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Thread: Your Favorite Poems from fellow Lit-Netters

  1. #121
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    What is not a poem?

    Exclamation
    Truth Is A Cracked Mirror…

    This is not a poem,
    Be silent and you will hear the cries,
    Shut your eyes and see the tears,
    Touch nothing and you will feel the pain--

    This is a dirge
    The rocks will not remain silent forever,
    Mass graves cannot wipe away blood spilled
    The voices return on the wind in the night asking why

    Don't call it a poem
    The whispers echo through time's fractured mirror
    Always has it been that man destroys man
    Misguided belief that it's just their destiny—blood never dries...

    Voices of ageless sorrows...
    Crosses line the Appian Way by the thousand.
    At Masada they died without succor or hope.
    Vald Tepes often dined while around others died by impaling.

    The People’s voices rise in a death chant
    From places like Sand Creek, the plains, and Wounded Knee.
    Thirty-six sing as they are all hanged at one moment for “uprisings”,
    Echoes of sorrow drift still along the Trail of Tears…

    The voices sing on of sorrows unbearable,
    Brother fought brother in many Civil wars… Antietam, Gettysburg...
    We then thought we had fought the War to end all Wars;
    But the shadows of Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen, Dachau, and Ravensbrück had not yet grown…

    This is a record of human agony,
    The horror of man reduced to the grim beast inside.
    Toss off the thin disguise of modern educated humanity;
    Man becomes monster thirsty for blood of his own fellowman...

    Call this whatever you want to--
    Don’t call it a poem..

    Pendragon
    © 11/4/07
    "You must be the change you want to see in the world." Gandhi

  2. #122
    Not politically correct Pendragon's Avatar
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    Exclamation

    Many thanks, Jerry. I don't know if I am actually worth the honor, but I'm glad what I wrote touched your big heart, mon ami. Shalom.

    Some of us laugh
    Some of us cry
    Some of us smoke
    Some of us lie
    But it's all just the way
    that we cope with our lives...

  3. #123
    still waiting to be found amanda_isabel's Avatar
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    i wonder why i never got to open this thread before..

    i think this has been posted here previously, but i couldn't help myself! i wish i had the skill to write this beautifully.

    In morning’s last darkness I found you out
    on your way home, under the full moon,
    through the shroud of misty air. You did not know
    it was me, the soft white night that enveloped you,
    lying moist against your vibrant skin; it was I,
    who could not speak, who drifted lightly to your lips
    and gently rested there, then played and sparkled in your hair.
    Caught within your motion, for the moment your captive there,
    unseen you carried me inside your house, and I watched you
    take petal from petal of clothing and could say nothing,
    and could no longer touch you, could give no sign of love
    you would see, but for one small tear, unnoticed on a chair.

    Later, as you slept, I moved, silently, a thief enthralled,
    through your room, feeling the residual warmth of your
    clothing, touching what you hold dear, cherishing
    each precious item as do you, becoming for the moment
    the enveloped, letting you surround me as I had you.
    For hours, hovering above the floor, so close with the fragrance
    you had worn, like light against the morning breeze, I danced.
    And then, glorious moment, I lie beside you sleeping there
    and by your heat lost all form as I melded into you...
    and slept as you slept, and breathed as you breathed,
    and in the fading darkness, became the fabric of your dreams

    Firefangled


    thank you, firefangled
    ...don't need therapy to rehabilitate my smile...


    http://profiles.friendster.com/6239700

  4. #124
    still waiting to be found amanda_isabel's Avatar
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    recently read:

    Saving a Place

    China and cutlery
    are washed and put away,
    and I've remembered to polish the fingerprints
    off the stem of the solitary wineglass
    before placing it amongst its mates.

    A cup of jasmine tea accompanies me
    into my corner nook.
    I can barely make my way there
    without tripping over one or another
    of the untidy stacks of well-thumbed books
    that fall to either side.
    The Great Gatsby is spread-eagled
    on the ottoman, opened to page 84,
    where the story has reached a revealing
    within the emptiness.

    But the book does not call to me tonight.

    Instead I succumb to the beauty
    of the snowfall, the surrounding scent
    of the forest, and the utterly dark silence of winter.
    I let myself sink into the comfort of my teacup
    and the satisfaction of my aloneness.
    I am overtaken -- for now -- by the peaceful knowledge
    that I do indeed belong
    here.

    I allow myself a single moment
    of missing what isn't here,
    running my fingers gently
    over the back of the extra chair,
    touching the place where you
    might rest your arms,
    and, in so doing,
    I save a place
    for you.

    .
    cdn/26dec07

    clearly, cdn deserves a spot here.. this is an additional, i believe!
    ...don't need therapy to rehabilitate my smile...


    http://profiles.friendster.com/6239700

  5. #125
    Flying against the wind CdnReader's Avatar
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    Thanks so much, Amanda Isabel. What an honour!
    *

    "Courage is not the absence of fear but the judgment that something else is more important than fear." -- Ambrose Redmoon

    CR: Madame Bovary, by Gustave Flaubert
    JF: Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. My review is here.

  6. #126
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    Tell me, my Heart, if this be Love

    WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
    Awed by a thousand tender fears
    I would approach, but dare not move:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
    No other voice than hers can hear,
    No other wit but hers approve:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    If she some other youth commend,
    Though I was once his fondest friend,
    His instant enemy I prove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    When she is absent, I no more
    Delight in all that pleased before—
    The clearest spring, or shadiest grove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    When fond of power, of beauty vain,
    Her nets she spread for every swain,
    I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

  7. #127
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by mukta581 View Post
    Tell me, my Heart, if this be Love

    WHEN Delia on the plain appears,
    Awed by a thousand tender fears
    I would approach, but dare not move:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear
    No other voice than hers can hear,
    No other wit but hers approve:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    If she some other youth commend,
    Though I was once his fondest friend,
    His instant enemy I prove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    When she is absent, I no more
    Delight in all that pleased before—
    The clearest spring, or shadiest grove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

    When fond of power, of beauty vain,
    Her nets she spread for every swain,
    I strove to hate, but vainly strove:
    Tell me, my heart, if this be love?
    This is a quite remarkable poem, so deft and graceful! Is it your own? I ask that because the theme of the thread is for favourite poems by others here.

  8. #128
    Serious business Taliesin's Avatar
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    I will stop screaming
    if you tell me
    the whole pi

    by amuse

  9. #129
    in a blue moon amuse's Avatar
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    Thank you, dear Taliesin!

    And you also, Avalive.
    shh!!!
    the air and water have been here a long time, and they are telling stories.

  10. #130
    in a blue moon amuse's Avatar
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    I am fond of Avalive's, mono's, blp's and Pendragon's poetry - here is one of Avalive's:

    Quote Originally Posted by Avalive


    Untitled

    If heart holds my life and the life unhooked from life
    What's left in the pot of quenchless fire is fire
    To burn and bring down everything to nothing
    My last letter to the unloved world penned in those words unread
    If words are only words, which belong to quill and papyrus
    I have the skin of silk and a mouth of ink for you to take
    Empty all I have like sweep the dust on the old shelf
    Love me by a book with blank pages that wait for my touch
    If breath hold my heart and the heart shrinked into a seed
    What's grow in the earth of lifeless life is life
    To slaughter and forget nothing but everything
    http://www.online-literature.com/for...hlight=avalive
    shh!!!
    the air and water have been here a long time, and they are telling stories.

  11. #131
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    These pieces are all absolutely extraordinary! I just spent the last hour or so going through all the poetry in this thread, and I am glad I did, because it provided me with the opportunity to witness the vast amount of talent and imagination in LitNet. I am astounded by the wit, eloquence and enchanting elements of all your poetry and I will have to start compiling a list of all my favourite poems (which will be extremely difficult, I must say) to post on this thread.

  12. #132
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by schadenfreude View Post
    These pieces are all absolutely extraordinary! I just spent the last hour or so going through all the poetry in this thread, and I am glad I did, because it provided me with the opportunity to witness the vast amount of talent and imagination in LitNet. I am astounded by the wit, eloquence and enchanting elements of all your poetry and I will have to start compiling a list of all my favourite poems (which will be extremely difficult, I must say) to post on this thread.
    What a generous, open-hearted post this is, which reflects the other side of the talent you cite, namely the appreciation so many of the lit netters express of these poems!

    A poem may be good or even great as it is written, but it does not achieve its final apotheosis until someone reads and perceives it as good or great.

  13. #133
    kwizera mir's Avatar
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    I am, simply put, in awe.

    I don't know why I never found this thread before. All of these are incredible!! I've been doing research the last few weeks for an English paper that I have to write on an American author, and have read hundreds of poems by many different poets - but now I just wish that I could choose one of you to write on! Firefangled's poetry, especially, dwarfs any of the writers I've found. I don't suppose you publish anywhere, Fire? Or live in America?

    But I wish somebody would delete my poems that have been posted here; they're horrible in comparison I'm really embarassed!

    Anywho, here's one I found recently that I loved so much I sent it to my parents back in the US:


    She is playing frogs in the long grass,
    rippling the reedy sea with a series of
    jerky bobs
    and dips.
    I see her;
    bubbling carefree,
    her blonde hair splashing a path
    that catches the sun like broken water.

    If I followed it I would find her hunkered
    against the ground, stained
    every shade from green to brown,
    all knees and jutting elbows,

    and I’d watch her, as she watches creatures
    weave amongst the grass,
    greeting them broadly with a throaty croak:

    ‘Ribbit’ for bees in their striped pajamas,
    ‘Ribbit’ for beetles like pebbles dropped in water,
    ‘Ribbit’ for butterflies skimming the breeze,

    remembering how I saw her for the first time.

    How nerves, like the ultrasound,
    pressed into my belly.
    How I stared into the murky screen,
    sensing movement
    swimming just below the surface.
    The nurse pointing out details
    vague as smoke,
    an arm,
    a questioning spinal curl,
    crossed legs, splayed fingers
    the fast shutter of a heartbeat,
    two flooded lungs like wide eyes
    staring back at me.

    How for days afterwards I breathed more deeply.

    Now she cocks a curious eye
    towards the pond, still as stone.
    A pond skater grapples the surface.

    I watch, breathless, as she leaps.

    By The Fifth Element
    No day but today



    -God is real, unless proclaimed integer-

  14. #134
    kwizera mir's Avatar
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    The thread seems dead. Was it something I said?
    No day but today



    -God is real, unless proclaimed integer-

  15. #135
    TheFairyDogMother kiz_paws's Avatar
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    Certainly not, mir!

    Maybe this thread is overwhelming, because of its very nature? **scratches head**

    Your chosing Fifth's poem was sweet, I loved the playful tones in it, too.
    Our task must be to free ourselves by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty
    ~Albert Einstein

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