this is now a poetry thread.

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  1. #11
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    can we have a loric vs xeno rap battle :]
    I hate TALKING. to PEOPLE. about THINGS.

  2. #12
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    yo yo yo

    xeno's dumb

  3. #13
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    loric can't rhyme

    he ain't worth even a dime


    Reading: You Just Don't Understand!: Women and Men in Conversations by Deborah Tannen (50%)
    Last read: A Child Named "It" by Dave Pelzer (NOT BAD), A Dance With Dragons by GRRM (4.5/5), A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin (3.5/5)

    Interested in why I picked these books, or want to recommend me some more? Just pm me. I love books.

  4. #14
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    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
    See
    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
    poetry
    Last edited by TheSkald; 07-03-2014 at 04:55 AM.

  5. #15
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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
    "Your life is yours alone. Rise up and live it."
    "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.
    http://myanimelist.net/animelist/Kashis

  6. #16
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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.
    The south will rise again. God bless the C.S.A. The south is my home. I will die for the south. Please bury me in the great Southern land. And sing Dixie as you lay me to rest so i can here it forever. God bless the south.

  7. #17
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    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.

    Dying
    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
    Beware
    Beware.

    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.

  8. #18
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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
    The south will rise again. God bless the C.S.A. The south is my home. I will die for the south. Please bury me in the great Southern land. And sing Dixie as you lay me to rest so i can here it forever. God bless the south.

  9. #19
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    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.'

  10. #20
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    a gangsta's fairytale by ice cube is probably my favorite

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