Poetry

[DVS]

Just beautiful, DVS, no matter the form your words are presented.

I was a little stressed arriving home before having to leave for the next chapter of Christmas day. (always the mediator) Finding this was the best thing that could have happened. Much better than the shot of Stoli's I was going to have.

Thank you for sharing.

Hey! What's the matter with the form? LOL, just kidding. These are actually song lyrics and that's the phrasing of the songs. I'm glad you like them. If you're interested, there's a link to the songs in my signature.

Shot of Stoli's? Is that a flavor of booze? Gettin' tipsy on Christmas?

 

[Stella_Omega]

Just beautiful, DVS, no matter the form your words are presented.

I was a little stressed arriving home before having to leave for the next chapter of Christmas day. (always the mediator) Finding this was the best thing that could have happened. Much better than the shot of Stoli's I was going to have.

Thank you for sharing.

Best thing about poetry!

 

[Babyslave]

Hey! What's the matter with the form? LOL, just kidding. These are actually song lyrics and that's the phrasing of the songs. I'm glad you like them. If you're interested, there's a link to the songs in my signature.

Shot of Stoli's? Is that a flavor of booze? Gettin' tipsy on Christmas?

Hello again. I recognized "Exit With a Smile" and "Trail of Tears" straight away, and admit I took another venture over to the page for the other. Not the first time I've visited there, nor will it be the last.

Whether set to music or in black on white on my screen, they're beautiful. But reading them is different, somehow.

Stoli's is a brand of Vodka. Short for Stolichnaya. (I usually have a bottle in the freezer. On ice, if you will.) When spending a fair amount of time with some members of my family, a little bit of alcohol is helpful.

 

[SheWantsYou]

Hey! What's the matter with the form? LOL, just kidding. These are actually song lyrics and that's the phrasing of the songs. I'm glad you like them. If you're interested, there's a link to the songs in my signature.

Shot of Stoli's? Is that a flavor of booze? Gettin' tipsy on Christmas?

So I do indeed love quite a bit of the poets already presented in the thread, Poe is very near the top of my list, and I'll add Yeats to the mix, "The Second Coming" is a favourite of mine. But reading your lyrics/poetry made me think of my younger years, and Shel Silverstein, a lyrical poet that is usually ignored when speaking of the greats. I couldn't find much of his poetry online, and some are a tad too long to type out, but below is a pretty good idea of his style.


Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
and before the street begins,
and there the grass grows soft and white,
and there the sun burns crimson bright,
and there the moon-bird rests from his flight
to cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
and the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow
and watch where the chalk-white arrows go
to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
for the children, they mark, and the children, they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.

 

[Stella_Omega]

Another one from Uncle Shelby:

My beard grows to my toes,
I never wears no clothes
I wraps my hair
Around my bare
and down the road I goes.

 

[SheWantsYou]

Another one from Uncle Shelby:

My beard grows to my toes,
I never wears no clothes
I wraps my hair
Around my bare
and down the road I goes.

Loved that. I'd never read that before I don't think...

I think what I really liked about him when I was younger, was that even though the poems felt like they were written for children, they had an adult edge to them. I've heard he used to frequent Key West and play folk music, his own lyrics obviously, at one of the older bars. I think I would have enjoyed seeing him unplugged at such a venue.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

Hey! What's the matter with the form? LOL, just kidding. These are actually song lyrics and that's the phrasing of the songs. I'm glad you like them. If you're interested, there's a link to the songs in my signature.

They work well as poems, though! Thanks for the shot-o-verse...

Loved that. I'd never read that before I don't think...

I think what I really liked about him when I was younger, was that even though the poems felt like they were written for children, they had an adult edge to them. I've heard he used to frequent Key West and play folk music, his own lyrics obviously, at one of the older bars. I think I would have enjoyed seeing him unplugged at such a venue.

Oh yeah...take me with you when you build the time machine. This year saw the publication of a new book of his work, btw, never-before published stuff, and it is goooooooooooooooooooood...

 

[SheWantsYou]

Oh yeah...take me with you when you build the time machine. This year saw the publication of a new book of his work, btw, never-before published stuff, and it is goooooooooooooooooooood...

I saw it at Barnes and Nobles as I was rushing out, I still haven't been back to pick it up. I have my dog-eared copies of his earlier poetry books, want to add this one to the pile.

And if we do this, I'm thinking teleportation...time machine sounds too clunky...

 

[Stella_Omega]

For me, the problem with a really good poet is that I can't recite the poems without choking up...

here's another Shel Silverstein offering;
The Garden

Ol' man Simon, planted a diamond,
Grew hisself a garden the likes of none.
Sprouts all growin', comin' up glowin',
Fruit of jewels all shinin' in the sun.

Colors of the rainbow,
See the sun and rain grow
Sapphires and rubies on ivory vines,
Grapes of jade, just
ripening in the shade, just
Ready for the squeezin' into green jade wine.

Pure gold corn there,
Blowin' in the warm air,
Ol' crow nibblin' on the amnythyst seeds.
In between the diamonds, ol' man Simon
Crawls about pullin' out platinum weeds.

Pink pearl berries,
All you can carry,
Put 'em in a bushel and
Haul 'em into town.
Up in the tree there's
Opal nuts and gold pears--
Hurry quick, grab a stick
And shake some down.

Take a silver tater,
Emerald tomater,
Fresh plump coral melons
Hangin' in reach.

Ol' man Simon,
Diggin' in his diamonds,
Stops and rests and dreams about
One...real...peach.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

I saw it at Barnes and Nobles as I was rushing out, I still haven't been back to pick it up. I have my dog-eared copies of his earlier poetry books, want to add this one to the pile.

And if we do this, I'm thinking teleportation...time machine sounds too clunky...

For me, the problem with a really good poet is that I can't recite the poems without choking up...

here's another Shel Silverstein offering;
The Garden

Ol' man Simon, planted a diamond,
Grew hisself a garden the likes of none.
Sprouts all growin', comin' up glowin',
Fruit of jewels all shinin' in the sun.

<snip>

Ol' man Simon,
Diggin' in his diamonds,
Stops and rests and dreams about
One...real...peach.

I love the way he riffs and builds on things. Seuss did it, too. It's a whimsical poetic jazz/blues festival. Blues/jazz, really.

<Nod to Spinal Tap.>

 

[Stella_Omega]

I love the way he riffs and builds on things. Seuss did it, too. It's a whimsical poetic jazz/blues festival. Blues/jazz, really.

<Nod to Spinal Tap.>

This is true, and an excellent observation

It's that long riff that makes those last couple lines so effective, I think.

 

[DeepGreenEyes]

This is true, and an excellent observation

It's that long riff that makes those last couple lines so effective, I think.

Absolutely! Like...

"Clever
Clever
Clever
You sorta know what to expect
now, don't you?
You really do
Pleasant and clever
Interesting imagery
Clever
Clever

BAM!!!!"



Similar approach in the Seuss verses from "Oh the Places You'll Go!": blahpee blippee blahpee blippee blahpee blippee BAM!!


"You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing."

 

[Stella_Omega]

Whereas W.H.Auden makes every single word count;

Edward Lear

Left by his friend to breakfast alone on the white
Italian shore, his Terrible Demon arose
Over his shoulder; he wept to himself in the night,
A dirty landscape-painter who hated his nose.

The legions of cruel inquisitive They
Were so many and big like dogs; he was upset
By Germans and boats; affection was miles away:
But guided by tears he successfully reached his Regret.

How prodigious the welcome was. Flowers took his hat
And bore him off to introduce him to the tongs;
The demon’s false nose made the table laugh; a cat
Soon had him waltzing madly, let him squeeze her hand;
Words pushed him to the piano to sing comic songs;

And children swarmed to him like settlers. He became a land.

 

[Cattypuss]

John Donne was on the syllabus when I did English lit 'O' level a zillion years ago. I was a 14-year old at the time and had never had a boyfriend and this poem struck me as perfectly capturing erotic and emotional love and the way people can get lost in each other in certain moments.

A zillion years on and I still feel the same about it. Plus I love what he does with rhythm and tempo in it. And, in context, I love that line "Nothing else is."


The Sun Rising
by John Donne

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."

She'is all states, and all princes I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

 

[Curious_in_Cali]

One more by Shel Silverstein...


~Aphrodisiac ~
Now, listen to me, folks...
Hear what I say.
You got to eat oysters everyday
They'll put your love life back on track
They're nature's own aphrodisiac.

Ohh, ohhh... yes it's true
What a little oyster can do for you.
Ohh, ohhh... ain't it fun
Here's some things them oysters done...

They made Jim Beam
They made Allen Thick
They made Jonathan Swift
And they made Gracie Slick
They made Victor Mature
And they made Tom Petty
They started Willie Waylon
And they got Helen Reddy.
They made Tom Cruise
They made Oscar Wilde
They gave Gary Hart
But they gave Gomer Piles
They made William Hurt
They made Lucille Ball
They made Wilson Picket
And that ain't all.

Ohh, ohhh... yes it's true
What a little oyster can do for you.
Ohh, ohhh... ain't it fun
Here's some more them oysters done.

They made Stevie Wonder
And they made old John Wayne
They made Saul Bellow
And caused Thomas Paine
Turned Clint Black
And turned Barry White
Made Doris' Day
And Gladys' Knight.
They gave Bob Hope
They gave Percy Faith
They made Marvin Gaye
But they made George Straight
They made Bobby's Short
And Lester's Flatt
And hey... they even did more than that.

Ohh, ohhh... yes it's true
What a little oyster can do for you.
Ohh, ohhh... ain't it fun
Here's some more them oysters done.

They got George Bush
They made Bozo a Clown
They got Bobby Bare
And made Ezra Pound
They made Gallo Wine
They made Merle Haggart
They Made Andy Devine
They made Jimmy Swagger
They made Rich Little
And made Hughie Long
They made BB King
And they made Neil's Armstrong
And if you ask my wife,
She'll tell you quite gaily
Best of all they made old Pat Daily.

Ohh, ohhh... yes it's true
What a little oyster can do for you.
Ohh, ohhh... ain't it fun
That's all about oysters
Now we're done.

 

[BiBunny]

John Donne was on the syllabus when I did English lit 'O' level a zillion years ago. I was a 14-year old at the time and had never had a boyfriend and this poem struck me as perfectly capturing erotic and emotional love and the way people can get lost in each other in certain moments.

A zillion years on and I still feel the same about it. Plus I love what he does with rhythm and tempo in it. And, in context, I love that line "Nothing else is."


The Sun Rising
by John Donne

Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."

She'is all states, and all princes I,
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.

I love John Donne.

 

[Wild_Honey_66]

Look what i found!

I went looking, cos sometimes i scribble.

 

[Wild_Honey_66]

If you had said to me, in our glitter days
I am going to leave you
In the dark, and the quiet
Without a whisper
Without a kiss

Would i have weighed it against my dancing heart
Full and happy
With your languid hours
Your sweet tea tongue

And found it an even exchange?