.poetry.

[Ckit]

not exactly a visual art but fuck it.
i know there are some poets on this board.

contribute any form of poetry you might have.

to start it off. my first spanish poem.



.globos pt 3.


Globos perdidos.


Toman los cielos;
los fantasmas de soldados plasticos.


Alli;
cruz y cruz y cruz

durmiendo con castillos de arena.


Balancin.
Chirrando cantos torando.

Solitario.


Columpios:
sin ninos.

Oscilando a melodias
de poesias no recordadas.

Oxido,
pintura quebrada,


un columpio de llanta.

Rotas.


Estar



y estar.



Y estar.



loosely translated to something like this.




Abandoned Balloons.



Take the spirit of a plastic soldier to its heavenly grave.


vine-cloaked crosses mark the sites of sleeping sandcastles.
the seesaws creak their crooked melodies.


Lonely.



Unweighted swings sway to the rhythm of poems i cant remember.

Rust, cracked paint.
and a tire swing:

broken.



they remain.


and they remain.



and they remain.

[sabe2005]

right on.

Heres one:

A nation divided, devils to confide in
Incapacitated conductor
Bush, what do you really stand for?
We have strayed a long way my people
From following an eye for an eye, to jusify
The frustration inside
Morph our directions, vertical mobility
Challenge political propaganda, ie: crafty bribery
Stand up, no cryin' shame in civilian anarchy
To revolutionize the corruption for peacefull means
Political upheaval, break 'em at the fucking seams

[thecarwreck]

"In A Station Of The Metro"


The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.


—Ezra Pound


Sure, the guy was an anti-semite, a fascist, and a misogynist, but damn it all; he could write.


I've been trying to do a poem a day for the past week or so. Maybe I'll post some. More than likely I'll just be a cock and critique everything else. It's the 12oz. poetry workshop.

[conspiringone]

:blush:

[seeking]

you're supposed to stand for smoking alot of weed? wow. parents must be proud.
rappers are retarded and poetry is for faggots.

[conspiringone]

Dude it's like...a metaphor, geesh. :rolleyes2:

[Nyarlathotep]

i think seeking wants to let his inner poet burst happily into the forefront, and announce its brimming joy to tell tales of woe and gayety...but he feels opressed by the jocular stigma of not only being a mans man.. he feels.......he feels that possbly the world isnt ready for such tender emissions to flow from his being as though he were a being of pure emotion. constantly masticating its energy,extricating it in the form on boundless ideal...creating landscapes of heavenly wonders..

i know this much...self suffocation of your own poetic heart...is the same as death by russian roullete alone..

please seeking.......let your inner poet fly free.

[Ckit]

haha


Balloons.

A touch a freedom,
mixed with the present reality that rubber is easy to choke on.

[Ckit]

Nothing But Death - Paublo Neruda.


There are cemeteries that are lonely,
graves full of bones that do not make a sound,
the heart moving through a tunnel,
in it darkness, darkness, darkness,
like a shipwreck we die going into ourselves,
as though we were drowning inside our hearts,
as though we lived falling out of the skin into the soul.

And there are corpses,
feet made of cold and sticky clay,
death is inside the bones,
like a barking where there are no dogs,
coming out from bells somewhere, from graves somewhere,
growing in the damp air like tears of rain.

Sometimes I see alone
coffins under sail,
embarking with the pale dead, with women that have dead hair,
with bakers who are as white as angels,
and pensive young girls married to notary publics,
caskets sailing up the vertical river of the dead,
the river of dark purple,
moving upstream with sails filled out by the sound of death,
filled by the sound of death which is silence.

Death arrives among all that sound
like a shoe with no foot in it, like a suit with no man in it,
comes and knocks, using a ring with no stone in it, with no
finger in it,
comes and shouts with no mouth, with no tongue, with no
throat.
Nevertheless its steps can be heard
and its clothing makes a hushed sound, like a tree.

I'm not sure, I understand only a little, I can hardly see,
but it seems to me that its singing has the color of damp violets,
of violets that are at home in the earth,
because the face of death is green,
and the look death gives is green,
with the penetrating dampness of a violet leaf
and the somber color of embittered winter.

But death also goes through the world dressed as a broom,
lapping the floor, looking for dead bodies,
death is inside the broom,
the broom is the tongue of death looking for corpses,
it is the needle of death looking for thread.

Death is inside the folding cots:
it spends its life sleeping on the slow mattresses,
in the black blankets, and suddenly breathes out:
it blows out a mournful sound that swells the sheets,
and the beds go sailing toward a port
where death is waiting, dressed like an admiral.




ps. neruda is the shit.

[sabe2005]

Another from today.

This

Is love
The highest high
Attainable only after you die
Then when you reach
Reach again,
Your eyes and warm embrace
Can brighten up my darkest face
When I give up, say fuck the human race
You come near and wisper in my ear
Everything I need to hear, "I'm here."
This world was made for you
You have the responsiblity to enjoy and do
Love and persue
Enlighten and question
Love these ever changing blessings
But I have one confession
My breath, I have problems catching

[thecarwreck]

sentimentality is the worst thing for poetry. ever.

[Ckit]

Originally posted by seeking@Mar 15 2006, 02:22 PM
poetry is for faggots.
Quoted post

did your parents never read you nursery rhymes as a kid?

and for the record, poetry gets you ten times as many girls as graffiti.

[seeking]

so alone.
pitch black, cold...
lights from passing cars
CRASH
across my window, but...
no one stops.
a train in the distance,
rythmic and pounding
reapeat
repeat
repeat
it never changes
never falters
never notices
it's no different than the people that surround me
always moving, never
slowing
never
stopping
never
ever
realizing the
fucking sarcasm.


it's possible to write a good poem, it just happens about as often as i win the lottery. fuck yo couch nigga.

[_nightcrawler]

did your parents never read you nursery rhymes as a kid?

and for the record, poetry gets you ten times as many girls as graffiti.

He is suprisingly correct

[{holy}random+++]

all this poetry is lovely. nice like flowers.
my poetry is much more harsh.

[King Of Hell]

I call this one "In the key of awesome."

Boomshaka-laka.
I'll kick you where you caca.
I've got a black marker
and I'm hairy like Chewbacca.
Boomshaka-laka.

[Nekro]

Nobody should be allowed to write poetry before the age of 30.

[dailycrunch]

Another from today.

This

Is love
The highest high
Attainable only after you die
Then when you reach
Reach again,
Your eyes and warm embrace
Can brighten up my darkest face
When I give up, say fuck the human race
You come near and wisper in my ear
Everything I need to hear, "I'm here."
This world was made for you
You have the responsiblity to enjoy and do
Love and persue
Enlighten and question
Love these ever changing blessings
But I have one confession
My breath, I have problems catching


dude, are you serious?

[thecarwreck]

Nekro onpoint.

Sabe, go read some Ted Kooser, Billy Collins, Marvin Bell, Linda Gregerson, Louise Gluck, or Robert Hass.

Seriouly, bad poetry is like bad graffiti (or photography, or anything else): it's easy as all fuck to pick out and is even worse when the person putting it out there thinks it's the hottest shit going. Learn then write.

[Gunm]

Stand on point
No boots straps here
Easy to walk away
When your shoulder already has a crutch
to lean on

Where do i stand?
I collapsed on the grit
Sidewalk all up in my teeth
You're still walking and looking back
But there's another hand around your shoulder

How long will you lean?
How long before that hand falls away
And I can be picked up again?




lens being one emo mo fo'

[Issac Brock]

did your parents never read you nursery rhymes as a kid?

and for the record, poetry gets you ten times as many girls as graffiti.

nah dude, just write their name, they love that shit.:cool:

[Milk Grenades]

Yakka Yakka the sounds so grand
It's from a bird named Stan
He would sing it wildly in the sun
Until I shot him with my gun

I'm sorry it was a mistake
My gun went off when I swam in a lake
I didn't want him to die
but, ha ha, I ate him on a slab of rye

Yakka Yakka, Yakka Yakka

[King Of Hell]

Wakka wakka wakka
My name is Fozzie Bear
Wakka wakka wakka
I have light brown hair

Wakka wakka wakka
Those old dudes wont shut up
Wakka wakka wakka
Im going to blow their balcony up.

[decayingsketches]

chakka chakka chakka
i want some chakkalate milk
chakka chakka chakka
pancakes, freshly made to melt

...the butter.

[Milk Grenades]

Talka Talka me no likey
high five banana dive spikey bikey
Talka Talka,
You taste like Chalka --Khan if your nasty
5-0 please don't blast me
Got a pistol in my hips so gangsta
I like peanut butter and shankas

[Theo.Huxtable]

http://img48.imageshack.us/img48/9926/340pxshortemohair1ro2.jpg

[Hayabusa]

im not big on poetry
but heres a dude i enjoy listening to
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QvYlLfjB9h8

[Theo.Huxtable]

i'm not big on poetry either but here's some stuff i liked

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGvZ9aXg5Xs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y-8NuZZPD9E

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoiGRh_BK38

[whyihatetexas]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9eRUXficRw

[whyihatetexas]

mine from the haiku thread back in ought-sixx

working in the mourge
my sex life was way better
dead girls don't say no

the most beautiful
pale blue translucent skin tone
dead stripper was she

stab-fucking dead girls
i slide it in the hole that
i made with my knife

mouthful of maggots
from eating out her pussy
have to brush my teeth

bodies start to smell
like semen and rotten flesh
dispose of them fast

[the.crooked]

ha.


Nietzsche always said the poet is what the philosopher wishes he was.

[onewaykids]

nah dude, just write their name, they love that shit.:cool:
then you can smash ther box :D

[simon_kenton]

dude, are you serious?


shit i liked it

[Tavaruawon]

I wrote this poem about fucking my friends mom.

Bit a couple of the lines, but whatevs. It was something I gave to him for his birthday and he thought it was funny. We tight like that.

So its about time I've gotta clear my mind
Man I need to tell ya' some shit
See I've been bangin' an elephant
Mostly from behind, good thats off my chest
And the fact that we wuz once best friends
Lets pretend its irrelevant-
The decision wasnt very intelligent
So I boned ya' moms for the hell of it
Dude it aint my fault she screwed me like a Dewault-
Three in the mornin' while you and pops was snorin'
The Chardonnay was pourin- outta the blue, bitch said-
"Cody, I'm old and lonely, its true, so come over here and hold me"

Her jive was corny, old ladies barely alive and horny
The temptress begged and pleaded, bitch was relentless
Got down on her knees- it was dick that she needed
Way too easy yet eager to please me
Plus, I could use a good releasing
So I sat back thinkin' and drinkin'
Her twats probably ran through, cold and moldy
Like sailing in a sea of cheese, mildew and STD's
And what the fuck is that stinkin'?
So under the robe and onto her boobies I felt
Realized it was her booty that smelt
Cock got soft and I backed up off her-
"Bitch please! Douche that cooch with some Summers Eve!"

Shits getting wierd as I'm sippin' my beer
I'm about to leave- she made an offer I could barely concieve
"It's urgent I just want to be close to a virgin. I can play nurse and you can be my surgeon"

Common sense left me, I looked up and said-
"Girrrl, I think ya' sexy and I'll toss your posture like a monster if you let me. You know the next best thing to resting is sloppy-wet-sex and wrestling. Your snatch is hot stock skyrocketing and I feel like investing."

So I'm steady stickin' my dick off in this bitches thick lips
Breastfeedin, hot and heavy- she's wet and ready
Flopping like a fish, looking hella rediculous
Already getting sick of this slut-
Pulled out of her butt and popped one off on her gut
Godamn shit was vicious and wrong!
"Alright no more fuckin', stick with the suckin'"

Bobbin on my schlong
Bitch got me off three times
During just one Akon song
Still slap happy with my cock in her lap
She looked up from my jock and smiled-
"Whats next big pappy?"

"Biiiitch! Its six oclock in the morning' I can't do no more and my balls are about empty. Whats next? Shit its tempting.
Fetch me some breakfast whore, then you can have whats left of me. I'm sore and you look tore up so I think we better play gently."