Re: Poetry
 

Ok.. I'll pm you here in a bit so I can get your name.. -

Re: Poetry
 

_________________________________________
Fragments of closure
Bleeding blue
The color of my soul
I was painted when you left
Screaming black
The color of the world
The life sucked dry – my vampire -
Gray cloud death
Your vanishing feelings
Unforgetting rainy day
Nothing left
The story of my life
Pick up the pieces again
Moving on
My closure complete now
The need for you – memory

Goodbye.
____________________________________________

I wrote this as I was typing (freestyle), so it's pretty fragmented (hence the title). But I decided to keep it anyway. I guess it kind of... well... signifies my closure. Since you obviously couldn't guess that.... Not at all...

Re: Poetry
 

Good poem, mariolover.

Amen.

Re: Poetry
 

This isn't a poem that I made, but it's a poem that I like (if ever there was such a thing...):

As I was going up the stairs,
I met a man who wasn't there.
He wasn't there again today,
I wish I wish he'd go away.

It's a modernized version of an older, similar poem. They used it in the movie "Identity." Good times.

Re: Poetry
 

=-D Thats cool. Im going to memorize that one.

Re: Poetry
 

that can often be the best...wonderful imagery!!!

Re: Poetry
 

Thanks Kitana. And wow. Your poem was awesome. I really appreciated the repeated theme.

I really liked that one that PureEvil(?) posted too.

One of my favorite poems is the childrens poem Mr. Nobody (maybe that's not the name, but it's about a guy named Mr. Nobody). I used to read that all the time when I was little. I'll have to look it up.

What are your favorite poems (regardless of who wrote them)? Post them here along with your own.

Re: Poetry
 

:lol: Mr. Nobody... ahhh, that reminds me of something. Err, it's completely unrelated to what you're thinking about, but maaa-aaan, would a poem about the Mr. Nobody I'm thinking about be hilarious.

Re: Poetry
 

Is this it?



Mr. Nobody

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody's house!
There's no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr. Nobody.

'Tis he who always tears our books,
Who leaves the door ajar,
He pulls the buttons from our shirts,
And scatters pins afar;
That squeaking door will always squeak,
For, prithee, don't you see,
We leave the oiling to be done
By Mr. Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
That kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud,
And all the carpets soiled.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There's no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody.

The finger marks upon the door
By none of us are made;
We never leave the blinds unclosed,
To let the curtains fade.
The ink we never spill; the boots
that lying round you see
Are not our boots -- they all belong
To Mr. Nobody.

(http://www.cswnet.com/~erin/child.htm#mrn)

Re: Poetry
 

My favorite poem is this... read it once...then read what I have at the bottem, then read it again

anyone lived in a pretty how town
e. e. cummings
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

*
*
*
*
*
*
Anyone is a man, noone is a woman.... with this in mind, reread the poem.








Isn't it a beautiful love story?

Re: Poetry
 

Haha. Yeah, that's it. I haven't heard that for years. I still like it a lot. Thanks for that.

Wow! That's definately on my top 3 list for favorite poems. I had read some e.e. cummings, but not that particular piece. That's REALLY cool.

Re: Poetry
 

This isn't my favorite poem, but I like Russell Edson a lot...

A Stone Is Nobody's

A man ambushed a stone. Caught it. Made it a prisoner.
Put it in a dark room and stood guard over it for the
rest of his life.

His mother asked why.

He said, because it's held captive, because it is
captured.

Look, the stone is asleep, she said, it does not know
whether it's in a garden or not. Eternity and the stone
are mother and daughter; it is you who are getting old.
The stone is only sleeping.

But I caught it, mother, it is mine by conquest, he said.

A stone is nobody's, not even its own. It is you who are
conquered; you are minding the prisoner, which is yourself,
because you are afraid to go out, she said.

Yes yes, I am afraid, because you have never loved me,
he said.

Which is true, because you have always been to me as
the stone is to you, she said.

This one is good too.

Ape


You haven't finished your ape, said mother to father,
who had monkey hair and blood on his whiskers.

I've had enough monkey, cried father.

You didn't eat the hands, and I went to all the
trouble to make onion rings for its fingers, said mother.

I'll just nibble on its forehead, and then I've had enough,
said father.

I stuffed its nose with garlic, just like you like it, said
mother.

Why don't you have the butcher cut these apes up? You lay
the whole thing on the table every night; the same fractured
skull, the same singed fur; like someone who died horribly. These
aren't dinners, these are post-mortem dissections.

Try a piece of its gum, I've stuffed its mouth with bread,
said mother.

Ugh, it looks like a mouth full of vomit. How can I bite into
its cheek with bread spilling out of its mouth? cried father.

Break one of the ears off, they're so crispy, said mother.

I wish to hell you'd put underpants on these apes; even a
jockstrap, screamed father.

Father, how dare you insinuate that I see the ape as anything
more thn simple meat, screamed mother.

Well what's with this ribbon tied in a bow on its privates?
screamed father.

Are you saying that I am in love with this vicious creature?
That I would submit my female opening to this brute? That after
we had love on the kitchen floor I would put him in the oven, after
breaking his head with a frying pan; and then serve him to my husband,
that my husband might eat the evidence of my infidelity . . . ?

I'm just saying that I'm damn sick of ape every night,
cried father.

Re: Poetry
 

That ape poem is disgusting and weird, yet erotic. Just the thought of the mother getting drilled by a monkey on a kitchen floor and then cooking it is disturbing. I hope you're happy, you've contaminated my pure, virgin mind.

Re: Poetry
 

You're welcome. =-D

Re: Poetry
 

I swear to God you just ruined this whole thread...