caty
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Thu Oct-04-07 09:59 AM
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Post your favorite short poem.... |
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Mine is one I remember from the old "Laverne and Shirley" show.
If in heaven we don't meet Hand and hand we'll brave the heat If by chance it gets too hot Pepsi Cola hits the spot
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Richardo
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Thu Oct-04-07 10:03 AM
Response to Original message |
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Edited on Thu Oct-04-07 10:03 AM by Richardo
The ant has made himself illustrious Through constant industry industrious.
So what? Would you be calm and placid If you were full of formic acid?
-Ogden Nash
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Common Sense Party
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Thu Oct-04-07 04:54 PM
Response to Reply #1 |
18. The trouble with a kitten is that |
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Eventually it becomes a cat.
--My favorite Ogden Nash poem.
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tuckessee
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Thu Oct-04-07 10:56 AM
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2. I remember this one from grade school. |
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A sailor went to sea to see what he could see, But all that he could see was sea, sea, sea.
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0007
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Thu Oct-04-07 11:01 AM
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4. A salilor went to sea and got sucked off by a wave . . . |
redqueen
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Thu Oct-04-07 10:58 AM
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Love is not all: It is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain, Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink and rise and sink and rise and sink again. Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone; Yet many a man is making friends with death even as I speak, for lack of love alone. It well may be that in a difficult hour, pinned down by need and moaning for release or nagged by want past resolutions power, I might be driven to sell you love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food. It may well be. I do not think I would.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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1gobluedem
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Thu Oct-04-07 11:06 AM
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5. This is the only one I can remember, apologies if it isn't exactly correct |
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My candle burns at both ends It will not last the night. But, ah my foes and oh, my friends It leaves a lovely light!
Edna St. Vincent Millay
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caty
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Thu Oct-04-07 11:35 AM
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6. Here's one for cat lovers..... |
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Cats sleep Anywhere Any table Any chair Top of piano Window ledge In the middle On the Edge Open drawer Empty shoe Anybody's Lap will do Fitted in A cardboard box In a cupboard With your frocks Anywhere They don't care Cats sleep Anywhere.
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radfringe
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Thu Oct-04-07 11:36 AM
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I can drive anyway I pleases I'm protected by my plastic Jesus
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mitchum
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Thu Oct-04-07 01:46 PM
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trackfan
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Thu Oct-04-07 02:47 PM
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9. Most passionate love-poem: |
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Qualis nox fuit illa di deaeque; quam mollis toris. Haesimus calentes et transfudimus hinc et hinc labellis errantes animas. Valete curae mortales; ego sic perire coepi.
Petronius
What a night that was, O gods and goddesses; what a soft bed. We clung together, burning, and with lips here and there exchanged our wandering souls. Farewell mortal cares; thus I began to perish.
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SteppingRazor
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Thu Oct-04-07 02:52 PM
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10. I don't really have a favorite, but here's a four-liner: |
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Edited on Thu Oct-04-07 02:52 PM by SteppingRazor
A Challenge To The Dark shot in the eye shot in the brain shot in the ass shot like a flower in the dance -- Charles Bukowski
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Aristus
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Thu Oct-04-07 03:30 PM
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11. One from Kenneth Patchen. it runs in its entirety: |
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"Come now, my child. If we were planning to harm you, do you think we would be lurking here beside the path in the very darkest part of the forest?"
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XemaSab
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Thu Oct-04-07 03:35 PM
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12. From "The Hill Wife" by Robert Frost |
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The Oft-Repeated Dream
She had no saying dark enough For the dark pine that kept Forever trying the window-latch Of the room where they slept.
The tireless but ineffectual hands That with every futile pass Made the great tree seem as a little bird Before the mystery of glass!
It never had been inside the room, And only one of the two Was afraid in an oft-repeated dream Of what the tree might do.
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VLC
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Thu Oct-04-07 03:46 PM
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1. by political prisoner Nazim Hikmet
The best sea has yet to be crossed. The best child has yet to grow up. Our best days have yet to be lived ; and the best word I wanted to say to you is the word I have not yet said.
2. The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost (not posting because it's pretty well known)
3. Funeral Blues by WH Auden Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'. Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods; For nothing now can ever come to any good.
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XemaSab
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Thu Oct-04-07 06:50 PM
Response to Reply #13 |
27. Reminds me of this one... |
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The Emperor of Ice-Cream, by Wallace Stevens
Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers. Let be be finale of seem. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Take from the dresser of deal, Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet On which she embroidered fantails once And spread it so as to cover her face. If her horny feet protrude, they come To show how cold she is, and dumb. Let the lamp affix its beam. The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
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VLC
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Fri Oct-05-07 02:40 PM
Response to Reply #27 |
Glorfindel
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Thu Oct-04-07 03:57 PM
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14. "The Modern Hiawatha" |
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He killed the noble Mudjokivis. Of the skin he made him mittens, Made them with the fur side inside, Made them with the skin side outside. He, to get the warm side inside, Put the inside skin side outside. He, to get the cold side outside, Put the warm side fur side inside. That's why he put the fur side inside, Why he put the skin side outside, Why he turned them inside outside.
-- George A. Strong
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Felix Mala
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Thu Oct-04-07 04:00 PM
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15. Happens to be Frank O'Hara's last poem... It was found jotted onto a slip |
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of paper in the pocket of his pants at the emergency room where he was taken after being hit by a dune buggy as he strolled along a beach on Fire Island.
He falls; but even in falling he is higher than those who fly into the ordinary sun.
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stuntcat
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Thu Oct-04-07 04:05 PM
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well it's not my favorite but it's a funny one
Comment Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song, A medley of extemporanea; And love is a thing that can never go wrong; And I am Marie of Roumania.
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Aristus
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Thu Oct-04-07 05:50 PM
Response to Reply #16 |
21. Another laugher from Dorothy Parker: |
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I love a nice, dry Martini; Only one or two at the most Three, and I'm under the table, Four, and I'm under the host
:rofl:
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stuntcat
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Thu Oct-04-07 09:20 PM
Response to Reply #21 |
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"They say of me, and so they should, It's doubtful if I come to good." :D
Morbid little rhyme, I use it for my signature :headbang:
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cloudbase
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Thu Oct-04-07 04:49 PM
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MrCoffee
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Thu Oct-04-07 05:09 PM
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Haikus are easy But sometimes they don't make sense Refrigerator
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Maraya1969
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Thu Oct-04-07 05:48 PM
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20. The monkey wrapped his head around the flag pole |
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to see his asshole.
(Forgot the rest)
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GOPisEvil
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Thu Oct-04-07 05:54 PM
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22. Robert Francis' "The Pitcher" - perfect for the baseball playoffs |
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His art is eccentricity, his aim How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at,
His passion how to avoid the obvious, His technique how to vary the avoidance.
The others throw to be comprehended. He Throws to be a moment misunderstood.
Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild, But every seeming aberration willed.
Not to, yet still, still to communicate Making the batter understand too late.
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Oeditpus Rex
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Thu Oct-04-07 07:09 PM
Response to Reply #22 |
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How dear to my heart was the old-fashioned batter who scattered line drives from the spring to the fall
He did not resemble the up-to-date batter who swings from the heels and misses the ball
The up-to-date batter I'm not very strong for He shatters the ozone with all of his might
And that is the reason I hanker and long for those who doubled to left, and tripled to right
The old-fashioned batter The eagle-eyed batter The thinking man's batter Who tripled to right
And...
How dear to my heart was the old-fashioned hurler who labored all day on the old village green
He did not resemble the up-to-date twirler who pitches four innings and ducks from the scene
The up-to-date twirler I’m not very strong for He has a queer habit of pulling up lame
And that is the reason I hanker and long for the pitcher who started and finished the game
The old-fashioned pitcher The iron-armed pitcher The stout-hearted pitcher Who finished the game
—George Phair
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GOPisEvil
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Thu Oct-04-07 07:11 PM
Response to Reply #30 |
sarge43
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Thu Oct-04-07 06:14 PM
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He who bends to himself a joy Does the winged life destroy; But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity's sunrise.
and
Limerick, author unknown
There was a bishop of High Havery Who had a vice most unsavory. With maniacal howls He'd roger young owls In his secret underground aviary.
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begin_within
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Thu Oct-04-07 06:15 PM
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24. "Ring of Bone" by Lew Welch |
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I saw myself a ring of bone in the clear stream of all of it
and vowed always to be open to it that all of it might flow through
and then heard "ring of bone" where ring is what a
bell does
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begin_within
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Thu Oct-04-07 06:17 PM
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25. "Fog" by Carl Sandburg |
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The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on.
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RetroLounge
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Thu Oct-04-07 06:20 PM
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The Owl
My poor heart’s an owl One nails, unnails, renails. Of blood, of ardour, he’s the fowl. I praise those who love me.
RL
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hellbound-liberal
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Thu Oct-04-07 07:02 PM
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28. Here's one from William Carlos Williams.. I'm surprised it hasn't been posted yet! |
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so much depends upon
a red wheel barrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens.
-- William Carlos Williams
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GoddessOfGuinness
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Thu Oct-04-07 07:08 PM
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nytemare
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Thu Oct-04-07 09:32 PM
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33. "Music when soft voices die" Percy Bysshe Shelley |
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory, Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heaped for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.
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