Poetry

we'll flag this as offensive!

and bah, i loves poetry, except when studying it at school... an old faourite of mine was the highwayman by Noyes

Passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,
cui primum digitum dare appetenti
et acris solet incitare morsus,
cum desiderio meo nitenti
carum nescio quid libet iocari
et solaciolum sui doloris,
credo ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:
tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem
et tristis animi levare curas!
Catullus, Carmen II

multas per gentes et multa per aequatora vectus,
advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,
ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
et multam nequiquam adloquerer cinerem.
quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete adstulit ipsum,
heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum
tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,
atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.

Catullus -for his brother's funeral

also
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold
Gold Gold Gold Gold Gold!

My great poetry experience did happen as a result of studying it at school - we went to hear various of the poets we were studying at a big old event... most weren't that great - Simon Armitage, for example, I'd enjoyed reading but felt he really wasnt great at reading his own stuff. But John Agard was quite fantastic - so much so that I had to go out and buy the only volume of poetry I've ever bought...

That, of course, and Jabberwocky

Mr Scrub

ooo ooo ooo i went to that! in 2005/2006 i remember those poems! twas good actually i liked a woman... oh what was her name... she did "this room"

I read this once and loved it

SLOUGH
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
John Betjeman

oh yes, Imtiaz Dharker

please elaborate.

i think poetry sucks

you come to a peotry FORUM to say you think peoptry sucks?

yeah,i like to spread the word

see you're like a mormon or a JW they spread the word at your door on a sunday morning. see most religeons do it inside the church

im not a great fan of poetry, learning it at school is hard enough.

Angua

school will try to ruin poetry for you. don;t listen to that drivel just read peoms for the fun of it and enjoy the skill it took to write it

thank you for sharing my sentiments

sometimes you can actually come across a poem while studying it, and it's really good. like Mid-term break by seamus heaney, but such occasions are rare but i still study english cos it's a brill subject for all that

i actually enjoyed one called 'rage rage against the dying of the night'

don't you mean light?

i think you're right about the light,not the night

i feel like dr suess

lol just looked him up in wikipedia, looks amazing

haven't you heard of him?
cat in a hat/

well, now i have

explore him more,lots of fun,takes poetry to a more fun place

fun poems are great . simon armitage did some fun ones

There is much in the world of literature especially that carted out by my GCSE English teacher that i absolutly despise. Shakespeare a comic genius? I think i need to get me some of the drugs these people are on.

Still depite the depressing gumph such as from Sylvia Plath (it may well have many layers, but it makes for a boring bedtime read)

There were always upsides though such as the nonesense from the likes of Spike Milligan

(Excuse any errors, done from memory when I memorised it as part of a presentation when I was 11)

Scorflufus
----------
There are many diseases,
that strike peoples kneeses.
Scorflufus is one by name.

It came from the east,
packed in bladders of yeast,
so the Chinese must take half the blame.

There's a case in the files
of sir barrington piles,
while hunting a fox one day.
Shot up in the air
and remained hanging there
while the hairs of his socks turned grey.

Eye Scorflufus had struck!
At man beast and duck!
And the knees of the world went BONG
some knees went ping
while others turned to string,
from Ballham to old Hong Kong.

Should you hold your life dear
then the message is clear;
if youre offered some yeast,
dont eat it!

Turn the offer down flat
don your traveling hat.
Put an egg in your boot and beat it!

this is a Hungarian poem by Jozsef Attila I did a quick translation of. He was throw out of university for writing it. even though he did it to get money as he hadn't eaten in 3 days at the time.

With pure heart.

I've neither Father nor mother
Nor God nor country
Nor a wise man nor *
nor kiss nor a lover

I haven't eaten for the third day
neither much nor little
my 20 years- power
my 20 years- I'll sell them

If no one wants it
then the devil will buy it
with pure heart I'll break in
if need be I'll even kill a man

They catch me and hang me
with sacred earth they'll cover me
and death-bringing grass will grom
on my beautiful heart.

*the sheet they put over the dead

In english with a word4wrd trans it sounds crp but in Hungarian...I nearly wept. and I haven't cried in at least half a decade.

the chevrons above the etters are meant to be long double strokes

Tiszta Szivvel

Nincsen apám, se anyám,
se istenem, se hazám,
se bölcsôm, se szemfedôm,
se csókom, se szeretôm.

Harmad napja nem eszek,
se sokat, se keveset.
Húsz esztendôm hatalom,
húsz esztendôm eladom.

Hogyha nem kell senkinek,
hát az ördög veszi meg.
Tiszta szívvel betörök,
ha kell, embert is ölök.

Elfognak és felkötnek,
áldott földdel elfödnek
s halált hozó fû terem
gyönyörûszép szívemen.

would song lyrics count as poetry? because Into the West sung by Annie Lennox at the end of the lord of the rings always makes me cry

some of the best poetry comes out of lyrics from songs,or vice versa

I'd say the best ones do, more or less, but it's such a wide genre it probably deserves it's own thread. And, indeed, there is one here - it hasn't been posted to for a while, but it's still relevant... I'll move it into the creative forum while I think about it

Mr Scrub

I read a hungarian translation of an Altenberg poem and I want to know the germa version if anyone knows it cos I can't find one nor do I know the original title.

Nem fáj

Kedvelek valakit -
Most nincsen itt.
Nem baj

Síromra ez jön, más semmi:
Szerettelek.
Hogy kit, nem tudja senki -
Nem fáj

[translation]
"[It] doesn't hurt"

I like somebody-
now (he/she/it) is not here
no problem

this on my grave [future], nothing else:
I love you
who*, no-one knows [*lit the accusative form of the question word. i.e. "Who [is it I love?]"
[it] doesn't hurt

P.S. this be some good dope right here aaaiight!

Erlkoenig - Goethe

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind? Who rides so late through the night and wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind; It's the father with his child;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm, He has the boy safe in his arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm. He holds him secure, he holds him warm.

«Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?» – “My son, what makes you hide your face in fear?” –
Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Father, don't you see the Erlking?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif? – The Erlking with crown and flowing robe? –
«Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif.» – “My son, it's a wisp of fog.” –

«Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir! “You dear child, come along with me!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir; Such lovely games I'll play with you;
Manch bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand, Many colorful flowers are at the shore,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.» My mother has many a golden garment.”

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, My father, my father, and do you not hear
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? – What the Erlking promises me so softly? –
«Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind; “Be quiet, stay quiet, my child;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind.» – In the dry leaves the wind is rustling.” –

«Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn? “Won't you come along with me, my fine boy?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön; My daughters shall attend to you so nicely.
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn, My daughters do their nightly dance,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.» And they'll rock you and dance you and sing you to sleep.”

Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort My father, my father, and do you not see over there
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort? – Erlking's daughters in that dark place? –
«Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau: “My son, my son, I see it most definitely:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau.» It's the willow trees looking so grey.”

«Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; “I love you; I'm charmed by your beautiful form;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt.» And if you're not willing, then I'll use force.”
Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an! My father, my father, now he's grabbing hold of me!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan! – Erlking has done me harm! –

Dem Vater grausets, er reitet geschwind, The father shudders, he rides swiftly,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind, He holds in (his) arms the moaning child.
Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not; He reaches the farmhouse with effort and urgency.
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot. In his arms the child was dead.

What could it be that some can see and some can sadly not?
Why would you tree be wiser than me whilst i think I know a lot?
Maybe see, the things i be are nought to do with thought
And maybe thee oh wise old tree are more than can be taught.

Hmmm interesting…

I have been having a lot of talking with trees of late…

They are alive and they can see, without eyes of you and me.
Take a chance now and a breath to follow …and what can life be if we were all but as humble as a tree. ?

Hmm indeed…

Who knows what scene there is to view through arboreal perceptual filters?
Humility though, it can be said is very hard to judge
When ears for communication feel no sound
To shape word to sensory form.
Without our sensational decode box what would we become
And when humble leans to shades of servitude
Whose choice is it to suffer.

What indeed would this world be if such as tree we were
Many trees I am sure would be
In much less aggressive company…

5/02/08- thunder written thoughts
There is in every storm that passes over any landscape, a place of calm in the centre. That sometimes eerie moment of relief for the ground dwelling observer continues dynamic for the swirling cloud forms...
The eye of the storm ...
The landscape it observes below it ever changing. The storm brings the water...
The flow.
The feelings of being in the storm, hear ...and now,
Being part of the flow of the Chi of the Earth, rising to meet the overture of the sky above...
The place where static held static craves ionic release, connection to earth, the will to ground in solidity its creative potential...
So much rain, so much water...
And the wind blows...
Seeking balance, moving from areas of high to low pressure in the air, carried by the momentum of the cyles of Earth, pulled by the moon and the warmth of the great oceans of life that reach with wave crests to join the concert of elements seeking peace through the tempest swirls...
Shaking up the statics static state...movement and charge ... charge and discharge... forks of lightning embracing the rising of Earth to meet, a lovers connection so eager to connect ...
Awakening the energy held static beyond the clouds and chaos of wind and waters dance... the energy beyond emotion and mind...
So moving ... to witness the storm in its natural cyles of clearing the air,
Bringing life giving water ...
Meeting, clashing, re-solving and balancing the different pockets of pressures in the air...
Balancing Earth and sky, Sudden bursts and flurries and the calming rain that arrives to cleanse and salve and neutralise the landscapes of recent conflicts...making peace through expression of truest nature...movement to a calmer, more balanced place...
Calming rain that washes clean the air, revitalising the trees that reach their leaves to the reappearing sun whilst they remain so grounded in the Earth ... connected by strong spreading roots that respectfully support the bridge of life to the firey star that illuminates and inspires the nurturing Earth that we are.

As you allow your awareness may tune into process that is happening...hear...the flow of time in space, without which there is nowhere for time to be... moving in closer now... the strom expresses itself in its natural process of balancing the pressures of the air... the thunder rumbles and booms... sounds of release and relief... from swirls of energy in the centre to the edge, from the outer reaches to the centre becoming again one with that which it seemed not to be a part until so obviously it always has been ... give or take away a little pressure here and then...
each release... each dissipation of the difference of pressure the clearer and calmer...a unifying the fields of the sky and a continuation of the journey of water... the search for an ocean via the mountains with only gravity as a guide...observing... experiencing and learning from the shapes that contain and transport it... the water smoothing a channel for itself upon and within the mediums through which it flows...creating free flowing rivers and streams where once had been desert or stagnant pools... remembering each experience and absorbing the wisdom of each until each drop arrives again at the ocean meeting place... merging and meeting each other droplet of knowing until tempted by the warmth of the sun to fly once more... Such journeys on the wings of wind ... so exciting... the water to tell its stories... so many stories ... each drop having taken a unique path since last time they were one...different events witnessed different knowings learned ... no knowings not the knowings of experience known until meeting a knower of unfamiliar experience... the clash of worlds of mind ... the appreciation of the new and unknown as the staple of growth ... the thunder slows and the air finds peace in the richness of a diverse and sharing unity of individuals resonant enough ... balanced enough to appreciate differences via communication without barriers of right or wrong...just different experiences and different conclusions updating each other through shared perspective...each becoming the richer one that you always are and were...
As each pressure difference balances, free flow returns... more and more with each release...

Uniqueness- Cabbies eye view
A Choice Of A City / A Multi-Single Celled Organism.
Downtown the walkers of streets in their way
Run errands for money and take out their pay.
The speakers of truths and their views on the corner
Could be inside by the fire, they would be much warmer.
To what do we each by our souls and our nature
Add our content to a city evolving?
An organism of cells, each with their own mind,
With free given choice to be cruel or be kind.
I sit in a cab and observe how I feel
About the good ship Brisbane, from her Crow’s nest to keel
I witness and share through providence or chance
A few of the millions as they choose their own dance,
What inspires, offends, delights or gives challenge?
To one cell or another complexly depends
On the choice of their journey, not where it ends.
There are many who feel destination desire,
A mere A to B to arrive at the fire
That boils their blood or soothes all their ills,
The arms of a loved one, even bottles or pills.
For many their job and the doing of busyness
Occupies all the neurons of hear and now “IS-ness”.
For others it’s anticipation of a cuppa and bed,
Peace and quiet, or for couples ... Well, enough said!
So many it’s true, just do not fit,
Into any category you care to pick
Be it size, shape or colour, geniality or talk,
The only common denominator- They chose not to walk.
Catching my cab was the only thing true
That connect the uniqueness of both me and you.
No commonality the same, no difference really different
Despite the media message- generalised and persistent,
That we all fit into boxes, some right and some wrong
When we really all sing new harmonies in the same cosmic song.

i take it this is your own work?

of coarse. Passing thoughts and scribblings from observation.

Self Belief

Help me, help me,
Tell me what’s wrong.
Fix me, fix me
With energy and song.
Tell me, tell me, tell me do
What I need to see me through!

Such sadness to see so much unused power
Not trusted to make each individual flower.
Instead of a banquet of freshly cooked fish,
Give a net or a hook with an empowerment wish!

Walking along the river Ankh
I spied a gently resting plank
it lay across from waters edge
upon the surface like a ledge.
I tested it with my foot and weight.
It seemed to hold, it must be my fate
that I had the chance to walk on water
to take a gentle aquatic saunter.
So step I did out on a limb,
I threw a stone to make it skim.
It bounced three times and came to rest
but did not sink, It must be blessed.
It then occurred to my slow tick mind
that no blessing here was there to find
only that waste in the water supply
inspires natures harsh reply.
We site the midden and the well
safe distance between to avoid the smell
and ensure that we do not ingest
Typhoid and cholera and all the rest.
Sadly Roundworld has its version
of this tragic tale and its communal aversion
except that we in our questionable way
soil next door in exchange for pay.
So lovely and clean our water remains
while waste and all its inherent pains
is visited on the poorer folk
who surprisingly don't seem to get the joke.