The Poetry Thread

[renasimplified]

Song of My Heart, I wrote this today. Mostly because I am very lonely and afraid.


Song of my heart,
broken wing,
let us part,
falling down,
fields flowing,
winds blowing,
Song of my heart,
broken wing,
A falling start,
no sound,
earth shaking,
walls crumbling,
Song of my heart,
Broken.

[stromboli]

Very nice, Rena. A little humor maybe....

Read my lips- Apocalypse!

we're gonna get Raptured into the sky
Don't get rowdy or you won't fly

(you realize there's half a chance
you might get caught in your underpants)

For atheists that has appeal
them suddenly free automobiles!

And don't be sinful, oh my dears!
You'll be stuck here for 7 years!

Who's the Beast? Well, we're not sure
but watch your back and bar the door

Current thinking, fundie trauma
They all swear it must be Obama

You or me? Mmm nope
(although they say it could be the Pope)

Jesus is coming with his angel chorus
riding a horse like ol' Chuck Norris

All us sinners don't have a chance
so for 7 years let's sing and dance!

When Jesus said he was coming soon
Everybody thought- "this afternoon!"

Unfortunately, it appears
he decided to wait 2,000 years

If you're worried (I'm really not)
because us atheists don't worry a lot.

Don't be frettin' and don't be a grousin'
'cause it might take another thousand.

And don't be afraid of what you heard-
Apocalypse is just a word!

Stephen Young

[Solomon Zorn]

This is my darkest poem yet. I wrote it last weekend. It was inspired by a news story I heard some time ago.

“Fingers”
http://www.solomonzorn.com/fingers.html

[Brian37]

Nice Zorn.

[Solitary]

The Eyes, Voice, And Black Heart Of An Angel

It is the years when from the wows
The Queen of Rock scream is heard;

It is the day---when lover's nows
Seem sweet in every erotic word;

And gentle caresses and bodies near,
Make music to the lovers ear.

Each rose the dews have aerially wet,
And in the heavens with the moon we met,

And on the wave is deeper crimson and blue,
And on the skin a reddish hue,

And in the sky that is mostly obscure
So softly dark hair, and dark eyes pure,

That stalking the never more of day,
As twilight last glowing beneath the moon gone away.

Oh how I miss my Jay Jay my love and soul mate.
Just because I was stupid and didn't show for a date.

[stromboli]

Damn, Sol, that's deep. Seeing a whole different person lately. You aren't just a cranky old man after all..

[Solitary]

Thanks! It means a lot coming from you. I didn't know I came across cranky, sorry about that, I only get like that with ignorant people, then I'm more than cranky. Did I ask for your fucking opinion? DID I? Just kidding, that was a response from the person I wrote the poem about, when I told her three years ago I loved her. I didn't know at the time that she kind of did me too. I still do, considering I'm married to the love of my life, it's ridiculous, but love is a form of insanity and being too brave in my opinion. It's idealizing someone that may not be one that should be , like people loving God.

[Solitary]

Friendship and lover

Gust! Gust! the winter wind,
You aren't so very kind.
As a bigots ingratitude;
Your fang is not so clean
Because you are not seen,
Although your puff be rude.

You blow! and blow! at the green holly:
Most friendship is counterfeit, most lovers mere folly:
Then, you blast!  destroying the holly!
This existence is most jolly.


Frigid, frigid,  the bitter sky,
You shall not bite so high.
As advantage forgot:
Though from you the waters part,
Your sting is not so smart.
As friends recollect not.

You blow! yodel blow! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is counterfeit, most lovers mere folly:
Then, you blow the holly!
This existence is most jolly.

[PickelledEggs]

Pizza.
You are my love.
You fill me with joy and satisfaction.
How are you not in my stomach today?
I yearn for you.
One day I will see you again.

Sent from your mom

[Solitary]

  I know what you mean, I so wanted a pizza for supper tonight.   

[Shiranu]

Not mine, but one that feels relevant to my life so far.

"The Lovesong Of J. Alfred Prufrock"

[spoiler]

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair â€"
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin â€"
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
               So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them allâ€"
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
               And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them allâ€"
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
               And should I then presume?
               And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet â€" and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”â€"
If one, settling a pillow by her head
               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
               That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floorâ€"
And this, and so much more?â€"
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
               â€œThat is not it at all,
               That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculousâ€"
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

[/spoiler]

[PickelledEggs]

I forgot that the "Sent from your mom" thing happens when I send things from my phone... lol Whatever it works haha

[Mequa]

Peace and Joy

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Colours and comfort and peace and joy.
Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Love and happiness and bliss and peace.

I glow within and I reach it,
That place of stillness, peace and calm.
Stress melts away, light years away,
And light shines out and colours and scents.

Vivid transformation,
Like a butterfly from a cocoon.
All seems vivid and glowing and peaceful,
Life shines forth in calm repose.

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Light shines within and darkness does leave me.
I sit in joy, warm peace and glow,
Reach out in contentment, stretch out a hand.

So pleasant to simply be,
Sit at rest, stretch, breathe and wonder.


- Mequa

[Solitary]

Maybe we are in a cocoon of illusion, and will become an eternal being, free from suffering and pain. Nice poem!

[Solomon Zorn]

Peace and Joy

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Colours and comfort and peace and joy.
Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Love and happiness and bliss and peace.

I glow within and I reach it,
That place of stillness, peace and calm.
Stress melts away, light years away,
And light shines out and colours and scents.

Vivid transformation,
Like a butterfly from a cocoon.
All seems vivid and glowing and peaceful,
Life shines forth in calm repose.

Peace and joy, peace and joy,
Light shines within and darkness does leave me.
I sit in joy, warm peace and glow,
Reach out in contentment, stretch out a hand.

So pleasant to simply be,
Sit at rest, stretch, breathe and wonder.


- Mequa

I grok you, man.