Jump to content

Poetry


abasio

Recommended Posts

I am looking for some books on Poetry. But not flowery wishy washy crap that make us read at school that IMO puts 99% of kids of the whole idea of poetry.

 

I am looking for stuff like Wallace Stevens - Anglais Mort a Florence

 

exerpt

 

He was that music & himself.

They were particles of order, a single majesty:

But he remembered a time when he stood alone.

 

He stood at last by God's help and the police;

But he remembered the time when he stood alone.

He yielded himself to that single majesty;

 

But he remembered the time when he stood alone.

When to be and delight to be seemed to be one,

Before the colors deepened and grew small.

 

anyone else read poetry?

Link to comment
Share on other sites

yes but mostly greek stuff , but for english you could check Charles Bukowski for example ...

 

The Crunch

 

too much too little

 

too fat

too thin

or nobody.

 

laughter or

tears

 

haters

lovers

 

strangers with faces like

the backs of

thumb tacks

 

armies running through

streets of blood

waving winebottles

bayoneting and fucking

virgins.

 

an old guy in a cheap room

with a photograph of M. Monroe.

 

there is a loneliness in this world so great

that you can see it in the slow movement of

the hands of a clock

 

people so tired

mutilated

either by love or no love.

 

people just are not good to each other

one on one.

 

the rich are not good to the rich

the poor are not good to the poor.

 

we are afraid.

 

our educational system tells us

that we can all be

big-ass winners

 

it hasn't told us

about the gutters

or the suicides.

 

or the terror of one person

aching in one place

alone

 

untouched

unspoken to

 

watering a plant.

 

people are not good to each other.

people are not good to each other.

people are not good to each other.

 

I suppose they never will be.

I don't ask them to be.

 

but sometimes I think about

it.

 

the beads will swing

the clouds will cloud

and the killer will behead the child

like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.

 

too much

too little

 

too fat

too thin

or nobody

 

more haters than lovers.

 

people are not good to each other.

perhaps if they were

our deaths would not be so sad.

 

meanwhile I look at young girls

stems

flowers of chance.

 

there must be a way.

 

surely there must be a way that we have not yet

thought of.

 

who put this brain inside of me?

 

it cries

it demands

it says that there is a chance.

 

it will not say

"no."

 

 

Charles Bukowski

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 4 weeks later...

My first stab

 

Horizons

 

Stepped out of infinity,

plus one more beautiful step in finite self.

The liquid shade of a pulse,

too whole to mix with my limited self.

Out of something comes,

the void of nothingness inside its heart.

A borrowed skin upon me,

I am 30 times the speed of night.

A nomad to the karmic light,

I find the empty house at the end of my mind.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

My first stab

 

Horizons

 

Stepped out of infinity,

plus one more beautiful step in finite self.

The liquid shade of a pulse,

too whole to mix with my limited self.

Out of something comes,

the void of nothingness inside its heart.

A borrowed skin upon me,

I am 30 times the speed of night.

A nomad to the karmic light,

I find the empty house at the end of my mind.

Nice atmosphere, did you write it yourself?
Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 5 weeks later...

deep mid

 

A thin sliver of light

a contrast against the darkness

as I sat there I felt the cold hand of death

that morning sat by the window

as I looked on winter's frost

a light snow began to fall

on the plains and the treeless hills

on monuments and grave stones

on the living and the dead

I sat as my essence dripped away

and I departed the linear plane

two feelings, one warm the other cold

I thought it would be the other way

Link to comment
Share on other sites

untitled chance

 

chances missed on warm summer evening

calls gone unanswered in the night

sitting waiting on nothing

still we are all alone

 

chances never come again

try and try as we might

we can never change what has already passed

at the end of times we are alone

 

to change our fates we must wait

inteminably wait for what may never come

but hope eternal drives us on

to try and not be so alone

Link to comment
Share on other sites

The Green Room

 

Green grass, green walls

brown skies, brown borders

sit a while and take it in

surrounded by hope, melancholy

try to see what is beyond

hide what lies beneath

pain comes to all men

all men dream

what can it be if not I

angels won't worship

as we lie in fields of green

green grass, green walls

melt under scrutiny

there is nothing there

but what we hide inside

crawling up like a spider

brown skies, brown borders

swallow inside what we never were

what we never are

Link to comment
Share on other sites

After Dark

 

The date is about to change

no one sees 363

east failed to see before

west will miss it later

the air is musty

smells of booze and spices

shrill voices chatter away

always a girl is crying

friends comforting

a kiss goodnight

hand in hand

go home or carry on here

choices to make

how long can we wake?

what does tomorrow bring?

the date has already changed

Link to comment
Share on other sites

What about Paradise Lost by John Milton, or Dante's La Divina Commedia?

Does that apply?I don't know much 'bout poetry, and I don't know Wallace Stevens.

I think those are Epic Poetry quite difficult to read if you are not in a fanciful mood :ph34r:
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Eyes See Sounds

 

Eyes see in the dark,

everything we keep hidden.

Confessions kept deep in the closet,

beside the skeletons;

behind closed eyelids.

All is clear;

no bright glare,

distracts us from it.

Under the skin we feel more,

in our deepest inner thoughts,

we project the furthest.

Sit a while and wonder,

for thought is the greatest teacher.

It can be better to commune alone,

than to join a voracious choir.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 2 months later...

German poetry ftw:

 

Alfred Henschke: Es hat ein Gott

 

Es hat ein Gott mich ausgekotzt,

Nun lieg ich da, ein Haufen Dreck,

Und komm und komme nicht vom Fleck.

 

Doch hat er es noch gut gemeint,

Er warf mich auf ein Wiesenland,

Mit Blumen selig bunt bespannt.

 

Ich bin ja noch so tatenjung.

Ihr Blumen sagt, ach, liebt ihr mich?

Gedeiht ihr nicht so reich durch mich?

Ich bin der Dung! Ich bin der Dung!

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Damn... Didn't know u were a poet Posted Image Nice!

Posted Image

 

I really like the first one:

 

My first stab

 

Horizons

 

Stepped out of infinity,

plus one more beautiful step in finite self.

The liquid shade of a pulse,

too whole to mix with my limited self.

Out of something comes,

the void of nothingness inside its heart.

A borrowed skin upon me,

I am 30 times the speed of night.

A nomad to the karmic light,

I find the empty house at the end of my mind.

 

I'm not a big poetry fan, but I really like the poem by Rutger Hauer from Blade Runner:

 

"I've seen things, you people wouldn't believe, hmmm.

... attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.

I've watched C Beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate.

All those moments, will be lost in time like tears in rain..."

 

 

Posted Image

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Damn... Didn't know u were a poet Posted Image Nice!

Posted Image

 

I really like the first one:

 

 

 

I'm not a big poetry fan, but I really like the poem by Rutger Hauer from Blade Runner:

 

"I've seen things, you people wouldn't believe, hmmm.

... attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.

I've watched C Beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate.

All those moments, will be lost in time like tears in rain..."

 

 

Posted Image

 

I used to put that in so many of my mixes! Will have to make a comeback for that B)

Link to comment
Share on other sites

  • 1 month later...
  • 2 weeks later...

I am not really a poetry expert but I have always liked jim morrisons "poetry" his song lyrics obviously , but also his "real" poetry:

 

"Have you ever seen God?"

-a mandala. A symmetrical angel.

 

Felt? yes. Fucking The Sun.

Heard? Music. Voices.

Touched? an animal. your hand.

Tasted? Rare meat, corn, water,

& wine.

 

 

 

the song "celebration of the lizzard king" consists of 7 poems the end of it I really like the way he ends the song/story/journey:

 

for seven years, i dwelt

in the loose palace of exile

playing strange games with the girls of the island

now, i have come again

to the land of the fair, and the strong, and the wise

brothers and sisters of the pale forest

children of night

who among you will run with the hunt?

now night arives with her purple legion

Retire now to your tents and to your dreams

Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth

I want to be ready'

 

 

offcourse it so much better when Jim sings/says it.

Link to comment
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Restore formatting

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

×
×
  • Create New...