I love this poem. Actually, I love all the
poems of Langston Hughes. Where many
poets attempt to layer their material with
abstract or colorful language, thereby
turning their works into what I think of
as "word exercises" ,
his poems slice through you as if you
were made of warm, soft butter.
Always direct, every word and sentence is
conversational, to the point, and devastating.


I, too
As I Grew Older

It was a long time ago.
I have almost forgotten my dream.
But it was there then,
In front of me,
Bright like a sun--
My dream.
And then the wall rose,
Rose slowly,
Slowly,
Between me and my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky--
The wall.
Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream!
Help me to shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow
Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!

- Langston Hughes
[Edited 11/9/08 12:34pm]

Lover, you are my blessed vessel
given to me as my place to serve Love.
You are my altar
my church
where all my actions are prayers.
I will kiss your lips to heal the world
and humble myself in the face of Love itself.
I will touch your face and remember
the beauty of what I was born with.

~Anonymous

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep

-Pablo Neruda

One of my faves I remember from reading in high school (and I don't want to hear it, 9s!):

This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast.

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

-- William Carlos Williams

Smoke Not




Smoke not, Carie

Not because it makes you stink,
Not because your nails turn yellow,
Not because it drains your cheeks of pink,
Not because it's like the dagger to took Othello,

By his own hands, while holding his wife,
a cruel trick of Lago's mendacity,

Smoke not because your goddamned hair is wet
and Carrie, that's just fucking jankity!


Smoke not, Carrie

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

-Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Not sure if it's my favorite, but it's up there


I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,
On a white heal-all, holding up a moth
Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth --
Assorted characters of death and blight
Mixed ready to begin the morning right,
Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --
A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,
And dead wings carried like a paper kite.

What had that flower to do with being white,
The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?
What brought the kindred spider to that height,
Then steered the white moth thither in the night?
What but design of darkness to appall?--
If design govern in a thing so small.

-Robert Frost

Still I Rise
Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Imago said:

omg

You big dork.



btw - going on 3 months smoke-free!

Carrie , Carrie,
Quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
It doesn't! It's too damned cold
in Minneapolis!

Dan, Dan
You're a big dork.
This is my poem for you.
Dan.

Dan, Dan
it's sweaty in florida.
and you live with a bunch of hicks!
heh.

there once was a man from Kent
who's penis was so long it was bent
hence, every time he came,
he went!

CarrieMpls said:

kiss thine ass Carrie!!

When I Die
Nikki Giovanni

when i die i hope no one who ever hurt me cries
and if they cry i hope their eyes fall out
and a million maggots that had made up their brains
crawl from the empty holes and devour the flesh
that covered the evil that passed itself off as a person
that i probably tried
to love



it's a great poem

JerseyKRS said:

I thought this thread could have been enlightening. boy was I wrong.

I love to pee
I love to fart
I love to burp
I'm all alone.

haha

2freaky4church1 said:

CarrieMpls said:

OMG, publish it!
It's pure genius!

Some say the world will end in fire,
other say in ice,
From what I've been reading from a certain orger,
I'd say the later should suffice,
Lest Carrie just kills us all with leftover pies!

This is my favorite poem:

Mother to Son
by Langston Hughes

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor --
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now --
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
[Edited 11/9/08 14:23pm]

Given today.....

Dulce Et Decorum Est

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 tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped 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.

JerseyKRS said:

JerseyKRS said:

Ow lawd, this was the wedding vow, wasn't it?

FunkMistress said:

get a room

Waking up
With coffee and chainsaws
This will be the day
I go to Berlin
And wake the muses
Or maybe tomorrow
I don’t know
And as the chainsaws draw nearer
I withdraw deeper
To where no one can reach me
I am awaiting
And expecting more than this

Pookah

ehuffnsd said:

Hey Eric, let me ask you a question.

What do you think of straight couples who refuse to get married until marriage rights are granted to everyone?

Speaking as a woman whose last serious relationship was same-gender, meaning I would not have been allowed to marry my ex-partner, I think it's kind of silly and self-serving. It doesn't really help anyone. I'd rather spend my time contacting my elected officials, voting on the issues, donating to marriage-rights organizations, and raising awareness in other ways instead of calling attention to myself by playing some kind of me-too victimization game.

What do you think?

FunkMistress said:

I think that was a very weird poem.