Poet's Corner

Discussion in 'Writing' started by sky dancer, Nov 15, 2008.

  1. sky dancer

    sky dancer Guest

    Post your favorite poems and/or any original poems--here is one of my favorite poets:

    I Know the Way You Can Get
    by Hafiz

    I know the way you can get
    When you have not had a drink of Love:

    Your face hardens,
    Your sweet muscles cramp.
    Children become concerned
    About a strange look that appears in your eyes
    Which even begins to worry your own mirror
    And nose.

    Squirrels and birds sense your sadness
    And call an important conference in a tall tree.
    They decide which secret code to chant
    To help your mind and soul.

    Even angels fear that brand of madness
    That arrays itself against the world
    And throws sharp stones and spears into
    The innocent
    And into one's self.

    O I know the way you can get
    If you have not been drinking Love:

    You might rip apart
    Every sentence your friends and teachers say,
    Looking for hidden clauses.

    You might weigh every word on a scale
    Like a dead fish.

    You might pull out a ruler to measure
    From every angle in your darkness
    The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once

    I know the way you can get
    If you have not had a drink from Love's

    That is why all the Great Ones speak of
    The vital need
    To keep remembering God,
    So you will come to know and see Him
    As being so Playful
    And Wanting,
    Just Wanting to help.

    That is why Hafiz says:
    Bring your cup near me.
    For all I care about
    Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

    All a Sane man can ever care about
    Is giving Love!
    Last edited by a moderator: Nov 15, 2008
  2. chloe

    chloe Guest

    Divorce, Thy Name is Woman !

    I am Divorcing daddy - Dybbuk Dybbuk
    I have been doing it daily all my life
    since his sperm left him
    drilling upwards and stuck to an egg.
    Fetus, fetus - glows and glows in that home
    and bursts out, electric, demanding moths.

    For years it was woman to woman,
    breast, crib, toilet, dolls, dress-ups.
    Daddy of the whiskies, daddy of the rooster breath,
    would visit and then dash away
    as if I were a disease.

    when blood and eggs and breasts
    dropped onto me,
    Daddy and his whiskey breath
    made a long midnight visist
    in a dream that is not a dream
    and then called his lawyer quickly.
    Daddy divorcing me.

    I have been divorcing him ever since,
    going into court with Mother as my witness
    and both long dead or not
    I am still divorcing him,
    adding up the crimes
    of how he came to me,
    how he left me.

    I am pacing the bedroom.
    Opening and shutting the windows.
    making the bed and pulling it apart.

    I am tearing the feathers out of pillows,
    waiting, waiting for daddy to come home
    and stuff me so full of our infected child
    that I turn invisible, but married
    at last.

    Anne Sexton
  3. chloe

    chloe Guest

    Anna who was mad,
    I have a knife in my armpit.
    When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
    Am I some sort of infection?
    Did I make you go insane?
    Did I make the sounds go sour?
    Did I tell you to climb out the window?
    Forgive. Forgive.
    Say not I did.
    Say not.

    Speak Mary-words into our pillow.
    Take me the gangling twelve-year-old
    into your sunken lap.
    Whisper like a buttercup.
    Eat me. Eat me up like cream pudding.
    Take me in.
    Take me.

    Give me a report on the condition of my soul.
    Give me a complete statement of my actions.
    Hand me a jack-in-the-pulpit and let me listen in.
    Put me in the stirrups and bring a tour group through.
    Number my sins on the grocery list and let me buy.
    Did I make you go insane?
    Did I turn up your earphone and let a siren drive through?
    Did I open the door for the mustached psychiatrist
    who dragged you out like a gold cart?
    Did I make you go insane?
    From the grave write me, Anna!
    You are nothing but ashes but nevertheless
    pick up the Parker Pen I gave you.
    Write me.

    Anne Sexton
  4. chloe

    chloe Guest

    When Mother divorced you, we were glad. She took it and
    took it in silence, all those years and then
    kicked you out, suddenly, and her
    kids loved it. Then you were fired, and we
    grinned inside, the way people grinned when
    Nixon's helicopter lifted off the South
    Lawn for the last time. We were tickled
    to think of your office taken away,
    your secretaries taken away,
    your lunches with three double bourbons,
    your pencils, your reams of paper. Would they take your
    suits back, too, those dark
    carcasses hung in your closet, and the black
    noses of your shoes with their large pores?
    She had taught us to take it, to hate you and take it
    until we pricked with her for your
    annihilation, Father. Now I
    pass the bums in doorways, the white
    slugs of their bodies gleaming through slits in their
    suits of compressed silt, the stained
    flippers of their hands, the underwater
    fire of their eyes, ships gone down with the
    lanterns lit, and I wonder who took it and
    took it from them in silence until they had
    given it all away and had nothing
    left but this.

    Sharon Olds
  5. eots

    eots no fly list

    Jan 6, 2007
    Thanks Received:
    Trophy Points:
    where is the cure where is the remedy.?. for this viral infection the illuminati..
    the bonesmen ..the grovers ..Rothchilds ..Rockefeller and Hurst.. just a hand full a hooligans.. I fit you all in one verse..

    you see I find you all so obscene.. as the blood it flows in the streets ..to the detriment of all ..for the benefit of the few and no one to stop it but me....and you ..and I say this is no time for online masturbation.. and this is no time for silent resignation ..this is a time ..a time for revolution.... these is the times..and the time it is now

    EOTS 08
    • Winner Winner x 1
    Last edited: Nov 15, 2008
  6. Shogun

    Shogun Free: Mudholes Stomped

    Jan 8, 2007
    Thanks Received:
    Trophy Points:
    Some People
    Charles Bukowski

    some people never go crazy.
    me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
    for 3 or 4 days.
    they'll find me there.
    it's Cherub, they'll say, and
    they pour wine down my throat
    rub my chest
    sprinkle me with oils.

    then, I'll rise with a roar,
    rant, rage -
    curse them and the universe
    as I send them scattering over the
    I'll feel much better,
    sit down to toast and eggs,
    hum a little tune,
    suddenly become as lovable as a
    overfed whale.

    some people never go crazy.
    what truly horrible lives
    they must lead.

    Allen Ginsberg - America
    Last edited: Nov 15, 2008
  7. eots

    eots no fly list

    Jan 6, 2007
    Thanks Received:
    Trophy Points:
    there is a pose that marks the junkie..like the limp wrist marks the fag..
    arm outstretched ..fingers clenched and palms to the sky...

    Charles Bukowski
  8. chloe

    chloe Guest

    The Wifebeater

    There will be mud on the carpet tonight
    and blood in the gravy as well.
    The wifebeater is out,
    the childbeater is out
    eating soil and drinking bullets from a cup.
    He strides bback and forth
    in front of my study window
    chewing little red pieces of my heart.
    His eyes flash like a birthday cake
    and he makes bread out of rock.
    Yesterday he was walking
    like a man in the world.
    He was upright and conservative
    but somehow evasive, somehow contagious.
    Yesterday he built me a country
    and laid out a shadow where I could sleep
    but today a coffin for the madonna and child,
    today two women in baby clothes will be hamburg.
    With a tongue like a razor he will kiss,
    the mother, the child,
    and we three will color the stars black
    in memory of his mother
    who kept him chained to the food tree
    or turned him on and off like a water faucet
    and made women through all these hazy years
    the enemy with a heart of lies.
    Tonight all the red dogs lie down in fear
    and the wife and daughter knit into each other
    until they are killed.

    Anne Sexton
  9. chloe

    chloe Guest


    It is snowing and death bugs me
    as stubborn as insomnia.
    The fierce bubbles of chalk,
    the little white lesions
    settle on the street outside.
    It is snowing and the ninety
    year old woman who was combing
    out her long white wraith hair
    is gone, embalmed even now,
    even tonight her arms are smooth
    muskets at her side and nothing
    issues from her but her last word - "Oh." Surprised by death.

    It is snowing. Paper spots
    are falling from the punch.
    Hello? Mrs. Death is here!
    She suffers according to the digits
    of my hate. I hear the filaments
    of alabaster. I would lie down
    with them and lift my madness
    off like a wig. I would lie
    outside in a room of wool
    and let the snow cover me.
    Paris white or flake white
    or argentine, all in the washbasin
    of my mouth, calling, "Oh."
    I am empty. I am witless.
    Death is here. There is no
    other settlement. Snow!
    See the mark, the pock, the pock!

    Meanwhile you pour tea
    with your handsome gentle hands.
    Then you deliberately take your
    forefinger and point it at my temple,
    saying, "You suicide bitch!
    I'd like to take a corkscrew
    and screw out all your brains
    and you'd never be back ever."
    And I close my eyes over the steaming
    tea and see God opening His teeth.
    "Oh." He says.
    I see the child in me writing, "Oh."
    Oh, my dear, not why.

    Anne Sexton
  10. chloe

    chloe Guest

    cool thread, I posted all my favorite poems....he he, yours was very beautiful, giving...mine seem kinda dark by comparison...but I just love her writing. :cool:...

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