ABC of Famous Poets
Moderator: Damelon
- Bustedviens
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 46
- Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2006 4:04 am
- Location: InMyTruck
ABC of Famous Poets
Start with a then b then c and so on of famous poets
have fun
have fun
As he layes his one true love to her final resting place he tells her,
"I will love no other, I will always love you
UNTIL MY SOUL HAS NO NAME LEFT......"
Derrick Darkmoon
From My unfinished book- The Brothers Of Darkmoon
"I will love no other, I will always love you
UNTIL MY SOUL HAS NO NAME LEFT......"
Derrick Darkmoon
From My unfinished book- The Brothers Of Darkmoon
- Bustedviens
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 46
- Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2006 4:04 am
- Location: InMyTruck
- Lady Revel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 2372
- Joined: Tue Oct 19, 2004 2:15 pm
- Location: Daytona Beach
- Bustedviens
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 46
- Joined: Mon Jan 23, 2006 4:04 am
- Location: InMyTruck
(You were just waiting for that one, weren't you? )Bustedviens wrote:Caruthers, Ralph
Edgar Allen Poe
Have you hugged your arghule today?
________________________________________
"For millions of years
mankind lived just like the animals.
Then something happened
that unleashed the power of our imagination -
we learned to talk."
________________________________________
If PRO and CON are opposites,
then the opposite of PROgress must be...
_______________________________________
It's 4:19...
gotta minute?
________________________________________
"For millions of years
mankind lived just like the animals.
Then something happened
that unleashed the power of our imagination -
we learned to talk."
________________________________________
If PRO and CON are opposites,
then the opposite of PROgress must be...
_______________________________________
It's 4:19...
gotta minute?
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 47250
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 6 times
ginsberg, allan
Howl
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
Howl
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
Last edited by sgt.null on Thu Sep 15, 2011 9:20 am, edited 1 time in total.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 47250
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 6 times
Henrik Ibsen
WILDFLOWERS AND HOTHOUSE-PLANTS
"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
The girl's no beauty, and might be placed
As a hoydenish kind of creature."
No doubt it were more in the current tone
And the tide today we move in,
If I could but choose me to make my own
A type of our average woman.
Like winter blossoms they all unfold
Their primly maturing glory;
Like pot-grown plants in the tepid mould
Of a window conservatory.
They sleep by rule and by rule they wake,
Each tendril is taught its duties;
Were I worldly-wise, yes, my choice I'd make
From our stock of average beauties.
For worldly wisdom what do I care?
I am sick of its prating mummers;
She breathes of the field and the open air,
And the fragrance of sixteen summers.
WILDFLOWERS AND HOTHOUSE-PLANTS
"GOOD Heavens, man, what a freak of taste!
What blindness to form and feature!
The girl's no beauty, and might be placed
As a hoydenish kind of creature."
No doubt it were more in the current tone
And the tide today we move in,
If I could but choose me to make my own
A type of our average woman.
Like winter blossoms they all unfold
Their primly maturing glory;
Like pot-grown plants in the tepid mould
Of a window conservatory.
They sleep by rule and by rule they wake,
Each tendril is taught its duties;
Were I worldly-wise, yes, my choice I'd make
From our stock of average beauties.
For worldly wisdom what do I care?
I am sick of its prating mummers;
She breathes of the field and the open air,
And the fragrance of sixteen summers.
Last edited by sgt.null on Thu Sep 15, 2011 9:25 am, edited 2 times in total.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
James Joyce
Ecce Puer
Of the dark past
A child is born;
With joy and grief
My heart is torn.
Calm in his cradle
The living lies.
May love and mercy
Unclose his eyes!
Young life is breathed
On the glass;
The world that was not
Comes to pass.
A child is sleeping:
An old man gone.
O, father forsaken,
Forgive your son!
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 47250
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 6 times
Jack Kerouac
Haiku (The low yellow...)
The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house.
Haiku (The low yellow...)
The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house.
Last edited by sgt.null on Thu Sep 15, 2011 9:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Lowell, Amy
The Giver of Stars
Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.
Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.
The Giver of Stars
Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.
Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
Neruda, Pablo
If suddenly you do not exist,
if suddenly you no longer live,
I shall live on.
I do not dare,
I do not dare to write it,
if you die.
I shall live on.
For where a man has no voice,
there, my voice.
Where blacks are beaten,
I cannot be dead.
When my brothers go to prison
I shall go with them.
When victory,
not my victory,
but the great victory comes,
even though I am mute I must speak;
I shall see it come even
though I am blind.
No, forgive me.
If you no longer live,
if you, beloved, my love,
if you have died,
all the leaves will fall in my breast,
it will rain on my soul night and day,
the snow will burn my heart,
I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but
I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable,
and, my love, because you know that I am not only a man
but all mankind.
If suddenly you do not exist,
if suddenly you no longer live,
I shall live on.
I do not dare,
I do not dare to write it,
if you die.
I shall live on.
For where a man has no voice,
there, my voice.
Where blacks are beaten,
I cannot be dead.
When my brothers go to prison
I shall go with them.
When victory,
not my victory,
but the great victory comes,
even though I am mute I must speak;
I shall see it come even
though I am blind.
No, forgive me.
If you no longer live,
if you, beloved, my love,
if you have died,
all the leaves will fall in my breast,
it will rain on my soul night and day,
the snow will burn my heart,
I shall walk with frost and fire and death and snow,
my feet will want to walk to where you are sleeping, but
I shall stay alive,
because above all things
you wanted me indomitable,
and, my love, because you know that I am not only a man
but all mankind.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
Oliver, Mary
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do—
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Parker, Dorothy
Resume
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Resume
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
you're more advanced than a cockroach,
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
have you ever tried explaining yourself
to one of them?
~ alan bates, the mothman prophecies
i've had this with actors before, on the set,
where they get upset about the [size of my]
trailer, and i'm always like...take my trailer,
cause... i'm from Kentucky
and that's not what we brag about.
~ george clooney, inside the actor's studio
a straight edge for legends at
the fold - searching for our
lost cities of gold. burnt tar,
gravel pits. sixteen gears switch.
Haphazard Lucy strolls by.
~ dennis r wood ~
- sgt.null
- Jack of Odd Trades, Master of Fun
- Posts: 47250
- Joined: Tue Jul 19, 2005 7:53 am
- Location: Brazoria, Texas
- Has thanked: 1 time
- Been thanked: 6 times
Salvatore Quasimodo
Strada di Agrigento
Là dura un vento che ricordo acceso
nelle criniere dei cavalli obliqui
in corsa lungo le pianure, vento
che macchia e rode l'arenaria e il cuore
dei telamoni lugubri, riversi
sopra l'erba. Anima antica, grigia
di rancori, torni a quel vento, annusi
il delicato muschio che riveste
i giganti sospinti giù dal cielo.
Come sola nello spazio che ti resta!
E più t'accori s'odi ancora il suono
che s'allontana verso il mare
dove Espero già striscia mattutino
il marranzano tristemente vibra
nella gola del carraio che risale
il colle nitido di luna, lento
tra il murmure d' ulivi saraceni.
Strada di Agrigento
Là dura un vento che ricordo acceso
nelle criniere dei cavalli obliqui
in corsa lungo le pianure, vento
che macchia e rode l'arenaria e il cuore
dei telamoni lugubri, riversi
sopra l'erba. Anima antica, grigia
di rancori, torni a quel vento, annusi
il delicato muschio che riveste
i giganti sospinti giù dal cielo.
Come sola nello spazio che ti resta!
E più t'accori s'odi ancora il suono
che s'allontana verso il mare
dove Espero già striscia mattutino
il marranzano tristemente vibra
nella gola del carraio che risale
il colle nitido di luna, lento
tra il murmure d' ulivi saraceni.
Last edited by sgt.null on Thu Sep 15, 2011 9:35 am, edited 1 time in total.
Lenin, Marx
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
Marx, Lennon
Good Dog...
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
Thomas, Dylan
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
Under the Harvest Moon
by Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
by Carl Sandburg
Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.
Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.
“This is Our Bleeping City” - David Ortiz
- ussusimiel
- The Gap Into Spam
- Posts: 5346
- Joined: Tue May 31, 2011 12:34 am
- Location: Waterford (milking cows), and sometimes still Dublin, Ireland
Veronica Forrest-Thompson
A gesture is adjective,
two hands, granite
when they turn bread to flesh
(Notre Dame, July 14th)
A mirror is a museum-case,
two hands, priestesses'
when she mummifies her face.
Emotion is a parenthesis,
two hands, irony
when I light the candle
and cross myself.
Aesthetic approbation is glass
when it encloses her faience eyes
and gilded skin.
(Musée du Louvre, July 18th)
Glance is the copula
that petrifies our several identities,
syntactic superficies.