the obligatory poetry thread

B

blake

Child ofthe lesser God
Joined
Dec 5, 2003
Messages
336
Age
46
Location
Detroit, Mi
So Blake is sitting at home, bored, and he comes accross this poem. It is very good, if you like sad things. Tell me what you think of it, or better yet if you don't find me a total cheeze head, post a poem that you like in this thread so i can find some more good poetry to add to this little collection of poems book i have going.

anyway here it is.....

Falling from a building a million stories High,
You were hoping when you pushed me, I wouldn't have to die
You were hoping when i hit bottom It wouldn't leave a mark,
All you were hoping, was for this fire to go dark
You were hoping you could leave me, and I wouldn't miss a beat
You were hoping when you pushed me, I'd land on my own two feet.
You were hoping when you pushed me that i'd majically forget,
You were hoping when you pushed me, I wouldn't be upset
You were hoping all the tears I cried were really only rain.
You were hoping when I crashed below I wouldn't feel the pain
You were hoping when you plugged your ears,
You wouldn't hear my heart splatter,
You were hoping it was just a dream, that it never really mattered
You were hoping when you closed your eyes,
You wouldnt see my desperate face,
You were hoping that time would rewind,
and everything would be erased.
How I hate to Burst your bubble but you cannot always be the faker.
Sometimes your heart gets broken, sometimes you are the breaker
So I'll bury my butchered heart But please accept your guilt,
Leave me alone to tear down these walls, that together we built.
 
E.Dickinson

241

I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true"”
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe"”

The Eyes glaze once"”and that is Death"”
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.

I basically worship every single of her poems😉
 
That actually makes me think of something i read of hers once,
I don't know what it's from but it's very good:

"Parting is all we know of heaven,
and all we need of Hell."
 
Spirits of the Dead, by Edgar Allan Poe

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness- for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
 
Mmm. Sylvia Plath. This is by far my favourite poem of all time. The imagery, the phrasing, it's all so perfect. I read it back in 9th grade to my English class. I don't think they quite got it, especially the teacher. Oh well, it's amazing.

"Daddy"
by Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time --
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You --

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two --
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you *******, I'm through.
 
Holy crap, Miss World. I am so glad you posted that. It's an absolutely amazing poem! Gave me chills. I've always thought that Sylvia Plath was sort of a fru-fru chick writer (for no other reason than the way her name sounded in my head) and that was the first piece of hers I've ever read. I'm going to have to go out and find more now!

Thank you, thank you, thank you for sparking my interest in a new writer!
 
Woah...that was a heavy poem indeed! Good show!

Lorne, Poe is brilliant.

anna8, short and very powerful I thought...

as was Blakes quote of.."Parting is all we know of heaven,
and all we need of Hell." That just struck me in a very strong way...and the poem you posted...I absolutely loved it...If we really do get a printer for Christmas...I will print that...😉
 
Okay...Dolphin's turn to share! This poem is very short and shockingly brutal and strangely beautiful, and it's always been one of my favorites. It's kind of like the Reader's Digest condensed book version of the Cliff's Notes for the novel Catch 22.

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
Randall Jarrell

From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom