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Thread: this is now a poetry thread.

  1. #11
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    loric can't rhyme

    he ain't worth even a dime

    what comes around is all around

  2. #12


    One of my favorites.

    Quote Originally Posted by Charles Bukowski
    the police helicopter keeps circling over the yard
    "what do they want?" I ask her.
    "they're probably looking for you," she says.
    this is not as far-fetched as you might think:
    I went to a bar one night with some friends
    and the owner came out from around the bar
    and asked to speak to me.
    "I don't know if we can serve you or not,
    you must promise to be good,
    you created quite a fuss the last time you
    were here."
    I promised him to be good and that night
    I drank under a great deal of strain.

    anyhow, the helicopter keeps circling
    and it is one o'clock in the afternoon
    but the night before it had circled and circled
    shining its beam into the backyard
    and into the crapper.
    it had circled for 45 minutes, then had left.

    now it is back.
    "what the hell?" I say,
    "they want you", she says,
    "this is ridiculous," I say.
    I walk into the backyard.
    there's nothing out there:
    walnut trees, bamboo stalks, a discarded
    sofa and grass 3 feet high.
    I stand out there and watch the helicopter
    circling, circling.
    it finally leaves.

    I come back in.
    "I feel like John Dillinger," I say.
    "you look like John Dillinger," she says.
    I walk to the mirror.
    it's true: I look like John Dillinger,
    but no woman in a red dress could ever
    finger me. I'm
    too smart.

    Probably my favorite ever.

    Quote Originally Posted by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
    it was like this when
    we waltz into this place
    a couple of Papish cats
    is doing an Aztec two-step
    And I says
    Dad let's cut
    but then this dame
    comes up behind me see
    and says
    You and me could really exist
    Wow I says
    Only the next day
    she has bad teeth
    and really hates
    Last edited by $$$; 07-03-2014 at 04:55 AM.

  3. #13
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    Kashis's Avatar
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    A simple pleasure, is without measure
    the greatest treasure, one could find
    A single thought, more often than not
    can be sought, within the mind
    Given form, within the storm
    comes a warm, feeling of joy
    Emotions run wild, no longer vialed
    as a child, with a new toy
    Happiness spiraling, the mind begins compiling
    a new styling, into our focus
    With this force, it stays the course
    To become the source, of our greatest opus
    "Rules do not exist to bind you, they exist so you may know your freedoms"

    Be careful of what you say, tomorrow or today, for the words you now speak, may become the poison your enemies later seek; truth.,
    NNID Sliphatos (1762-2677-2366): Smash Bros Wii U/3DS, Fantasy Life, Monster Hunter 4, Splatoon.

  4. #14
    Marineking's Minion Reputation: 125

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    The weeping.

    I here the weeping dead. Oh how they make me tremble in fear.
    I here the dead call my name.
    I feel them nearath me.Oh how the dead can come in great numbers.
    The cry's of fear and pain.
    The crows with feathers as black as a women's sat cloth.
    They come for me in many numbers.I fear them not.
    Death she said was near.I fear her not.
    The cold hand creep upon me.Its boney hand creepith upon me.With old grey skin.
    The women in the old rocking chair with hair as white as snow and eyes as grey as a dead mans stare.
    Love me not for thee doth not know me.
    Trust me not for doth not know me.
    I am the bringer of war said the man in black with broken wings.
    Death comeith and i praise it.
    The blood stained streets of the many dead people.
    The ravens peak there old dead eyes.
    The maggots crow and eat there flesh.
    I walk along the dead with a flock of locust and a chalice of plague.
    I here the weeping of the many souls of dead.
    Upon Hades i enter.
    Upon Hades i enter with a flock of dead ravens.
    We bring torment.
    We bring death.
    The four riders of death shall rise.
    They shall bring great death.
    The dead shall weep in fear.
    Forgiveness they ask and shall not receive.
    For there hearts are turned to stone.
    The weep will be many.
    The pure will be few.
    Oh how the weep haunt me.
    Oh death and the saints comeith to me.
    Raise me above to my heavenly paradise.
    Weep not for i am embrace by love.
    This is my letter to all.

    I really wish i could write better.

  5. #15


    Quote Originally Posted by duby View Post
    I really wish i could write better.
    read more. have you heard of Sylvia Plath or Dylan Thomas? you might like them, they go way darker than yr music

    Quote Originally Posted by Sylvia Plath
    I have done it again.
    One year in every ten
    I manage it--

    A sort of walking miracle, my skin
    Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
    My right foot

    A paperweight,
    My face a featureless, fine
    Jew linen.

    Peel off the napkin
    O my enemy.
    Do I terrify?--

    The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
    The sour breath
    Will vanish in a day.

    Soon, soon the flesh
    The grave cave ate will be
    At home on me

    And I a smiling woman.
    I am only thirty.
    And like the cat I have nine times to die.

    This is Number Three.
    What a trash
    To annihilate each decade.

    What a million filaments.
    The peanut-crunching crowd
    Shoves in to see

    Them unwrap me hand and foot--
    The big strip tease.
    Gentlemen, ladies

    These are my hands
    My knees.
    I may be skin and bone,

    Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
    The first time it happened I was ten.
    It was an accident.

    The second time I meant
    To last it out and not come back at all.
    I rocked shut

    As a seashell.
    They had to call and call
    And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

    Is an art, like everything else.
    I do it exceptionally well.

    I do it so it feels like hell.
    I do it so it feels real.
    I guess you could say Iíve a call.

    Itís easy enough to do it in a cell.
    Itís easy enough to do it and stay put.
    Itís the theatrical

    Comeback in broad day
    To the same place, the same face, the same brute
    Amused shout:

    ĎA miracle!'
    That knocks me out.
    There is a charge

    For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
    For the hearing of my heart--
    It really goes.

    And there is a charge, a very large charge
    For a word or a touch
    Or a bit of blood

    Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
    So, so, Herr Doktor.
    So, Herr Enemy.

    I am your opus,
    I am your valuable,
    The pure gold baby

    That melts to a shriek.
    I turn and burn.
    Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

    Ash, ash--
    You poke and stir.
    Flesh, bone, there is nothing there--

    A cake of soap,
    A wedding ring,
    A gold filling.

    Herr God, Herr Lucifer

    Out of the ash
    I rise with my red hair
    And I eat men like air.
    Quote Originally Posted by Dylan Thomas
    Too proud to die; broken and blind he died
    The darkest way, and did not turn away,
    A cold kind man brave in his narrow pride

    On that darkest day, Oh, forever may
    He lie lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
    Hill, under the grass, in love, and there grow

    Young among the long flocks, and never lie lost
    Or still all the numberless days of his death, though
    Above all he longed for his mother's breast

    Which was rest and dust, and in the kind ground
    The darkest justice of death, blind and unblessed.
    Let him find no rest but be fathered and found,

    I prayed in the crouching room, by his blind bed,
    In the muted house, one minute before
    Noon, and night, and light. the rivers of the dead

    Veined his poor hand I held, and I saw
    Through his unseeing eyes to the roots of the sea.
    (An old tormented man three-quarters blind,

    I am not too proud to cry that He and he
    Will never never go out of my mind.
    All his bones crying, and poor in all but pain,

    Being innocent, he dreaded that he died
    Hating his God, but what he was was plain:
    An old kind man brave in his burning pride.

    The sticks of the house were his; his books he owned.
    Even as a baby he had never cried;
    Nor did he now, save to his secret wound.

    Out of his eyes I saw the last light glide.
    Here among the liught of the lording sky
    An old man is with me where I go

    Walking in the meadows of his son's eye
    On whom a world of ills came down like snow.
    He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres'

    Last sound, the world going out without a breath:
    Too proud to cry, too frail to check the tears,
    And caught between two nights, blindness and death.

    O deepest wound of all that he should die
    On that darkest day. oh, he could hide
    The tears out of his eyes, too proud to cry.

    Until I die he will not leave my side.)
    Quote Originally Posted by Dylan Thomas
    There was an old bugger called God,
    who got a young virgin in pod.
    This disgraceful behaviour
    begot Christ our Saviour,
    who was nailed to a cross, poor old sod.
    have you read any of Edgar Allan Poe's poems? i know he's a junior high hot topic tumblr twilight sort of thing now, but that doesn't make his poems any less beautiful

    Quote Originally Posted by Eddie P
    It was many and many a year ago,
    In a kingdom by the sea,
    That a maiden there lived whom you may know
    By the name of Annabel Lee;
    And this maiden she lived with no other thought
    Than to love and be loved by me.

    I was a child and she was a child,
    In this kingdom by the sea;
    But we loved with a love that was more than love-
    I and my Annabel Lee;
    With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
    Coveted her and me.

    And this was the reason that, long ago,
    In this kingdom by the sea,
    A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
    My beautiful Annabel Lee;
    So that her highborn kinsman came
    And bore her away from me,
    To shut her up in a sepulchre
    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
    Went envying her and me-
    Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
    In this kingdom by the sea)
    That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
    Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

    But our love it was stronger by far than the love
    Of those who were older than we-
    Of many far wiser than we-
    And neither the angels in heaven above,
    Nor the demons down under the sea,
    Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

    For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
    Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
    And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
    Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
    In the sepulchre there by the sea,
    In her tomb by the sounding sea.

  6. #16
    Marineking's Minion Reputation: 125

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    Quote Originally Posted by TheSkald View Post
    read more. have you heard of Sylvia Plath or Dylan Thomas? you might like them, they go way darker than yr music

    have you read any of Edgar Allan Poe's poems? i know he's a junior high hot topic tumblr twilight sort of thing now, but that doesn't make his poems any less beautiful

    i have not. can you give me a link to those you mentioned? i am wanting to learn to write better and i think poems will help me. and yes please do give me the dark stuff thanks man

  7. #17


    Quote Originally Posted by John Godfrey Saxe
    It was six men of Indostan
    To learning much inclined,
    Who went to see the Elephant
    (Though all of them were blind),
    That each by observation
    Might satisfy his mind.

    The First approached the Elephant,
    And happening to fall
    Against his broad and sturdy side,
    At once began to bawl:
    "God bless me! but the Elephant
    Is very like a WALL!"

    The Second, feeling of the tusk,
    Cried, "Ho, what have we here,
    So very round and smooth and sharp?
    To me 'tis mighty clear
    This wonder of an Elephant
    Is very like a SPEAR!"

    The Third approached the animal,
    And happening to take
    The squirming trunk within his hands,
    Thus boldly up and spake:
    "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
    Is very like a SNAKE!"

    The Fourth reached out an eager hand,
    And felt about the knee
    "What most this wondrous beast is like
    Is mighty plain," quoth he:
    "'Tis clear enough the Elephant
    Is very like a TREE!"

    The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
    Said: "E'en the blindest man
    Can tell what this resembles most;
    Deny the fact who can,
    This marvel of an Elephant
    Is very like a FAN!"

    The Sixth no sooner had begun
    About the beast to grope,
    Than seizing on the swinging tail
    That fell within his scope,
    "I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
    Is very like a ROPE!"

    And so these men of Indostan
    Disputed loud and long,
    Each in his own opinion
    Exceeding stiff and strong,
    Though each was partly in the right,
    And all were in the wrong!

    . .
    Quote Originally Posted by Jane Austen
    'I've a pain in my head'
    Said the suffering Beckford;
    To her Doctor so dread.
    'Oh! what shall I take for't?'

    Said this Doctor so dread
    Whose name it was Newnham.
    'For this pain in your head
    Ah! What can you do Ma'am?'

    Said Miss Beckford, 'Suppose
    If you think there's no risk,
    I take a good Dose
    Of calomel brisk.'--

    'What a praise worthy Notion.'
    Replied Mr. Newnham.
    'You shall have such a potion
    And so will I too Ma'am.'

  8. #18
    OnRPG Elite Member! Reputation: 416

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    a gangsta's fairytale by ice cube is probably my favorite

  9. #19


    Quote Originally Posted by Frank White
    "Today's agenda, got the suitcase up in the Sentra
    Go to room 112, tell them Blanco sent ya
    Feel the strangest, if no money exchanges
    I got these kids in Ranges, to leave them niggas brainless
    All they tote is stainless, you just remain as
    Calm as possible, make the deal go through
    If not, here's 12 shots, we know how you do
    Please make your killings clean, slugs up in between
    They eyes, like True Lies, kill them and flee the scene
    Just bring back the coke or the cream
    Or else, your life is on the shelf, we mean this, Frank
    Them cats we fucking with put bombs in your mom's gas tank"

    "Let's get this money baby, they shady, we get shady
    Dress up like ladies and burn them with dirty .380s
    Then they come to kill our babies, that's all out
    I got gats that blow the wall out, clear them all out
    Fuck the fallout, word to Stretch I bet they pussy
    The seven digits push me, fucking real, here's the deal
    I got a hundred bricks, 14,5 a piece
    Enough to cop a 6, buy the house on the beach
    Supply the peeps with Jeeps, brick apiece, capiche?
    Everybody getting cream no one considered a leech"

    Think about it now, that's damn near 1.5
    I kill them all I'll be set for life

    "Frank, pay attention
    These motherfuckers is henchmen, renegades
    If you die they still get paid, extra probably
    fuck a robbery, I'm the boss
    Promise you won't rob 'em,"

    "I promise"
    But of course you know I had my fingers crossed

    Since it's on, I call my nigga Arizona Ron
    From Tuscon, push the black Yukon
    Usually had the slow grooves on, mostly rock the Isley
    Stupid as a young one, chose not the moves wisely
    Sharper with game, him and his crooks caught a Jooks
    Heard it was sweet, about 350 apiece
    Ron bought a truck, two bricks laid in the cut
    His peeps got bucked, got locked the fuck up
    That's when Ron vanished, came back, speaking Spanish
    Lavish habits, two rings, twenty carats
    He's a criminal, nigga made America's Most
    Killed his baby mother brother, slit his throat
    The nigga got bagged with the toast
    Weeded, took it to trial, beat it
    Now he feel he undefeated, he mean it
    Nothing to lose, tattooed around his gun wounds
    Everything to gain, embedded in his brain
    And me I feel the same for this money you dying
    'Specially if my daughter crying, I ain't lying
    Y'all know the science

    We agreed to go in shooting is silly
    Because niggas could be hiding in showers with mac-mills
    So I freaked them, the telly manager was Puerto Rican
    Gloria, from Astoria, I went to war with her
    Peeps in ninety-one, stole a gun from my workers
    And they took drugs, they tried to jerk us
    We blazed they place -- long story. Glo' seen my face
    Got shook, thought a nigga was coming for the safe
    Now she breaking

    "Shut up. 112, what's shaking?"

    "A Jamaican, some bitches I swear, they look gay
    And a black Range Rover, been outside all day
    If it's trouble let me know, I'll be on my way
    Please, I got kids to feed, I done seen you make niggas bleed
    Nightmare, this bitch don't need"

    "Ron, get the gasoline, this spot, we about to blow this
    Get the cash before the cops and Range Rover cats notice"

    Room 112, right by the staircase, perfect place
    When they evacuate, they meet they fate

    "Ron pass the gasoline," -- the nigga passed me kerosene
    Fuck it, it's flame-able, my hunger is unexplainable
    Strike the match, just what I expected
    The dread kid ejected in seconds
    And here come two, opposite sexes, one black, one Malaysian
    We in the hallway waiting patient
    As soon as she hit the door we start blasting
    I saw her brains hit the floor, Ron laughing, I swear to God
    I hit Maxi Priest at least twelve times in the chest
    Spinned around, shot the bitch in the breast
    She crying, head shots put her to rest
    Pop open the briefcases, nothing but Franklin faces
    The spot's hot, sprinklers, alarm systems
    That's when other guests start to slip in
    It's time for us to get to dipping
    I know them niggas in the Range is on they way up
    Flipping, pistol gripping, I load the clip in
    The hallway, got real loud and crowded
    They walked right past us, I don't know how they allowed it
    The funny thing about it, through all the excitement
    They Range got towed, they double parked by a hydrant

    Stupid motherfuckers
    . .

  10. #20
    Cloud13's Clown Reputation: 328
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    You will not be able to stay home, brother
    You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out
    You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
    Skip out for beer during commercials
    Because the revolution will not be televised

    The revolution will not be televised
    The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
    In 4 parts without commercial interruptions
    The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
    Blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
    Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
    Hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary
    The revolution will not be televised

    The revolution will not be brought to you by the
    Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
    Wood and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia
    The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal
    The revolution will not get rid of the nubs
    The revolution will not make you look five pounds
    Thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother

    There will be no pictures of you and Willie Mays
    Pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run
    Or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance
    NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
    Or report from 29 districts
    The revolution will not be televised

    There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
    Brothers in the instant replay
    There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
    Brothers in the instant replay
    There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
    Run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process
    There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
    Wilkins strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
    Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
    For just the right occasion

    Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
    Junction will no longer be so Goddamn relevant, and
    Women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
    Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
    Will be in the street looking for a brighter day
    The revolution will not be televised

    There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
    News and no pictures of hairy armed women
    Liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose
    The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb
    Or Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
    Jones, Johnny Cash, or Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth
    The revolution will not be televised

    The revolution will not be right back after a message
    About a white tornado, white lightning, or white people
    You will not have to worry about a Dove in your
    Bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl
    The revolution will not go better with Coke
    The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath
    The revolution will put you in the driver's seat

    The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised
    Will not be televised, will not be televised
    The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
    The revolution will be live

    -Gil Scott-Heron

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