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BEAT
01-29-2014, 07:59 AM
DO IT. DO iT NOW

I stood upon a high place,
And saw, below, many devils
Running, leaping,
and carousing in sin.
One looked up, grinning,
And said, "Comrade! Brother!"

A plow, they say, to plow the snow.
They cannot mean to plant it, no--
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.

ThornGhost
01-29-2014, 08:10 AM
don't try and dictate how long my poetry is maaaaan


Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Marguerite
he writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he orders us strike up and play for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margeurite
your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
He shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margeurite
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly Death is a master from Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then in smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams
der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Shulamith

Patrick
01-29-2014, 08:27 AM
This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Excitemike
01-29-2014, 08:29 AM
Who the hell
ate all my plums?

Teaspoon
01-29-2014, 08:48 AM
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!—
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!"

Wolfgang
01-29-2014, 09:39 AM
There was an old man from the Cape
Who made himself garments of crepe.
When asked "Will it tear?"
He replied "Here and there,
But they keep such a beautiful shape!"

That's right. Go ahead, smile, it's funny. That's right.

Falselogic
01-29-2014, 10:03 AM
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.

But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.

And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?"

"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied—
"If you seek for Eldorado"

Wolfgang
01-29-2014, 10:07 AM
tap tap the ketchup bottle
nothing comes
then axolotl

Patrick
01-29-2014, 10:17 AM
The Wild Swans At Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.

The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

Sanagi
01-29-2014, 02:02 PM
hey, my fucking
plums

...

Zef
01-29-2014, 02:32 PM
Is that my cow?
It goes "HRUUUGH!"
It is a hippopotamus!
... No, that most certainly is not my cow.

Healy
01-29-2014, 05:56 PM
The gallows in my garden, people say,
Is new and neat and adequately tall;
I tie the noose on in a knowing way
As one that knots his necktie for a ball;
But just as all the neighbours--on the wall--
Are drawing a long breath to shout "Hurray!"
The strangest whim has seized me. . . . After all
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

To-morrow is the time I get my pay--
My uncle's sword is hanging in the hall--
I see a little cloud all pink and grey--
Perhaps the rector's mother will not call--
I fancy that I heard from Mr. Gall
That mushrooms could be cooked another way--
I never read the works of Juvenal--
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

The world will have another washing-day;
The decadents decay; the pedants pall;
And H.G. Wells has found that children play,
And Bernard Shaw discovered that they squall,
Rationalists are growing rational--
And through thick woods one finds a stream astray
So secret that the very sky seems small--
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

ENVOI
Prince, I can hear the trumpet of Germinal,
The tumbrils toiling up the terrible way;
Even to-day your royal head may fall,
I think I will not hang myself to-day.

Teaspoon
01-29-2014, 06:14 PM
My garden blazes brightly with the rose-bush and the peach,
And the koil sings above it, in the siris by the well,
From the creeper-covered trellis comes the squirrel's chattering speech,
And the blue jay screams and flutters where the cheery sat-bhai dwell.
But the rose has lost its fragrance, and the koil's note is strange;
I am sick of endless sunshine, sick of blossom-burdened bough.
Give me back the leafless woodlands where the winds of Springtime range--
Give me back one day in England, for it's Spring in England now!

Through the pines the gusts are booming, o'er the brown fields blowing chill,
From the furrow of the ploughshare streams the fragrance of the loam,
And the hawk nests on the cliffside and the jackdaw in the hill,
And my heart is back in England 'mid the sights and sounds of Home.
But the garland of the sacrifice this wealth of rose and peach is,
Ah! koil, little koil, singing on the siris bough,
In my ears the knell of exile your ceaseless bell like speech is--
Can you tell me aught of England or of Spring in England now?

Wolfgang
01-29-2014, 06:20 PM
Dear God:
Rub a dub dub
Thanks for the grub
Amen

Daikaiju
02-03-2014, 05:47 AM
Other Memories
02/25 & 03/04/13

I
It's funny
What memories stick
In the mind
Like solid cured concrete
And not necessarily
What others think
You absolutely must
Be able to exactly recall.
~
II
The first markers of my world:
Saint Augie's buff brick steeple,
Sentinal over dormered roofs;
The basilica's green dome,
Drawing the eye across the valley;
Saint Lucas's austere spire*
At the curve of Kinnickinnic;
Bay View High's red brick castle
Of learning enthroned on its hill.
~
Kettle Moraine mid April
Still a chill in the season
Caps, hats and sweaters
For a lookout tower climb
And a meal in the shade,
Lapham Peak lamb burgers,
Their middles butter nubbed,
Chargrilled by Dad
At year's first picnic.
~
A summer eve swim
Down Cudahy way
Despite massed clouds
Rising in the west.
No ride home for John and I.
No bus till we're all wet again
And my shoes are shot.
~
A six A.M. snowstorm,
Nine inches by nine thirty.
Yet on time to school
To find it shut tight
Plows stuck behind cars
And buses all stopped.
A long mile and a half home
Lugging books and French horn.
~
Open mouthed pike's head
Mounted above our head.
An undertone of wave slosh
From down by the dock,
Impatient for the ferry
To make Gill's Rock;
Though the sun always brings it
Death's Door Strait or not.
~
III
Walking to the Lake
Then southeast along the shore.
A kaleidescope of houses on
Bay View's jigsaw puzzle streets.
Old Smoky frozen in place
On its cutoff siding.
The Tautog in its slip,
Never to dive again.
And a riot of boats
Clustering in the yacht club basin.
~
Then a sand fronted,
Green lawned rolling bluff,
Morphing into a cliff.
Looking back across the breakwater,
The whole harbor shows itself off
Against the white capped blue.
Downtown, a knot of structures at left,
Lake Park's cliffs at distant center;
The rest is water,
Endless and forever.
~
Back from the Nam,
As soon as I could,
Down to the Lake
To reconnect and renew
A constant always there
While all else changes.
And on my odd returns
I go there still
And remember.
~
*[before the cream brick was cleaned of coal soot]

- Daikaiju's Dad

Loki
02-03-2014, 06:17 AM
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, "It is just as I feared!—
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!"

This is awful, I hope you're proud of yourself.

tap tap the ketchup bottle
nothing comes
then axolotl

I told that one to Alex all the time when he was a baby.

Beneath the waters of the sea
Are Lobsters thick as thick can be -
They love to dance with you and me,
My own, my gentle Salmon!

Salmon, come up! Salmon, go down!
Salmon come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!

Teaspoon
02-03-2014, 08:20 AM
I will have you know that that is a genuine Edward Lear limerick, hero of English comic poetry. Awful is in the eye of the beholder.

(whaaaaat, who said it was supposed to be GOOD poetry in a BEAT thread)

Guild
02-03-2014, 10:23 AM
A part of me want's to say forget i asked. But i don't wear any shoes.. stick a hole in pregnancy. Literally? I don't know, haven't tried.

Just i hate being BALD THOUGH! DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT! I'm convinced you can't help me, that's the downside with this mission. You eat like a horse you talk like a horse you sleep like a horse. Turns me on.

sing, spit, tap!

BEAT
02-03-2014, 10:29 AM
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
There was crimson clash of war.
Lands turned black and bare;
Women wept;
Babes ran, wondering.
There came one who understood not these things.
He said, "Why is this?"
Whereupon a million strove to answer him.
There was such intricate clamour of tongues,
That still the reason was not.
"Tell brave deeds of war."
Then they recounted tales, --
"There were stern stands
And bitter runs for glory."
Ah, I think there were braver deeds.
I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
"Sir," I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child-" he began.
"Sir," I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much."
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.-
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

Yama
02-08-2014, 01:22 PM
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If I really loved you
This would be a haiku

Teaspoon
02-08-2014, 01:28 PM
I love to write the
Haiku, with the syllables
Five seven kumquat