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Poetry.

MattTheDreamer
Posts: 1,407
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4/20/2016 11:21:04 AM
Posted: 7 months ago
One of my favourite poems.

Dulce et Decorum Est - Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!"An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound"ring like a man in fire or lime."
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil"s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,"
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Trollord
Posts: 275
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4/20/2016 11:26:30 AM
Posted: 7 months ago
"The Dragon of God"

Little egg, you dream too big.
Little egg, your ideas aren't agreed upon.
Little egg, don't be too bold.
Now little egg soar with the others.

But little egg wants to fly higher.
He is much more.
Little egg doesn't care.
You don't have to agree.

Little egg wants to stand out.
Little egg must be very bold.
Little egg isn't liked by the others.
He wants to fly higher.

Quietly he hatched and grew.
Bigger and bigger he got.
Slowly he broke his shackles.
The dragon now is free.

Because little egg dreamed big he flies the highest.
Because he thought up good ideas he is the most intelligent.
Because he was bold all see him.
Because the dragon rejected the league
of the others the dragon now leads the others.

Because the dragon has compassion he doesn't take rvenge.
Because the dragon has humility he still bows
to the on who gave him his thoughts and body.
Because he was told no he was yes.
Because he is good the others follow his lead.
missmozart
Posts: 306
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6/13/2016 8:58:27 PM
Posted: 6 months ago
Written for his younger brother Christopher, a poem that will affect you:

Mid-term Break by Seamus Heaney

I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbours drove me home.

In the porch I met my father crying--
He had always taken funerals in his stride--
And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow.

The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram
When I came in, and I was embarrassed
By old men standing up to shake my hand

And tell me they were "sorry for my trouble,"
Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest,
Away at school, as my mother held my hand

In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs.
At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived
With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses.

Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops
And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him
For the first time in six weeks. Paler now,

Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple,
He lay in the four foot box as in his cot.
No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear.

A four foot box, a foot for every year.
"Bonjour" -Feu

Diqiu: "Asian men are generally perceived as more feminine..."
Me: "Are you feminine?"
Diqiu: "Hey, no!"

"Do really really really good pens turn you on?" -Hayd

"bsh1's profile pic is what the snapchat filter would look like on steroids"- VOT

"let's keep it simple and traditional :D" -Biodome
Lynx_N
Posts: 280
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6/28/2016 1:07:08 PM
Posted: 5 months ago
Excerpt from "I'm Explaining A Few Things"' by Pablo Neruda.

And one morning all that was burning,
one morning the bonfires
leapt out of the earth
devouring human beings
and from then on fire,
gunpowder from then on,
and from then on blood.
Bandits with planes and Moors,
bandits with finger-rings and duchesses,
bandits with black friars spattering blessings
came through the sky to kill children
and the blood of children ran through the streets
without fuss, like children's blood.

Jackals that the jackals would despise,
stones that the dry thistle would bite on and spit out,
vipers that the vipers would abominate!

Face to face with you I have seen the blood
of Spain tower like a tide
to drown you in one wave
of pride and knives!

Treacherous
generals:
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
Spain emerges
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull's eye of your hearts.

And you'll ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!
Bronto?
Congrats.

poet
Lynx_N
Posts: 280
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6/29/2016 9:36:19 PM
Posted: 5 months ago
Btw, I've also written a poem myself about Scotland, given that they may want to break free from Britain now as they probably want to remain in the EU.
It goes like this:

Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland, Scotland,
Scotland,
Scotland,
William Wallace,
William Wallace,
William Wallace,
Dwarf.

Thank you.
Bronto?
Congrats.

poet
foxxhajti
Posts: 479
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7/1/2016 8:07:36 PM
Posted: 5 months ago
Sonnet LX - William Shakespeare.

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.
"It's interesting to observe that almost all truly worthy men have simple manners, and that simple manners are almost always taken as a sign of little worth" - Giacomo Leopardi

"It is more honorable to be raised to a throne than to be born to one. Fortune bestows the one, merit obtains the other." - Francesco Petrarca

"You too must not count too much on your reality as you feel it today, since like yesterday, it may prove an illusion for you tomorrow." - Luigi Pirandello