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Poetry


poopscootsMcgee

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Kissing and Horrid Strife

 

 

I have been defeated and dragged down by pain

and worsted by the evil world-soul of today.

 

But still I know that life is for delight

and for bliss

as now when the tiny wavelets of the sea

tip the morning light on edge, and spill it with delight

to show how inexhaustible it is:

 

And life is for delight, and bliss

like now when the white sun kisses the sea

and plays with the wavelets like a panther playing with its cubs

cuffing them with soft paws,

and blows that are caresses,

kisses of the soft-balled paws, where the talons are.

 

And life is for dread,

for doom that darkens, and the Sunderers

that sunder us from each other,

that strip us and destroy us and break us down

as the tall foxgloves and the mulleins and mallows

are torn down by dismembering autumn

till not a vestige is left, and black winter has no trace

of any such flowers;

and yet the roots below the blackness are intact:

the Thunderers and the Sunderers have their term,

their limit, their thus far and no further.

 

Life is for kissing and for horrid strife.

Life is for the angels and the Sunderers.

Life is for the daimons and the demons,

those that put honey on our lips, and those that put salt.

But life is not

for the dead vanity of knowing better, nor the blank

cold comfort of superiority, nor silly

conceit of being immune,

nor puerility of contradictions

like saying snow is black, or desire is evil.

 

Life is for kissing and for horrid strife,

the angels and the Sunderers.

And perhaps in unknown Death we perhaps shall know

Oneness and poised immunity.

But why then should we die while we can live ?

And while we live

the kissing and communing cannot cease

nor yet the striving and the horrid strife.

 

-D.H. Lawrence

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I take the shit to defeat my enemy

he stares into my crack with ever-waning confidence

the shit of the gods awaits his helpless cry

the proverbial bunker buster to his porcelain skin

 

I take the shit to defeat his morale

I take the shit to free mankind

the shit that will leave no stone unturned

the shit to end all wars

 

I take the shit to free me of my sin

the shit that will resolve life itself

my inevitable trump card

to conquer all that stand before me

 

I ready my cheeks and push with passion

its mighty weight trembles the ground below

the shit that left the earth in shambles

I took it and have plenty more

Edited by Twisted Metal
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In a Station of the Metro

 

The apparition of these faces in the crowd ;

 

Petals on a wet, black bough.

 

 

 

— Ezra Pound

 

 

interesting that it has no verbs

 

hey tm i like your poem but it is very mysterious?

 

also

 

noob you fail at limerick. i dont think that one really rhymes. example:

 

i once knew an old gash named joan

in bed she would twist and moan

until one dark night

i gave her a fright

and had her fucked by a huge black samoan

Edited by Zoa
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EE Cummings is someone I never totally understood. Admittedly I have that problem with a lot of poetry. I remember a girl I was dating gave me a card with a Cummings poem on it and I still do this day don't get what the poem meant. I just assumed it meant she wanted to bone me. All's well that ends well, I guess.

 

I ready my cheeks and push with passion

 

Pretty sure Frost couldn't hope to match the intensity of your prose

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I sit on my porcelain throne whenever I see fit

I am JESUS, the king of ferocious shit

I strike down my enemies with effortless dumps

With the intense pressure of a hundred lumps

Bow down before me or I'll strike you down

And the last thing you'll see will be my squat and frown

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  • 2 weeks later...
  • 4 weeks later...
  • 1 month later...

A beauty never to be seen

Like a sunrise with clouds

Or a night-time sky without stars

Like a bird in the morning

Without a voice

A broken heart

Is an endless choice....

___

Growing old

And living for

The moment your

Searching for

something you cannot find

The truth inside

The reason we are

All living for.

___

Something strange in me

I feel the same for you

But there is no difference

We’re still alone

There is no me

In crying

There is no me

In dieing

You’ve stolen my heart

And trapped my mind

But it makes no difference

I'm still alone.

___

Your eyes

Tell the stories

Of the day you wish

You could

Recall the moments

Or at least

Retract the footsteps

That brought us to this end...

 

___

Yesterday yet forgotten

buried in my thoughts

served as a lesson taught

Tomorrow it shall not

 

Life is remembered

as taken is our last breathe

my mind comes to settle

the balance to life...is death.

Edited by Hust1er
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  • 2 months later...

“I Had a Man”

By Dorothea Lasky

Today when I was walking

I had a man tell me as he passed

That I was a white bitch (he was white)

And to not look at him

Or he was going to ‘fuck me in my little butthole’

I wandered away

Who is to say

I think I am a white bitch

My butt is big

But I believe my butthole is little

This violence that we put on women

I don’t think it’s crazy

Someone I know said

‘Oh, that man was crazy’

I don’t think he was crazy

Maybe he could tell I had a look in my eye

That wasn’t crazy anymore

Maybe he could feel the wild cool blood in me

And it frightened him

And he lashed out in fear

Maybe he knew I was the same as him

But had been born with this kind face and eyes

Doughlike appurtenances

What about the day I left

What happened then

Still I’m glad he said that to me

Still I’m glad he was so cruel to me

What bitter eye knew I had a voice

To say what men have done to me

What unkind wind has blown thru my brain

To make me speak for the wretched

To speak wretchedly about the ugly

To make my own face ugly and simple

To contort this simple smile into a haunting song

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  • 5 months later...

i really like it raor. the simplicity and straitforwardness make it highly accessible, while the use of 'someone' implies a great depth of hidden meanings from the author. good job.

 

and 90, im not sure i understand the meaning of this, but it seems the author is dealing with a large amount of computer-related confusion. the use of the asian boy implies a great deal of homosexuality and pedophelia, lending an incredibly dark shade and a bit of humour to an otherwise boring work.

Edited by Zoa
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