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Thread: Your Favorite Poems from fellow Lit-Netters

  1. #196
    Registered User zoolane's Avatar
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    Jan 2010
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    By Skia.

    Ya gotta be skitz bruv!


    Walkin thru da halls,
    I lol at all these pussy's
    all da divvs wid dere notebooks,
    dere bags n shizz.

    I scoff at dem,
    askin if dey wan beef,
    dey fink dey is funny
    when dey reply,
    nah I wan chicken,
    ha, dey were chicken
    when dey ran off,
    afta a giv em a chase,

    dere's ma boi's
    chillaxin wid the homies,
    sparkin up a beefa,
    a hope dey gotta roach,
    an some spray so da prof's dunna smell it,
    Ya gotta be skitz bruv!
    he betta not be chattin wid ma gyal,
    dey aint gonna see dem xbox again!
    English my native language and have characterizes of dyslexia.

    Copyright (C) 2011, Zoolane

    I have pass by English Exam.

  2. #197
    Registered User zoolane's Avatar
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    Best poem from Delta40

    Great Time of London


    Hobbes' Leviathan
    Determines for us all
    Life in the state of nature is
    Solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.

    Cromwell agrees;
    His spiked head rots
    Atop Westminster Hall.
    The future death mask
    Of simple, unwitting souls.


    Death docks in the
    Foggy Thames.
    Church bells toll
    To a gruesome arrival.

    Blood engorged fleas
    Trade the backs of rats
    For Mankind as host
    To yersinia pestis.

    Apothecaries cry alarms
    Penny for a healing charm!
    Sprays of rosemary
    Hide their sickly cheeks.

    Appearances of patchy black skin.
    A child’s compulsive vomiting.
    Misguidance slays cats and dogs
    On corpse infested streets

    Countless unknown poor
    Rot at the deserted palace door
    As Charles II seeks sanctuary
    Under an Oxford Weeping Tree.

    Labour mills grind to a halt
    Tools idle, without trade.
    Handfuls of posies to noses
    But they all just fall down


    In answer to the cry,
    Bring out your dead,
    The fearful living few
    Pile corpses on a barrow.

    God’s plague pit at Aldgate
    Digests another cartful
    Of Bleak Black Death.
    As scavenging birds circle.

    While Newton solves the puzzle
    To the theory of gravitation
    Somewhere in Pudding Lane
    A smouldering oven flames…
    English my native language and have characterizes of dyslexia.

    Copyright (C) 2011, Zoolane

    I have pass by English Exam.

  3. #198
    Wild is the Wind Silas Thorne's Avatar
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    This is still one of my favorites, from the great poet Firefangled, called 'Still Life'. I only wish I knew his name so I could get in contact with him or buy magazines or books with his recent poems, since he is gone from Litnet. This poem almost brings tears to my eyes whenever I read it:

    Still Life

    'I remember saying my last structured prayer,
    you dead with the amazing flower sprays,
    sunlight through the stained glass, brush strokes
    across the white lilies like a canvas of Klee’s.

    Man’s time dissolves in ashes, I repeated,
    as the sun and clouds conspired to create
    the red pulse over the cross of carnations
    and through the veins of the marble floor.

    No one planned the wild buttercups in that field.
    I brought no bouquets, nor did I kneel, but lay
    down in your golden days and painted you,
    in my mind, relieved of all your hidden colors.'

    Firefangled, posted on Lit-net in February 2009
    Last edited by Silas Thorne; 10-12-2010 at 05:49 AM.

  4. #199
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    Jan 2010
    Woodland’s Gift

    By Robin Koykka

    October 22, 2010

    He carried tools into the forest

    Where majestic pines now stand

    And prayed in thanks for what he’ll take

    Those mighty giants grand

    On the floor of woodland moist

    As he looked up to their heights

    He felt the years those might boughs

    Protected through the nights

    Many fowl of heavens rest

    They found shelter in her arms

    Wind, and rain lashed upon them all

    Below protected from the harm

    With his aim and mighty swing

    His axe sinks into the grains

    It’s tears and flesh away they fly

    His steel the forest tames

    No other noise is now heard

    The birds are quiet the deer are still

    As timber falls down to the earth

    Directed by mans will

    Work begins to shape the tower

    That lies upon the woodland floor

    It’s limbs are gone it’s bark removed

    For what is there in store

    Little ones lost their home

    They wonder where it’s gone

    It slowly vanished on the wagon

    Where it was set upon

    Into the shop it is placed

    Where hands now shape its form

    And silken garments dress it up

    As if to keep it warm

    The grains now polished fine

    Brass handles are put in place

    And decorations are all around

    A pillow in its place

    Another prayer now is heard

    As tears fall on the wooden burl

    And placed inside for safe keeping

    A lid closes on a little girl

    They carry her into the forest

    Where majestic pines now stand

    And give thanks for the protection there

    Among mighty giants grand

    On the floor of woodland moist

    He again looks to the heights

    And thinks of when they’ll meet again

    While she’s protected through the nights

  5. #200
    Inexplicably Undiscovered
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    next door to the lady in the vinegar bottle
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    This recent notable posting by Hillwalker belongs in this thread because it is a finely-crafted example of showing rather than telling:


    Off shift this late at night
    I drag the empty shadows in behind me
    silent key then slip the bolt
    my hibernating she-bear purring
    touch her face to check
    she’s there
    her lair a mound of crocheted blankets

    I take a vodka for my strength
    and one for Lena
    one for Babu and the saints
    then pick up Mishka from her basket
    feel her flexing claws like pinpricks
    seize her scruff
    and sense her heart like claustrophobia
    deep enough to set the tumblers rattling
    on the drainer

    I pull the blinds
    and marvel for a moment at the April snowstorm
    melting into flecks and fireballs
    sense the sliding weight of stolen sky
    tilt closer
    masking all perspective
    clouding skeletons of sycamores across the Prospekt
    feel the acid deep inside me
    kick against the womb

    I crawl between the sheets
    slide clumsy hands around her swollen belly
    press my thighs against her sleeping heat
    embrace the tidal furnace
    longing for the maelstrom
    hidden deep within her molten core
    a clenching clutch to choke this dread
    and hold at bay the coming day


  6. #201
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Bravo - and brava!

  7. #202
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    Nov 2010

    Surpassing Experience by TheEarthIsRound

    Surpassing Experience by TheEarthIsRound

    Consciously a world is outside
    Clocks are ticking,
    Cars are running,
    Breaths are taken in,
    Birds are chirping,
    Earth is turning;
    Atoms are transforming
    Energy transfiguring,
    While I take thought on
    This cup of Tea.

    I put myself into
    The system of the tea,
    The system of matter,
    Of materials, of physics.

    But that wouldn’t matter at all-
    Clocks may not be ticking,
    Earth may not be turning...

    As we speak.

    Sometimes it is an elegant gesture,
    A leap of faith
    To know you are not alone.
    To know you are collective
    In the system.
    But sometimes,
    It isn’t selfishness or ignorance,
    That the only thing matters
    Is not the system
    But my cup of tea.
    Without inferences
    Or references
    To what is and what not.

    To silence of language,
    To emancipate from imagination
    Assumptions, and false security--
    The aloneness and the unity.
    The world outside
    The world inside
    Outside and inside.

    As we speak.
    Last edited by Jack of Hearts; 11-22-2010 at 06:16 PM.

  8. #203
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    Nov 2010

    SNOWFALL by hillwalker

    SNOWFALL by hillwalker

    The white noise of winter has settled all around us

    We trawl the river bank for clues
    fog-mist forest glades
    pine trees laden with blossom
    stooping once too late
    one careless moment as my shoulders become tinselled by one branch

    Fresh scuffs of greenery
    where you scraped and foraged
    and here and there a brief chicane
    of boulders not quite dormant

    We pass a fishing perch bedecked in white
    a diving board to arctic dreams of basking whales and ice flotillas
    and upstream in a sudden startling gasp of sunlight
    watch a single fish leap out to snatch the day
    when I thought all the world asleep bar you and me

    I tread more cautiously
    along the filament of sky
    where reeds are flattened
    crushed by sleeping clouds

    And far beyond the pristine white encroaches on the loch
    each single grain of ice embedded in a galaxy of giddy light
    yet mottled at the edge in brittle grey
    and cracked across in places

    The cloven tracks of your insomnia
    lead right to the edge
    that swatch of night
    without a single gleaming star to guide us home
    so I keep mirroring your moves
    one step closer
    one step closer
    one more step
    and for good luck…..

  9. #204
    It wasn't me Jerrybaldy's Avatar
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    ouroboros (epsilon dub) by Weltanschauung

    my god!
    my money! my house! my car!
    my hair my shoe my face
    my credit! my bill!
    my phone my meds my food my head
    my work my kids my back
    my dog my cat my fish
    my balls my tits my legs
    my tits my tits my tits your tits
    your tits your thing my thing
    my god!

    For those who believe,
    no explanation is necessary.
    For those who do not,
    none will suffice.

  10. #205
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    Nov 2010

    "Springtime Limerick" and "Heartstring Guitar" by moonbird

    "Springtime Limerick" by moonbird

    The sunbeams are strings on my fiddle.
    I play you an intricate riddle
    of sweet little tunes
    on gay afternoons
    and chord with the chickadee’s whistle.

    "Heartstring Guitar" by moonbird

    For all her life, she’d watched from afar.
    Avoiding love, she nursed an old scar.
    But once she slipped, left her heart ajar,
    Releasing the music of her heartstring guitar,
    And as it sang, in drifted a star,
    Small and twinkling, it had drifted far,
    Following blindly its guiding north star,
    And the little star played on her heartstring guitar
    A song both sweet and faintly bizarre
    That put the notes where words usually are,
    And the door to her heart stayed forever ajar,
    Playing sweet music on her heartstring guitar.

  11. #206
    Registered User quasimodo1's Avatar
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    Feb 2007
    Bensalem, PA 19020


    Jerrybaldy: This is excellent, unexpected and more than just humorous. I really like it. q1

  12. #207
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    Nov 2010

    An untitled poem by weltanschauung (from ‘ouroboros (epsilon dub)’)

    An untitled poem by weltanschauung (from ‘ouroboros (epsilon dub)’)

    you're so genuine
    under the wallmart original's remake of renaissance classics.
    you're so smart
    under the haircut and the blue spectacles.
    you're so pretty
    under the glitter and gold supersized underpriced cover-girl kit.
    you're so talented
    under the canvas of visa-mastercard-paypall.
    you're so pure
    under the baghavad-gita topless bikini.
    you're so bright
    under the stellar five-pointed cardboard.
    you're so true
    under the six-feet king-size best reviewed innerspring.

  13. #208
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    Nov 2010

    "Eatin' Sounds" by firefangled

    "Eatin' Sounds" by firefangled

    Stop by here sometime,
    where the frogs and the crickets
    wake up my neighbors
    (she has ten poison fingers
    and he’s moonfaced with rickets).

    Come here summertime,
    when it’s thick in the thickets,
    night has its own plagues,
    bullies kickin’ they legs
    feelin' the gray heat of briquettes.

    Down near the rushes
    singing blues to black water
    fingerin’ her notes,
    pale like lillies she floats,
    missus full moon with otter.

    What’s your darkest desire,
    and I’ll play you a sad song
    made from young willows
    and a worn breath from spring,
    while cookin’ some croaks on the fire.

  14. #209
    Something's gotta give PrinceMyshkin's Avatar
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    Hamina's Lost Head

    by Delta 40

    In the bland room
    to the left of the library
    Hamina is guided by sure hands.
    She bumps into cream walls
    half circle tables halted by
    navy patterned carpet squares.
    Hamina lists to the right
    and behaves as if one leg is a whole
    metre longer than her little finger.
    She snorts and hoots at the circle
    of old ladies buried in craft materials.
    The carer steers her round with one hand
    while she holds her toys in the other.
    He-ll-o Ha-min-a
    they say, as if greeting her this way
    will help her understand their kindness.
    My, you're happy today arent' you?,
    Odd shaped Hamina shuffles toward each lady,
    smirking, contorting her face impossibly
    while her neck struggles to move however it chooses.
    Her naked barbie doll with only a brain stem left
    is slammed against the table.
    Good Lord! What happened to her head?
    Oh, she lost it somewhere along the line, I think
    Nor-tee Ham-in-a!
    Bad Ham-in-a!
    Hamina sniggers and bends the naked limbs
    till they are as misshapen as she is.
    She rubs the stem nub between
    crooked fingers and
    rocks back and forth in time,
    then she squeals so everyone winces.
    Someone mutters underneath their breath,
    Knit two, purl one, drop a stitch.
    Hamina whacks the headless tanned body
    against the table once more.
    Sit down Hamina and have some
    of Jan's homemade pie
    She plunges her fingers into
    the sticky tart
    and eats like a two year old.
    Strawberry jam is smeared
    across Barbie's molded breasts,
    her curvaceous legs
    then one carefully placed red blob
    on the plastic brain stem.
    Hamina reveals her decayed chalky teeth
    and nods - almost knowingly.
    She licks the node,
    where the head used to be,
    like a lollipop.

  15. #210
    Registered User Delta40's Avatar
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    Fremantle Western Australia
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    lol. Hamina is a pretty grotesque venture!

    I can see my house from here by Jerrybaldy


    'I can see my house from here'
    I said to Sally, as she lifted her skirt
    to pee on the dandelions.
    I took a dead one
    and told her the time,
    it was fourteen o'clock.
    I held a buttercup
    and the glow on her chin
    told me scientifically
    that Sally loved butter a lot.
    I picked her a daisy
    and counted petals
    of she loves me
    she loves me not.
    The summer sun was burning
    the tip of her nose
    and her freckles
    were ablaze
    on her cheeks.
    She gave me her gum
    and I tasted
    the sweet warmth of her spit.
    ' I can see my house from here, Sally'
    Her lopsided smile was unimpressed.
    She dragged me to a bramble bush
    and we scratched and we bled
    as we kissed.
    We climbed the big oak together
    and sat upon its bough.
    The sky was misty orange now
    and we held bloody hands
    as our features faded out
    with the light.

    It is a wet Sunday
    I have walked to our oak tree
    and it is ageing so more gracefully, than me.
    I can see our house from here, Sally.
    I am coming home.
    Before sunlight can shine through a window, the blinds must be raised - American Proverb

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