It's National Poetry Month!

[Glen]

Post your favorite poem that doesn't begin with "There once was a man from Nantucket..."  I'll get it started with a bit of misery.

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This Be The Verse

By Philip Larkin

They fuck 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 fucked 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.

 

Philip Larkin, "This Be the Verse" from Collected Poems. Copyright © Estate of Philip Larkin.  Reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber, Ltd.

Source: Collected Poems (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 2001)

[Blarg]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

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.

 

It is a complex poem hidden inside of a string simple words. 

[mtangelsfan]

My favorite poem ever Blarg.  ^^^^

[mtangelsfan]

Here is another Frost poem:

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 it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice.

[red321]

I liked the poem they quote in the volvo commercial...went to look it up...realized it was longer than war and peace and got bored

[Blarg]

31 minutes ago, mtangelsfan said:

My favorite poem ever Blarg.  ^^^^

Learned that in 7th grade from my English teacher that was from New Zealand. Between her heavy accent and my poor hearing that was about all I learned other than this little gem.

Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon Pickle Received from a Friend Called Felicity

During that summer
When unicorns were still possible;
When the purpose of knees 
Was to be skinned;
When shiny horse chestnuts
    (Hollowed out
    Fitted with straws
    Crammed with tobacco
    Stolen from butts
    In family ashtrays)
Were puffed in green lizard silence
While straddling thick branches
Far above and away
From the softening effects
Of civilization;

During that summer--
Which may never have been at all;
But which has become more real
Than the one that was--
Watermelons ruled.

Thick imperial slices 
Melting frigidly on sun-parched tongues
Dribbling from chins;
Leaving the best part,
The black bullet seeds,
To be spit out in rapid fire
Against the wall
Against the wind
Against each other;

And when the ammunition was spent,
There was always another bite:
It was a summer of limitless bites,
Of hungers quickly felt 
And quickly forgotten
With the next careless gorging.

The bites are fewer now.
Each one is savored lingeringly,
Swallowed reluctantly.

But in a jar put up by Felicity,
The summer which maybe never was
Has been captured and preserved.
And when we unscrew the lid
And slice off a piece
And let it linger on our tongue:
Unicorns become possible again.

John Tobias

 

Watermelon is still my favorite summer treat but have never had it pickled. 

[Adam]

Glen is a dick

His face makes me sick

I like him though, it's weird

Something about that beard

If given the chance I'll give it a lick

Glen is a dick

[Tank]

Back in the the old AOL Grandstand days, @Inside Pitch and I and a few others decided one aprils' fool day to bombard several different baseball message boards as huge trolls. I decided that my method would be to write sarcastic poetry as frequently as possible. in particular, trolling the mariner's board was of utmost fun. I wrote an ode to Randy Johnson to the tune of country singer Jim Reeves "Adios, Amigo", as it was right as the big unit was about to become a free agent. Best fun I'd had on the internet at that point. I only wish I had kept those poems somewhere.

 

Long Live Mooky Spice.

Edited April 4, 2017 by Tank

[Adam]

Ask anyone you see, take a poll

My man Tank is a dastardly troll

He thinks he's funny, he has no clue

his wife makes him steaks made of tofu

[Tank]

we once had a friend we called mad man

whose mom always acted like a madam

she'd find us a "date"

and we thought "this is great!"

until we found out it was adam

[Inside Pitch]

36 minutes ago, Tank said:

Back in the the old AOL Grandstand days, @Inside Pitch and I and a few others decided one aprils' fool day to bombard several different baseball message boards as huge trolls. I decided that my method would be to write sarcastic poetry as frequently as possible. in particular, trolling the mariner's board was of utmost fun. I wrote an ode to Randy Johnson to the tune of country singer Jim Reeves "Adios, Amigo", as it was right as the big unit was about to become a free agent. Best fun I'd had on the internet at that point. I only wish I had kept those poems somewhere.

 

Long Live Mooky Spice.

Where have you gone Mooky Spice???  ...  A nation turns its lonely eyes to you....

I may or may not have orchestrated Mooky Day...

Good times..

#NeverforgetMDIC

 

[Amazing Larry]

We tag walls at night

We sleep all day

We ain't got no jobs

We sell weed to make pay

 

A drive-by here

A robbery there

We stab fools for fun

We don't care

 

We're gang bangers and derelicts

Not doctors and lawyers

We have no future

We're fans of the Doyyers!

 

[Adam]

I think finishing is so 2009

[Brandon]

3 hours ago, Tank said:

Back in the the old AOL Grandstand days, @Inside Pitch and I and a few others decided one aprils' fool day to bombard several different baseball message boards as huge trolls. I decided that my method would be to write sarcastic poetry as frequently as possible. in particular, trolling the mariner's board was of utmost fun. I wrote an ode to Randy Johnson to the tune of country singer Jim Reeves "Adios, Amigo", as it was right as the big unit was about to become a free agent. Best fun I'd had on the internet at that point. I only wish I had kept those poems somewhere.

 

Long Live Mooky Spice.

what poem did you do for randy winn?

[Tank]

2 hours ago, Brandon said:

what poem did you do for randy winn?

ode to a baseball god.

[Tank]

10 hours ago, Blarg said:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

By Robert Frost

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.

 

It is a complex poem hidden inside of a string simple words. 

the best thing about this poem? this . . .

 

[Make Angels Great Again]

[ABC]

[Slegnaac]

Resume 

Razors pain you,

Rivers are damp,

Acids stain you,

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful, 

Nooses give,

Gas smells awful.

You might as well live.

 

Dorothy Parker 

[mrwicked]

One that comes to mind is "If..." by Rudyard Kipling.

If you can keep your head when all about you
  Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
  But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
  Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
  And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
  If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
  And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
  Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
  And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
  And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
  To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
  Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
  Or walk with Kings — nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
  If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
  With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
  And which is more: you'll be a Man, my son!

[arch stanton]

 

[halomatt]

Theme for English B

 

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you--
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it's that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It's not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I'm what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me--we two--you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me--who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records--Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn't make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?

Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white--
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That's American.
Sometimes perhaps you don't want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that's true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me--
although you're older--and white--
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.

Langston Hughes

[Blarg]

He got a C for being B in B. 

[Ordos]

Night falls

and skins it's knee

[Tank]

1 hour ago, Ordos said:

Night falls

and skins it's knee