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Great Poetry
#31
RE: Great Poetry
From childhood's hour I have not been As others were
I have not seen as others saw
I could not bring My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken My sorrow
I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone
And all I lov'd , I lov'd alone
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still
From the torrent, or the fountain
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by
From the thunder, and the storm
And the cloud that took the form
When the rest of Heaven was blue
Of a demon in my view .

Edgar Allen Poe

Becuz Ed was in my head ...

Doc
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#32
RE: Great Poetry
The Fake And The Furious, (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on Twitter) post #641 hosted at Rational Responders my home poetry thread here... http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=12

The Fake And The Furious, By Brian37

Hagee and Robertson

Rush and Coulter

Even DeePak

Full of bluster



Hinn on a stage

No real doctor

Fleecing the gullible

Furious with anger



Warren's Purpose

Countered by Dan

The fake ringmasters

Exposed by skeptics



The clowns get angry

When they are challenged

They don't like it

When you expose them



Their muscle cars

Impractical

Fueld by magic

Drifting off cliffs



Fast and furious

A race to doomsday

They'd rather commit sucide

If they don't get their way



Their diesil driven

Fantasy book

Has a vin number

With a death wish



Their rumbels and roars

And pealing tires

They crash and burn

Over selfish desires



They're on the run

Futile speed

A highway to nowhere

They know we see



The expansion of

The universe

Is the real

Fast and furious
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#33
RE: Great Poetry
     Soulful Whispers


With eyes closed and a knowing smile,
I search needfully among the realm of
dream-lit memories and whispered partings.

Echos from voices not yet found add their
haunting melody as I traverse the hidden
crevices which exist only in that special
world between wishes and dreams.

Mental images float freely....and, then, are
transformed as they connect with emotional
exchanges...sweet memories....a conduit
which leads to you....only to you

I am adrift among that realm of dreams
which bears only your image....a heartfelt
longing to hold you...to be held by you.
A soft sigh as I shed the traces of wakefulness
and I am free....travelling on a nightwind to you
A deep sigh as our souls touch, once again, and memories are freed to emerge from
dream-lit passages....each producing sparks
of passion to light your waking form...to guide
me as my outstretched arms seek yours.

Lips seeking....desperately seeking yours...
breathlessly seeking release as our souls
join amid rhythmic whispers....soft moaning
as we become one.

And upon awakening...

I stretch and smile (our secret smile) as I
whisper your name and reach across crisp
white sheets.... to touch your waiting form.

Sad realization... A single tear is released and
my smile fades as I discover you are not here.

Were you ever?

Soulful whispers... calling for you.
None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free.
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#34
RE: Great Poetry
(December 17, 2014 at 7:47 am)ManMachine Wrote: Spike Milligan

So Fair Is She


So fair is she!
So fair her face
So fair her pulsing figure

Not so fair
The maniacal stare
Of a husband who's much bigger.

If you cast your bread on the water
It returns a thousand fold
So it says in the bible
So I have been told
So I cast my bread on the water
It was spotted by a froggy
and all the bits he didn't eat
just floated back
all soggy

Spike Miligan.



You can fix ignorance, you can't fix stupid.

Tinkety Tonk and down with the Nazis.




 








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#35
RE: Great Poetry
Peanut Butter And Jelly, By Brian37(AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)



Please understand

I do agree

That with the East

There is a PR problem



Saudi Arabia and Iran

Are not exactly bastions

Of political or religious

Freedom



And they too

Are willing take up arms

Willing do die

For what they believe



I find it hard

While pointing

In the right direction

A mirror you lack



I guess it is ok

If in killing the other

It is done in the name

Of the right book



Even locally

You fear change

Willing to kill

To protect a gun



As if it were living

Just like Isis

Murders over criticism

Of their prized possession



As if a gun

Were an unborn child

As if it were Mohammed

Or even Jesus



This is no sandwich

To be admired

Worship of old books

Or tools of death



Dont talk about peace

And be willing to kill

Over old books or objects

Vile peanut butter and jelly
 (end)

This poem was originally posted at my host website graciously hosted by Brian Sapient's Rational Responders, post #781 here 
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#36
RE: Great Poetry
Premonition (Robert W. Service)


'Twas a year ago and the moon was bright
(Oh, I remember so well, so well);
I walked with my love in a sea of light,
And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.

And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,
And sudden my love had taken wing;
I looked on the face of a grinning skull,
I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.


'Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still
In my arms, with her tender eyes aglow,
And she wondered why my lips were chill,
Why I was silent and kissed her so.

A year has gone and the moon is bright,
A gibbous moon, like a ghost of woe;
I sit by a new-made grave to-night,
And my heart is broken — it's strange, you know.

*****

Boru
‘I can’t be having with this.’ - Esmeralda Weatherwax
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#37
RE: Great Poetry
Ventriloquist Doll, By Brian37 (AKA Brian James Rational Poet on FB and @Brianrrs37 on twitter)

 
Most have had
Their parents hands
Up their back
To young to critically think.
 
Conformation bias
Set up by contitions
They swallow tall tales
Handed to them by their parents
 
If born in Tibet 
Tis a safe bet
A Buddhist
You'd most likely be
 
From Biloxi to Baltimore
Montana to Miami
Far more likely
A sect of Christianity
 
Just as with
Antiquity 
Greek or Roman
Apollo or Zues you'd believe
 
If you lived under Tut
You'd look up above
Thinking the sun god Ra
Was moving that orange ball
 
It is all the same
In our species history
Most don't want to face
They are a ventriloquist's doll
(end)

Hosted here at my home thread post #914 http://www.rationalresponders.com/forum/31771?page=18
 
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#38
RE: Great Poetry
And you were there
Sheltering underneath
a flickering vacancy sign
stands a lonely Kansas girl.
Red lips, red dress, ruby shoes.
Sad eyes speak: "No place like home."
I lose all instantaneously:
my heart, brain and courage.
"If we go down, we go down together!"
- Your mum, last night, suggesting 69.
[Image: 41bebac06973488da2b0740b6ac37538.jpg]-
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#39
RE: Great Poetry
(October 12, 2013 at 2:46 pm)Zazzy Wrote: I love poetry. I'd like to hear favorite poems/poets from the people here.

I'll start with Ted Hughes (husband of Sylvia Plath), whose work I have been recently reading. His book Crow is amazing. The poems are connected to form a mythology centering around a Loki-like character- Crow- who interferes with and witnesses the imperfect creation of a violent world by a fallible god- an interesting read for theists and atheists alike.
Link to some of the poems

And here's a poem from it:

Crow's Theology

Crow realized God loved him-
Otherwise, he would have dropped dead.
So that was proved.
Crow reclined, marvelling, on his heart-beat.

And he realized that God spoke Crow-
Just existing was His revelation.

But what Loved the stones and spoke stone?
They seemed to exist too.
And what spoke that strange silence
After his clamour of caws faded?

And what loved the shot-pellets
That dribbled from those strung-up mummifying crows?
What spoke the silence of lead?

Crow realized there were two Gods-

One of them much bigger than the other
Loving his enemies
And having all the weapons.

The only poem of Plath's I understood and love to this day is "Cut".

https://genius.com/Sylvia-plath-cut-annotated
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#40
RE: Great Poetry
Kiss the cook

A knight in white with a lid for a shield
and a steel spatula serving as a sword.
Regard his apron on the battlefield
as a cloak and his toque a helmet of sorts.

His blade chops and dices and cuts
all in his path for his maiden's love.
And slowly he gets covered in guts
though they're pumpkins' sure enough.

The metal in hand, where strength lies
should spread to his mind and in his head
yet the journey demands that he cries
when he faces an ominous onion threat.

And when at long last the quest is complete
and he has fulfilled all his princess' wishes
he still does not get the rest you think he'd need
for beyond lies an eternal realm of dishes.
"If we go down, we go down together!"
- Your mum, last night, suggesting 69.
[Image: 41bebac06973488da2b0740b6ac37538.jpg]-
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