Re: (yet) another poetry thread

[Sad Peter Pan]

I am in love with the message of this one:


Here is my personal message to all of you
careerist, slime bucket, fame seeking, sykophantic,
weakworded, same voiced, gladhanding, asskissing,
backstabbing, envying, self serving assholes
who are littering the downtown scene in ever increasing
numbers while you choke the creativity out of yourselves as
you turnoff thousands of potential power of the word
lovers by the oxygen you use up on the performing stages of
New York City while youmake your dullwitted stab toward
your myopic fantasy of love, admiration, approval, sex, and
immortality which you think your 10 minutes of standing in
front of a crowd that has long stopped listening to you will
confer on your sorry asses.

Stop practicing in public
memorizing your poems won't make up
for it being shitty and empty in the first place.
your friends in the poetry scene
will not tell you that you suck
they are happy you suck
because they are as competitive as you are
they'll keep telling you how great you are as long as you
return the favor or until they feel they are more successful
than you
stop whining about not being invited to read at the St. Mark's
Poetry Project on New Years Day
it's a benefit
not a career move.
Stop whining about what time
yer given to to read on New YEars Day
9 out of 10 times you don't even deserve to be reading there.
Stop telling us that you will
kill yourself if you don't become famous
it is of no interest to us
as a matter of fact
I want you to kill yourself
if that's what it takes to get you
to stop performing in public
and please.....
Don't leave a note.
You have to be willing to be bad for 20 years to be great
and there's no gauruntee you will be
Unless yo have an intimate relationship with someone the
people who rush the stage to congradulate you as you come offstage
are even more desperate than you are
Anyone can kill on stage for six minutesthe measure is can you kill for 3 hours?
The only thing of value anyone has to offer
is their uniqueness
and individuality
no matter who you are or what you do.
Live your life.
Notice what you are really thinking about
Write about that.
Show us what you don't want anyone to see.
Remember that while art can be product
product can never be art
Take a real risk just once.
Judge other artists by the quality of their work
not by how nice they are to you.
Read. Listen.
Read. Listen.
Read. Listen.
Stop being part of the most illiterate, unread group of poseurs
in the long history of poseurs in art.
Stop confusing performance poetry with:
Saturday Night Live
Sesame Street
having a good time
a Tupperware party
hanging out with yer friends
Wheel of Fortune
Jeopardy!
your senior prom
The Brady Bunch

This is Penny Arcade's "Manifesto" taken from Verses That Hurt: pleasure and pain from the POEMFONE poets

[JoRi]

hmm...the first one is better...maybe if im feeling whimsical tonite ill write something down...type something down i like the part in yours tho were it says "But for myself I choose recluse, to follow my own truths" but im not so much for the occational rhyme, it just makes it seem less imediant

[Sad Peter Pan]

imediant?

Irregular rhythm irritates me. That's what makes this my less than favorite poem.

[JoRi]

imediant...like less personal...it's not too bad tho, you can always work on it

[Sad Peter Pan]

Here's some 17th century philosophy/poetry:

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be
in silence. As far as possible, without
surrender, be on good terms with all
persons. Speak your truth quietly and
clearly, and listen to others, even to the
dull and ignorant; they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter, for
there will be greater and lesser
person than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements, as well as your
plans, keep interested in your career,
however humble; it is a real possession
in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery. But let
this not blind you for what virtue there
is; many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign
affection. Neither be cynical about love; for
in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it's as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the council of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in
sudden misfortune. But do not distress
yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and
loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline be gentle
with yourself. You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars; you have
a right to be here. And whether or not it is
clear to you, no doubt the universe
unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever
you conceive Him to be. And whatever your
labors and your aspirations, in the noisy
confusion of life keep peace with your soul
With all the sham drudgery and broken
dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be careful. Strive to be happy.

[Joe Lies]

Before you slip into unconsciousness
I'd like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss

The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We'll meet again, we'll meet again

Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You'd rather cry, I'd rather fly

The crystal ship is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time
When we get back, I'll drop a line

by Jim Morrison, this was the first one i thought of, its actually one of their songs, but its poetry as well.

[Sad Peter Pan]

by Jim Morrison, this was the first one i thought of, its actually one of their songs, but its poetry as well

Right on J-Dog


ULALUME

by: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

HE skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crispèd and sere--
The leaves they were withering and sere:
It was night, in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir--
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Wier.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul--
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll--
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the Pole--
That groans as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the Boreal Pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were palsied and sere--
Our memories were treacherous and sere--
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year--
(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber,
(Though once we had journeyed down here)
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn--
As the star-dials hinted of morn--
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous luster was born.
Out of which a miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplicate horn--
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said--"She is warmer than Dian;
She rolls through an ether of sighs--
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path of the skies--
To the Lethean peace of the skies--
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes--
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said--"Sadly this star I mistrust--
Her pallor I strangely mistrust--
Oh, hasten!--oh, let us not linger!
Oh, fly!--let us fly!--for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings till they trailed in the dust--
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till they trailed in the dust--
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied--"This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its sybillic splendor is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty to-night:--
See! it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright:
We safely may trust to a gleaming
That cannot but guide us aright,
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
And tempted her out of her gloom--
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of a vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb--
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said--"What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied--"Ulalume--Ulalume!--
'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crispèd and sere--
As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried--"It was surely October
On this very night of last year
That I journeyed--I journeyed down here--
That I brought a dread burden down here!
On this night of all nights in the year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber--
This misty mid region of Weir--
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber--
This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."
More Poems Here

[Joe Lies]

just bought a collection of Jim's poems.

[Sad Peter Pan]

Joe said:

just bought a collection of Jim's poems.

Awesome. You may have heard that Billy released some poetry here is one of his poems, I don't know what it is about this piece that I like, it just has an awesome sound.

A twixt the twine and flowers divine
Devise the design in this copper wine
Aghast the mask of ripping change
A loft amongst the highest paid

blend in the softer hues
Bespeak of melon and her honey fuse
Light my ire's with playful trust
For devour you insatiable I mus
So mixed the mire the many did soar
Sour the supirn on slippery floor
Green the grievous poured wound into salt
Salacious and sated the savory sport

Don't get certain play trickw with mine pull
Gather your colours and ever your sulk
No manners in me matter the most
Than playing valor to your consummate host
Pillow the phenom on purring divan
Mellow the missing on vanilla white toast
Laboured among the living lull last
Repay the repast in revolting rake

Never come give it up, whatever you may squander
The figs in the pockets and the coursings down under
By blood are the passions passing us up
By pill the poison feeling
The heat it kills me everyday
By graveyard vigil and candles I bake
And kitchens are aching for archangel falls
Of soft baby bottoms and polished skulls, amen.

-billy corgan

[JoRi]

hmm..i just realized, i don't really write poetry..it's more a stearm of randomness thoughts.

[Sad Peter Pan]

"Poetry is the kind of thing poets write" - Robert Frost

"Poetry is a rhythmical composition of words expressing an attitude, designed to surprise and delight, and to arouse an emotional response" - An introduction to Poetry by X.J. Kennedy and Dana Gioia (Preface)

[JoRi]

hmm...so i should post the randomness composition?

[Sad Peter Pan]

Sure I don't see why not.

[Sad Peter Pan]

Perfect example of random composition.

[Jonny]

the rasmus called, they want their rhyming machine back.