - LSE - ESTj (mbti/socionics)
    1w2/7w6/3w4 so/sx (enneagram)
    lawful good (D&D) / ravenclaw or gryffindor (HP) / boros legion (M:TG)
    conscientious > sensitive > serious (oldham)
    want to ask me something? go for it!
    Likes Cloudpatrol liked this post

  5. #395
    Trick or treat Array Eskimo2's Avatar
    Join Date
    Apr 2015


    From Teenage Dirtbag'

    Ill post the clip later because the way he reads it is wonderful as well.


    "A squirrel, two sparrows.
    A crippled dog.
    Hit. Grasp, save, grasp, hit, miss.
    Miss. Miss again.
    And I see your eyes.
    Fur, feathers. Blood. And that noise.
    Tree, fence, sunshine. Miss. Save.
    Hit. Hit again. And that noise.
    I'd pick you up from the grass.
    But there's nowhere to take you...
    I am one of them.
    Sister of mine, don't worry.
    Hit, miss, save.
    Skin, bruises, blood.
    And I see your eyes too, Sister.
    I say don't worry, but what am I going to do?
    I'd pick you up, but where would I take you?
    I am one of them."

  6. #396
    In Deep Smit Array Cloudpatrol's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2016
    I have great faith in fools. My friends call it self-confidence.

  7. #397
    . Array
    Join Date
    Jul 2014
    614 sx/so
    ESI Fi


    Disbelief In Yourself Is Indispensable by Yevgeny Yevtushenko

    While you're alive it's shameful to worm your way into
    the Calendar of Saints.
    Disbelief in yourself is more saintly.
    It takes real talent not to dread being terrified
    by your own agonizing lack of talent.

    Disbelief in yourself is indispensable.
    Indispensable to us is the loneliness
    of being gripped in the vise,
    so that in the darkest night the sky will enter you
    and skin your temples with the stars,
    so that streetcars will crash into the room,
    wheels cutting across your face,
    so the dangling rope, terrible and alive,
    will float into the room and dance invitingly in the air.

    Indispensable is any mangy ghost
    in tattered, overplayed stage rags,
    and if even the ghosts are capricious,
    I swear, they are no more capricious than those who are alive.

    Indispensable amidst babbling boredom
    are the deadly fear of uttering the right words
    and the fear of shaving, because across your cheekbone
    graveyard grass already grows.

    It is indispensable to be sleeplessly delirious,
    to fail, to leap into emptiness.
    Probably, only in despair is it possible
    to speak all the truth to this age.

    It is indispensable, after throwing out dirty drafts,
    to explode yourself and crawl before ridicule,
    to reassemble your shattered hands
    from fingers that rolled under the dresser.

    Indispensable is the cowardice to be cruel
    and the observation of the small mercies,
    when a step toward falsely high goals
    makes the trampled stars squeal out.

    It's indispensable, with a misfit's hunger,
    to gnaw a verb right down to the bone.
    Only one who is by nature from the naked poor
    is neither naked nor poor before fastidious eternity.

    And if from out of the dirt,
    you have become a prince,
    but without principles,
    unprince yourself and consider
    how much less dirt there was before,
    when you were in the real, pure dirt.
    Our self-esteem is such baseness....
    The Creator raises to the heights
    only those who, even with tiny movements,
    tremble with the fear of uncertainty.

    Better to cut open your veins with a can opener,
    to lie like a wino on a spit-spattered bench in the park,
    than to come to that very comfortable belief
    in your own special significance.

    Blessed is the madcap artist,
    who smashes his sculpture with relish-
    hungry and cold-but free
    from degrading belief in himself.
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  8. #398
    Bizarre Love Triangle Array Puffypolma's Avatar
    Join Date
    Feb 2016


    Chance by Xu Zhimo

    I am a cloud in the sky,
    A chance shadow on the wave of your heart.
    Don't be surprised,
    Or too elated;
    In an instant I shall vanish without trace.
    We meet on the sea of dark night,
    You on your way, I on mine.
    Remember if you will,
    Or, better still, forget
    The light exchanged in this encounter.
    I don't want to die in a car accident. When I die it'll be a glorious day. It'll probably be a waterfall.
    -River Phoenix
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  9. #399


    Annabel Lee.
    by Edgar A. Poe

    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of Annabel Lee; —
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea;
    But we loved with a love that was more than love —
    I and my Annabel Lee —
    With a love that the wingéd seraphs in Heaven
    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her high-born kinsmen came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre,
    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
    Went envying her and me —
    Yes! — that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we —
    Of many far wiser than we —
    And neither the angels in Heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: —

    For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee: —
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling — my darling — my life and my bride,
    In her sepulchre there by the sea —
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.
    "You can tell more about a person by what he says about others than you can by what others say about him."- Audrey Hepburn

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  10. #400
    In Deep Smit Array Cloudpatrol's Avatar
    Join Date
    Jan 2016


    "If love should count you worthy
    and should deign one day to seek your door
    and be your guest,
    Pause! ere you draw the bolt
    and bid him rest,
    If in your old content you would remain.
    For not alone he enters: in his train
    are angels of the mists
    the lonely quest,
    dreams of the unfulfilled and unpossessed,
    and sorrow, and life's immemorial pain.
    He wakes desires you never may forget,
    He shows you stars you never saw before,
    He makes you share with him, for evermore,
    the burden of the world's divine regret.
    How wise you were to open not!- and yet, how poor
    if you should turn him from your door."
    --Sidney Royse Lysaght
    I have great faith in fools. My friends call it self-confidence.

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