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09-18-2008, 11:03 PM | #1 |
I know, right?
Join Date: Aug 2008
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Favorite Poetry
I am taking a poetry class.
I have what you might call "poem anxiety", the way some folks have "math anxiety." Well, I have math anxiety too. It's getting better, though. I think. Anyway, I stumbled across this poem in my book today, and really liked it. Maybe y'all could post your favorites here too. Marks by Linda Pastan My husband gives me an A for last night's supper, an incomplete for my ironing, a B plus in bed. My son says I am average, an average mother, but if I put my mind to it I could improve. My daughter believes in Pass/Fail and tells me I pass. Wait 'til they learn I'm dropping out. |
09-19-2008, 06:51 AM | #3 |
I know, right?
Join Date: Aug 2008
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Oops, I missed those threads; figured there would be at least one or two, but I admit I didn't look that hard.
Oh well. |
09-19-2008, 07:20 AM | #4 |
polaroid of perfection
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: West Yorkshire
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Not to worry - there's enough threads about Sarah Palin - I'm much happier to have another poetry one!
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Life's hard you know, so strike a pose on a Cadillac |
09-21-2008, 04:44 AM | #5 |
Person who doesn't update the user title
Join Date: Jul 2002
Location: Southern California
Posts: 6,674
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Perhaps a Sonnet?
How about picking out a few perennials among the great English sonnets?
I met a traveller from an antique land Who said: two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies Whose frown, and wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command Tell that the sculptor well those passions read, Stamped on these lifeless things. And on the pedestal these words appear: 'I am Ozymandias, King of Kings, Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. --Shelley. From memory. It's been worth keeping inside, unpapered, to reel it out every once in a while. Two I have not memorized but should are Saul's Death by Saberhagen, and John Evereldown, to which I am composing a pipe tune.
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09-21-2008, 11:09 PM | #6 |
to live and die in LA
Join Date: Feb 2003
Location: Los Angeles
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W.H. Auden, "September 1, 1939" - one of my favorites. Read the whole thing here.
A few choice selections: Faces along the bar Cling to their average day: The lights must never go out, The music must always play, All the conventions conspire To make this fort assume The furniture of home; Lest we should see where we are, Lost in a haunted wood, Children afraid of the night Who have never been happy or good. ... For the error bred in the bone Of each woman and each man Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love But to be loved alone. ... We must love one another or die. Auden actually went back and edited the poem late in laugh, and made it considerably darker. He changed that last line to "We must love one another and die." which is so heartbreakingly perfect.
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to live and die in LA |
09-21-2008, 11:14 PM | #7 |
Thats "Miss Zipper Neck" to you.
Join Date: Sep 2006
Location: little town (but not the littlest) in texas
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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 all of 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 toenail 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 asked his father what the X's meant And his father tucked him in bed at night And was always there to do it Once on a 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 the 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 Clause 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 a 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 make-up That made him cough when he kissed her but he did anyway because that was the thing to do And at three AM 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. -from "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky BTW my name is from this book
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Addicts may suck dick for coke, but love came up with the idea to put a dick in there to begin with. -Jack O'Brien |
09-22-2008, 11:20 AM | #8 |
Slattern of the Swail
Join Date: Jul 2004
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Ok....but, isn't it a bit...(dare I?) self-indulgent? I see how it progresses, but it's rather NORMAL progression,isn't it? we can't all go round slitting our wrists coz mommy and daddy don't pay us as much mind as they once did...not critizing your poem,MTP, just wondering at some of it. Is this ok or "not the place for it?" I'll bow to democratic vote, or, just do what Sundae tells me.
Here's one: Anne Sexton, My Friend, My Friend Who will forgive me for the things I do? With no special legend of God to refer to, With my calm white pedigree, my yankee kin, I think it would be better to be a Jew. I forgive you for what you did not do. I am impossibly quilty. Unlike you, My Friend, I can not blame my origin With no special legend or God to refer to. They wear The Crucifix as they are meant to do. Why do their little crosses trouble you? The effigies that I have made are genuine, (I think it would be better to be a Jew). Watching my mother slowly die I knew My first release. I wish some ancient bugaboo Followed me. But my sin is always my sin. With no special legend or God to refer to. Who will forgive me for the things I do? To have your reasonable hurt to belong to Might ease my trouble like liquor or aspirin. I think it would be better to be a Jew. And if I lie, I lie because I love you, Because I am bothered by the things I do, Because your hurt invades my calm white skin: With no special legend or God to refer to, I think it would be better to be a Jew. Here's
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In Barrie's play and novel, the roles of fairies are brief: they are allies to the Lost Boys, the source of fairy dust and ...They are portrayed as dangerous, whimsical and extremely clever but quite hedonistic. "Shall I give you a kiss?" Peter asked and, jerking an acorn button off his coat, solemnly presented it to her. —James Barrie Wimminfolk they be tricksy. - ZenGum |
09-22-2008, 12:32 PM | #9 |
Thats "Miss Zipper Neck" to you.
Join Date: Sep 2006
Location: little town (but not the littlest) in texas
Posts: 2,957
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I don't mind the question Bri. I think part of the reason I liked it is b/c it is sorta a normal progression. Our slow disillusionment as we grow and how things change. But its an overreaction in the end, the guy's inability to cope and find the positive. No we can't all go slitting our wrists, but we all struggle to cope. We all struggle to find the positive. And it breaks some of us.
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Addicts may suck dick for coke, but love came up with the idea to put a dick in there to begin with. -Jack O'Brien |
09-24-2008, 05:59 AM | #10 |
Doctor Wtf
Join Date: Oct 2007
Location: Badelaide, Baustralia
Posts: 12,861
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Love's Philosophy
P B Shelley The Fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle - Why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdain'd its brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea - But what be all these sweet works worth, If thou kiss not me? One for the romantic types to keep memorised. I have not used it "cold" (i.e first date/ first kiss) but I've recited this to established partners, and it worked then. I reckon, in the right place and the right time, it'd bridge that little gap of personal space. If anyone tries it, do report back.
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Shut up and hug. MoreThanPretty, Nov 5, 2008. Just because I'm nominally polite, does not make me a pussy. Sundae Girl. |
09-24-2008, 06:43 AM | #11 |
Slattern of the Swail
Join Date: Jul 2004
Posts: 15,654
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Oh, it'll work, ZenGum, it'll work.
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In Barrie's play and novel, the roles of fairies are brief: they are allies to the Lost Boys, the source of fairy dust and ...They are portrayed as dangerous, whimsical and extremely clever but quite hedonistic. "Shall I give you a kiss?" Peter asked and, jerking an acorn button off his coat, solemnly presented it to her. —James Barrie Wimminfolk they be tricksy. - ZenGum |
09-24-2008, 08:37 AM | #12 | |
Why, you're a regular Alfred E Einstein, ain't ya?
Join Date: Jun 2006
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Quote:
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A word to the wise ain't necessary - it's the stupid ones who need the advice. --Bill Cosby |
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09-29-2008, 09:57 PM | #13 |
I know, right?
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Poem of the Day....
a/k/a what my poetry assignment was based upon. Not Writing by Jane Kenyon A wasp rises to its papery nest under the eaves where it daubs at the gray shape, but seems unable to enter its own house. |
09-30-2008, 07:57 AM | #14 |
Doctor Wtf
Join Date: Oct 2007
Location: Badelaide, Baustralia
Posts: 12,861
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Re: Juni's poem.
I'm a bit doubtful about that one. Can you suggest a meaning beyond what is on the surface (which isn't a good one because the wasp is not building its own house but a nursery/larder for its young, but I don't think that's the point, this being poetry and all). What did you say about it?
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Shut up and hug. MoreThanPretty, Nov 5, 2008. Just because I'm nominally polite, does not make me a pussy. Sundae Girl. |
09-30-2008, 11:23 AM | #15 |
Slattern of the Swail
Join Date: Jul 2004
Posts: 15,654
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Baby Witch
Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . . I blow upon your least fingernail & it flares cyclamen & rose. I suck flames from your ears. I touch your perfect nostrils & they, too, flame gently like that pale rose called "sweetheart". Your eyelids are tender purple like the base of the flame before it blues. O child of fire, O tiny devotee of the Goddess-- I wished for you to be born a daughter though we know that daughters cannot but be born for burning like the fatal tree. © Erica Mann Jong -------------------------------------------------------- Copyright ©1997-2008 Erica Mann Jong
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In Barrie's play and novel, the roles of fairies are brief: they are allies to the Lost Boys, the source of fairy dust and ...They are portrayed as dangerous, whimsical and extremely clever but quite hedonistic. "Shall I give you a kiss?" Peter asked and, jerking an acorn button off his coat, solemnly presented it to her. —James Barrie Wimminfolk they be tricksy. - ZenGum |
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