Poets of the day (Page 3)

RamboRimbaud
RamboRimbaud: I opened this thread thhinking it would be about the poets of today, Yes I agree with you all you posted some enornously beautiful and influencial poems by some giants. but I ask everyine who walking in those shoes today. Were are our Walt Whitman's and William Blakes's ? has it disapeared into the night as an artform never to rise to the staure that it once held?
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: I feel like if there are Whitmans and Blakes walking around out there today, we might not know about them for a while. A lot of great writers weren't appreciated during their time.
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RamboRimbaud
RamboRimbaud: but will they acheive the same level of influence. I go to the book store and look at a book of yourng poets and it conists of people who are 70 years old. it is an art form that needs to breath fire again. is all im saying
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angel
angel: they are good.
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: You never know. Maybe it will pick up again. I don't think it will be the same though. I don't mean that it will be bad, just different. Let's hope the emo teen angst poetry that seems to be so popular isn't the next big thing... o_o
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Comrade_
Comrade_: I'm not sure there will be the same level of influence, even some of the poets we consider influential from the past weren't recognised in the same light in their day. There are talented persons and I always think that there is talent around us but some don't get published or have the money to be put out in the open even in these modern times. I met 2 talented poets from wire, both do it in their spare time and not as a focus. I understand why they'll not pursue poetry, think about it, our society don't seem to support that growth. You have a better chance at earning a living from getting a regular job than as a striving poet or any other art forms.
(Edited by Comrade_)
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Jokerswiild84
Jokerswiild84: wow lotta u all wrote stuff
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Jokerswiild84
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: The era we're in right now is more about technology than it is about art or literature. In the U.S., our economy is suffering and we're more worried about finding a solution for that than about producing new art. Here's hoping that it will all eventually get sorted out and we can have another Renaissance of sorts, somewhere in the world.
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Diamond_Rose
Diamond_Rose: She was good aunt to us
She was an angel from heaven
Was good mom and wife
She was kind and nice and sweet
loving aunt who I will miss
With her here was like we
all got a long and everyone
was happy and it was big family
with my aunt She was good
sister and daughter and great
grand daughter
She was good friend and second
mother to us
She was not like other aunts you see
today she was different then others
where
She was great and loving and caring
and kind and sweet and just good aunt
She was stronger then the other that in
other families
She would have been great grand ma
but she still is great person in our eyes
and she always will be
She was love and she will be miss and she
will be in our hearts always.
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Comrade_
Comrade_: For EclecticOwl:

~~Tuesday 3rd Jan 2011~~
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) was an American poet.

Experience

I stepped from plank to plank
So slow and cautiously;
The stars about my head I felt,
About my feet the sea.

I knew not but the next
Would be my final inch, --
This gave me that precarious gait
Some call experience.
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: Thanks Jack, I haven't read this one before!
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Comrade_
Comrade_: You're welcome. I like her "I felt a Funeral, in my Brain" most. Which one you prefer?
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: Thanks for the recommendation. I guess I really only knew the most famous of her poems such as "Hope is the thing with feathers" and "Because I could not stop for death," but I like those. I read a few more just now and I have to admit, I think "Hope is the thing with feathers" is still my favorite.
I really like Poe and Blake.
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Likeitornot
Likeitornot: I don’t think I have ever managed to read this poem without getting misty eyed.



Daddy's Day
by Cheryl Costello-Forshey
Copyright © 2000
Cannot be copied or reproduced in Any Form
without the written consent of the Author


Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
she knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school,
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
a dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats.

One by one the teacher called,
a student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
as seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
for a man who wasn't there.

"Where's her daddy at?"
she heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one,"
another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.

"My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with red roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing here alone.

"Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be in my heart"

With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.

"I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
and saw him there that day.

And to her mother's amazement,
she witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"
to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed red rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
by the love of her shining bright star.
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.





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LiqweedMoshunz
LiqweedMoshunz: there's not many fucks i give, but the ones i do are all for you, and how can you tell if this is true? cus ill let you hold me till my face turns blue, i love you more then a fat kid loves cake, i love you more then a fish loves a lake, i fell once and that was a mistake, but now your here with all the marbles you take, your all that i need, im the hero to your steed, your the band aid to my bleed, your the good in my deed, your the cure to my pain, you help keep me sane, ask me her name, and the answers mary jane - chief dey
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Comrade_
Comrade_: @ EclecticOwl: Those were good ones too, I only like Poe's short story but I like Blake, he's really good.
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PralineQueen
PralineQueen: I like Poe's short stories too. Blake's illustrations are pretty interesting as well. I wrote a paper about the symbolism in his Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience in high school... I really like those, especially The Tyger and The Lamb.
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Madame Butterfly
Madame Butterfly:
May I request a random Dante? =)
I love everyone's the selections!
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Azimuth_Predator
Azimuth_Predator: Jim Morrison

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange

People are strange when you're a stranger
Faces look ugly when you're alone
Women seem wicked when you're unwanted
Streets are uneven when you're down

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
When you're strange

When you're strange
Faces come out of the rain
When you're strange
No one remembers your name
When you're strange
When you're strange
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angel
angel: I like this. Very good.
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Azimuth_Predator
Azimuth_Predator: Jim Morrison

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out alone
Riders on the storm

There's a killer on the road
His brain is squirmin' like a toad
Take a long holiday
Let your children play
If ya give this man a ride
Sweet memory will die
Killer on the road, yeah

(my favorite part)

Girl ya gotta love your man
Girl ya gotta love your man
Take him by the hand
Make him understand
The world on you depends
Our life will never end
Gotta love your man, yeah

Yeah!

Riders on the storm
Riders on the storm
Into this house we're born
Into this world we're thrown
Like a dog without a bone
An actor out alone
Riders on the storm
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Comrade_
Comrade_:
--Tuesday 24 January 2012.


Too Many Names -Neruda


Mondays are meshed with Tuesdays
and the week with the whole year.
Time cannot be cut
with your weary scissors,
and all the names of the day
are washed out by the waters of night.

No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria, all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
Of Chiles and Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it is without a name.

When I lived amongst the roots
they pleased me more than flowers did,
and when I spoke to a stone
it rang like a bell.

It is so long, the spring
which goes on all winter.
Time lost its shoes.
A year is four centuries.

When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not I while I slept?

This means to say that scarcely
have we landed into life
than we come as if new-born;
let us not fill our mouths
with so many faltering names
with so much sad formalities
with so much pompous letters,
with so much of yours and mine,
with so much signing of papers.

I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, bring them to birth,
mix them up, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crepitant fragrance.
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