la poesie

A

Anonymous

Guest
I had an abortion
The decision was tough
But I can't have a baby...
Just myself is enough!

And my dad would get angry!
And my mother would cry!
Darling, please understand me.
Hun, you cannot deny-

We're too young to have babies!
Hell, we're babies! You see
Why I had an abortion!
We're kids! We should be free!

The boy froze where he stood and
The boy's blue eyes grew wild
The boy dropped to his knees and wailed
"You killed my child"
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Ett stadium
kanske det sista
hos Gud
är att han inte finns


--Lars Nore'n
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
My Pickle

...may my pickle stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it's sunday may it be wrong
for whenever gherkins are green they are not young

and may my sweet and sour do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than pickle-juicey
there's never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one bite.

© 1995 by Jon Glass.
 

Try Anything Twice

Consultant to the World
Here’s one my mother used to read to me all the time when I was little. It comes to mind now for obvious reasons.

Pinkle Purr
A. A. Milne

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A little black nothing of feet and fur;
And by-and-by, when his eyes came through,
He saw his mother, the big Tattoo.
And all that he learned he learned from her.
"I'll ask my mother," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
A rediculous kitten with silky fur.
And little black Pinkle grew and grew
Till he got as big as the big Tattoo.
And all that he did he did with her.
"Two friends together," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An adventurous cat in a coat of fur.
And whenever he thought of a thing to do,
He didn't much bother about Tattooo,
For he knows it's nothing to do with her,
So "See you later," says Pinkle Purr.

Tattoo is the mother of Pinkle Purr,
An enormous leopard with coal-black fur.
A little brown kitten that's nearly new
Is now playing games with its big Tattoo…
And Pink looks lazily down at her:
"Dear little Tat," says Pinkle Purr.
 

Try Anything Twice

Consultant to the World
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Coincidently, I had picked up the Poetry In America dvd from the library last week. It’s a PBS series of half hour programs where people from related disciplines help interpret a poem. The first episode was for the following.

I cannot dance upon my Toes...

by Emily Dickinson

I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,

That had I Ballet knowledge—
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe—
Or lay a Prima, mad,

And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,

Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so—

Nor any know I know the Art
I mention—easy—Here—
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—
 

Ketamine Sun

<><><><><><><>
Please don't cry
For the ghost and the storm outside
Will not invade this sacred shrine
Nor infiltrate your mind
My life down I shall lie
If the bogey-man should try
To play tricks on your sacred mind
To tease, torment, and tantalize
Wavering shadows loom
A piano plays in an empty room
There'll be blood on the cleaver tonight
And when darkness lifts and the room is bright
I'll still be by your side
For you are all that matters
And I'll love you to till the day I die
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
Ceiling shadows shimmy by
And when the wardrobe towers like a beast of prey
There's sadness in your beautiful eyes
Oh, your untouched, unsoiled, wondrous eyes
My life down I shall lie
Should restless spirits try
To play tricks on your sacred mind
I once had a child, and it saved my life
And I never even asked his name
I just looked into his wondrous eyes
And said : "never never never again"
And all too soon I did return
Just like a moth to a flame
So rattle my bones all over the stones
I'm only a beggar-man whom nobody owns
Oh, see how words as old as sin
Fit me like a glove
I'm here and here I'll stay
Together we lie, together we pray
There never need be longing in your eyes
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
As long as the hand that rocks the cradle is mine
Mine
Climb up on my knee, sonny boy
Although you're only three, sonny boy
You're - you're mine
And your mother she just never knew
Oh, your mother...
As long...as long...as long
I did my best for her
I did my best for her
As long...as long...as long as...as long
I did my best for her
I did my best for her
Oh...


<><><><><><>
 

rifke

team bougatsa
dreamyneil posted this on his twitter (by Elisabeth barrett browning). it makes me want to weep. I know that so well, I know it with each new wrinkle I gather up. it's the most beautiful poem I've ever read. dreamyneil has the best poems. oh dreamyneil. *sigh*

 

Try Anything Twice

Consultant to the World
Halfway Down
By A. A. Milne

Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!

 

rifke

team bougatsa
Halfway Down
By A. A. Milne

Halfway down the stairs
Is a stair
Where I sit.
There isn't any
Other stair
Quite like
It.
I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
So this is the stair
Where
I always
Stop.

Halfway up the stairs
Isn't up
And it isn't down.
It isn't in the nursery,
It isn't in town.
And all sorts of funny thoughts
Run round my head.
It isn't really
Anywhere!
It's somewhere else
Instead!

that is the sweetest thing I've ever seen <3
 

countthree

Obvious person
I had an abortion
The decision was tough
But I can't have a baby...
Just myself is enough!

And my dad would get angry!
And my mother would cry!
Darling, please understand me.
Hun, you cannot deny-

We're too young to have babies!
Hell, we're babies! You see
Why I had an abortion!
We're kids! We should be free!

The boy froze where he stood and
The boy's blue eyes grew wild
The boy dropped to his knees and wailed
"You killed my child"
Well, the boy should take care about where he puts his seeds if he actually thinks this abortion was a killing. In any case, he caused it because without his intervention none of this would have happened. He began the process of abortion when he had irresponsible sex. If he thinks this was a killing, then he should think about himself as a murderer and don't judge anybody else.
 
A

Anonymous

Guest
Roses are dead
Violetta is blue
I had to do this
just because I hate you

--Dahmer
 

plopstar

I am not a robot
I pursed my lips and held them tight

As you strolled by with grace and poise

And as you disappeared from sight

I made a little farty noise

The end

by plopstar
 

123xyz

Well-Known Member
Subscriber
NEARNESS OF DEATH by Georg Trakl




O the evening , the one gone into the dark villages of childhood.
Under the willows the pond
Fills itself with poisoned sighs of grief.



O the forest , slowly lowering its brown eyes
From the slim lovely hand of the abandoned.
The purple of better days begins fading away.



O the nearness of death. Let us pray.
In this night , the delicate limbs of lovers ,
Yellowed by incense , dissolve on warm pillows.
 

123xyz

Well-Known Member
Subscriber
Childhood by Georg Trakl




The elderbush is heavy with berries ; childhood lived on quietly
In a blue cavern. The quiet branches are brooding
Over the bygone path where wild grass now whistles ,
A pale brown ; rustling of leaves



Like blue water falling over the rocks.
The blackbird's soft lament. A shepherd
Speechlessly follows the sun that rolls from the autumn hill.



A blue moment is even more spirit.
A timid deer emerges from the edge of the forest , while the old bells
And dark villages rest peacefully on this earth.



More pious now , you know the meaning of the dark years ,
The cold and autumn in lonely rooms ;
The ringing of brilliant footsteps in the holy blue.



The soft rattle of an open window ; seeing
An abandoned graveyard on the hill brings tears to your eyes ,
Memories of legends ; still at times the soul grows radiant
When it brings to mind joyous people , the dark gold days of spring.
 

rifke

team bougatsa
Childhood by Georg Trakl




The elderbush is heavy with berries ; childhood lived on quietly
In a blue cavern. The quiet branches are brooding
Over the bygone path where wild grass now whistles ,
A pale brown ; rustling of leaves



Like blue water falling over the rocks.
The blackbird's soft lament. A shepherd
Speechlessly follows the sun that rolls from the autumn hill.



A blue moment is even more spirit.
A timid deer emerges from the edge of the forest , while the old bells
And dark villages rest peacefully on this earth.



More pious now , you know the meaning of the dark years ,
The cold and autumn in lonely rooms ;
The ringing of brilliant footsteps in the holy blue.



The soft rattle of an open window ; seeing
An abandoned graveyard on the hill brings tears to your eyes ,
Memories of legends ; still at times the soul grows radiant
When it brings to mind joyous people , the dark gold days of spring.
I like these!
 

123xyz

Well-Known Member
Subscriber
And just one more from Trakl ...



In An Old Album by Georg Trakl



You keep returning , melancholy ,
The gentleness of the lonely soul.
A golden day glows toward its end.



Humbly , a patient man yields to pain
Reciting harmony and gentle madness.
Look , it's already growing dark.



Again the night returns and a dying man grieves ,
And another grieves with him.



Shuddering under the autumn stars ,
Each year , the head sinks lower and lower.
 
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