Poetry

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Re: Poetry

Postby Doughnut Jimmy » Sun Jan 01, 2012 6:18 pm

Wow!
"when the gods made sheep they must've left their brains in their other coat"
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Re: Poetry

Postby Batty » Tue Jan 03, 2012 8:16 pm

Mongo, your poem is true story telling!
I'm certainly going to avoid the Lizard Wizard! :clap:
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Re: Poetry

Postby Oberon » Wed Jan 04, 2012 10:23 am

What an amazing thread!! I'm seriously impressed by the creativity of so many members here. I don't write poetry. Every time I feel moved to try the results just seen trite and pretentious. I restrict my literary efforts to writing drama and only then when commissioned.

I'd like to share one of my favourite poems though if that's OK.


TORTOISE SHOUT
By D.H. Lawrence

I thought he was dumb,
I said he was dumb,
Yet I've heard him cry.

First faint scream,
Out of life's unfathomable dawn,
Far off, so far, like a madness, under the horizon's dawning rim,
Far, far off, far scream.

Tortoise in extremis.

Why were we crucified into sex?
Why were we not left rounded off, and finished in ourselves,
As we began,
As he certainly began, so perfectly alone?

A far, was-it-audible scream,
Or did it sound on the plasm direct?

Worse than the cry of the new-born,
A scream,
A yell,
A shout,
A pæan,
A death-agony,
A birth-cry,
A submission,
All tiny, tiny, far away, reptile under the first dawn.

War-cry, triumph, acute-delight, death-scream reptilian,
Why was the veil torn?
The silken shriek of the soul's torn membrane?
The male soul's membrane
Torn with a shriek half music, half horror.

Crucifixion.
Male tortoise, cleaving behind the hovel-wall of that dense female,
Mounted and tense, spread-eagle, out-reaching out of the shell
In tortoise-nakedness,
Long neck, and long vulnerable limbs extruded, spread-eagle over her house-roof,
And the deep, secret, all-penetrating tail curved beneath her walls,
Reaching and gripping tense, more reaching anguish in uttermost tension
Till suddenly, in the spasm of coition, tupping like a jerking leap, and oh!
Opening its clenched face from his outstretched neck
And giving that fragile yell, that scream,
Super-audible,
From his pink, cleft, old-man's mouth,
Giving up the ghost,
Or screaming in Pentecost, receiving the ghost.

His scream, and his moment's subsidence,
The moment of eternal silence,
Yet unreleased, and after the moment, the sudden, startling jerk of coition, and at once
The inexpressible faint yell
And so on, till the last plasm of my body was melted back
To the primeval rudiments of life, and the secret.

So he tups, and screams
Time after time that frail, torn scream
After each jerk, the longish interval,
The tortoise eternity,
Agelong, reptilian persistence,
Heart-throb, slow heart-throb, persistent for the next spasm.

I remember, when I was a boy,
I heard the scream of a frog, which was caught with his foot in the mouth of an up-starting snake;
I remember when I first heard bull-frogs break into sound in the spring;
I remember hearing a wild goose out of the throat of night
Cry loudly, beyond the lake of waters;
I remember the first time, out of a bush in the darkness, a nightingale's piercing cries and gurgles startled the depths of my soul;
I remember the scream of a rabbit as I went through a wood at midnight;
I remember the heifer in her heat, blorting and blorting through the hours, persistent and irrepressible;
I remember my first terror hearing the howl of weird, amorous cats;
I remember the scream of a terrified, injured horse, the sheet-lightning
And running away from the sound of a woman in labor, something like an owl whooing,
And listening inwardly to the first bleat of a lamb,
The first wail of an infant,
And my mother singing to herself,
And the first tenor singing of the passionate throat of a young collier, who has long since drunk himself to death,
The first elements of foreign speech
On wild dark lips.

And more than all these,
And less than all these,
This last,
Strange, faint coition yell
Of the male tortoise at extremity,
Tiny from under the very edge of the farthest far-off horizon of life.

The cross,
The wheel on which our silence first is broken,
Sex, which breaks up our integrity, our single inviolability, our deep silence
Tearing a cry from us.

Sex, which breaks us into voice, sets us calling across the deeps, calling, calling for the complement,
Singing, and calling, and singing again, being answered, having found.

Torn, to become whole again, after long seeking for what is lost,
The same cry from the tortoise as from Christ, the Osiris-cry of abandonment,
That which is whole, torn asunder,
That which is in part, finding its whole again throughout the universe.

“The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it.” (Terry Pratchett).
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Re: Poetry

Postby deldaisy » Sat Jan 07, 2012 12:45 pm

Love this thread.

Have been sitting here reading a few of them out to H. :D She likes them too.
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Re: Poetry

Postby Batty » Sun Jan 08, 2012 12:19 am

The Control Freak

Beware the tactics of the Troll
To intimidate is his true role.
He sucks true happiness from your soul
Beware the tactics of the Troll.

He cannot call himself a Man
By contrrolling people, it is his plan
To dominate you - If he can -
He cannot call himself a Man.

To frighten and intimidate
He'll use tricks to ingratiate
Whilst all the time he plots and waits
To frighten and intimidate.

Don't fall for his smiles and his tricks and his lies
You cannot believe his lying eyes
His smiles and words are the weapons he plies
Don't fall for his smiles and his tricks and his lies.

To isolate you from all those that care
He'll entice you into his emotional lair
And shut you away without a prayer.
Don't isolate yourself from all those that care!
Going to my school was an education in itself. Which is not to be confused with actually getting an education (Schultz)
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Re: Poetry

Postby deldaisy » Tue Jan 10, 2012 1:29 pm

:clap:

You have a real talent Batty.
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Re: Poetry

Postby Mina-bird » Thu Jan 12, 2012 1:44 pm

Oooh this is a cool thread! Think I might just leave one of mine here if that's ok..

September Song

These, the streets I know so well,
spit back at my ankles
when I tread on a loose paving stone,
while I fight the blustery rain
that falls from the halfway sunny sky

‘spare-a-bit-o‘-change-please?
- see they never listen
it’s as if they can’t see you’

you point the remark at a girl
who can’t hear you through her woolly hat,
elicit sympathy
from the scruff-haired woman beside you

but I walk on and
watch the fledglings learn to fly,
self important in their magpie-chosen clothes
- can’t you feel the cold little girl?
and growing up is not the same
as growing old (nor growing cold)

and as the year goes grey
those Icarus chicks relying
too closely on a fading sun
will somehow learn
to prepare for a fall
(I know, I’ve done it all before).
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Re: Poetry

Postby Tiffany » Thu Jan 12, 2012 4:39 pm

Brilliant poems Mongo, Batty & Mina-bird. You are all very talented.
Welcome to the forum Mina-bird from me as well.
Don't know D H Lawrence's poetry, Oberon, but I enjoyed reading it.
Best wishes,
Tiff
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Re: Poetry

Postby Batty » Thu Jan 12, 2012 6:30 pm

Great stuff! :clap:
Going to my school was an education in itself. Which is not to be confused with actually getting an education (Schultz)
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Re: Poetry

Postby Tiffany » Thu Jan 12, 2012 9:37 pm

This Road Once Lead To Camelot
(With Appologies to Tennyson, a modern take on his poem.)

Gone, sights Tennyson saw plainly
G.M.T. crops, bearded barley
Combined harvesters heard clearly
Cutting, baling, binding early
This road once led to Camelot
The river full of rusting rubble
New houses cover where then stubble
Bringing peoples and all their trouble
Past, is the island of Shallot.

The Lady's legend is of yore
They didn't believe, wanted more
Progress and greed replaced folklore
The past is dead and gone before
Lost, once strong towered Camelot
High rise appartments fill the space
Where a dream castle had such grace
Now none can ever see her face
Cursed, forgot, Lady of Shallot.
Val
Best wishes,
Tiff
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Re: Poetry

Postby Tiffany » Thu Jan 12, 2012 9:44 pm

And this one, after struggling for days to write a sonnet...
I Can't Do It.

I can't write a pesky sonnet
No matter how hard I tried
The words won't come right upon it
I can't write a pesky sonnet
The muse needed, I can't don it
Though long, with full thought I plied
I can't write a pesky sonnet
No matter how hard I tried.
Val

PS This type of poem is called a Triolet. :D
Best wishes,
Tiff
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Re: Poetry

Postby deldaisy » Fri Jan 13, 2012 1:07 pm

YAY!!!!!!!!!!!! :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap: :clap:

I love poetry.... adore it. I used to write alot myself but havent lately... should get back into it.

Thank you all for the poems. More please.
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Re: Poetry

Postby Jan Van Quirm » Fri Jan 13, 2012 3:49 pm

:clap: Great stuff peeps - even the triolets! :P :lol:

New Yearsie type poem (apparently it's the Julian calendar New Year today to that's OK ;) )

The River

There is a river of life,
That is as cruel as it is kind.
It will take you to new places
And leave your past behind.

Its waters can taste sweet,
But just as soon run dry,
And leave your soul embittered,
Make your heart ache 'til you cry.

There are rapids wild and white
That will toss and turn you round,
They can strand you, tear you, rip you,
Cruel currents beat you aground.

Then the river’s shallows all dappled,
Shining bold with gold sunlight,
Will dazzle you into thinking
That the future still is bright.

Then just as you are thinking
That the rough race is almost done,
The river flows on towards a void,
Cascading falls, an end is spun.

Or maybe not, if you have the luck,
You might find a calmer way,
And travel through unscarred, alive,
Fit to fight another day.

And even if you reach its end
Unbeaten, proud and wise,
There are great seas still to travel
Wide, with lonely seabird cries.

So take care on this life’s river,
Steer your course as fair and true,
As you can, to hold it steady
As you head out to yonder Blue.


I don't why it should be but I find rhyming quite embarassing at times. :oops: It does take skill to do it 'meaningfully' so I still do it - here's one where I'm trying to pretend I know what I'm doing :roll:


Listening, not listening

I am listening...
to the beating of hearts.

I’m not listening…
to those who fear and hate.

I shall listen well
to thoughts that are unvoiced.

I will not listen
to thoughts that shun the light.

I’ll keep listening
to soft sounds in the night.

I’ll stop listening
to whispers that deceive.

I must listen still
to the quiet voice inside.

I shall not listen
to those who close their minds

To those who cannot love...
I will not listen.

To you all mellyn nín*…
I always listen.


*Sindarin ~ my friends
"Some men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not.” George Bernard Shaw
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Re: Poetry

Postby De Lona Ranger » Fri Jan 13, 2012 4:28 pm

Wonderful poems Jan.

You write beautifully.
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Re: Poetry

Postby Tiffany » Fri Jan 13, 2012 5:14 pm

The River, Jan, the allegory likening it to life is so true. Lovely poem. I like your other poem too, good advice.
Best wishes,
Tiff
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