ZOMBIE FORUMS

Simply post a poem, dosn't matter what about. You can make a comment on the poem you posted, or one someone else did.

Since I created the thread, I'll post the first poem. I'll let you analise it with a virgin mindset (meaning none of my interpratations will forced upon you, as of now).

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us the freedom of the press.

It is soldier, not the poet, who has given us the freedom of speech.

It is soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is soldier, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is soldier who salutes the flag, who serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag...

-unknown

_________________
Let them come.
I will speak with my blade.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Kaiser Dragon on 2002-11-22 01:02 ]</font>

<b>TI-Poetry</b>
<i>(poetry only restricted by how much you can fit in a single TI graphing calculator screen)</i>

<pre>PROGRAM:DUCKS
:I WOULD LIKE
:TO BE A DUCK.
:WHEN I TIRE OF
:FLYING, I CAN
:WADDLE DOWN TO
:THE POND AND
:FLOAT AWHILE.</pre>

by Jason East

Meter-clothéd swine
Dry meadow of wilting words
Shut the fuck up, prick.

(Original.)

P-M

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<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Pyromancer on 2002-11-21 21:21 ]</font>

Every day is pain
Passing the time till sleep comes
I really hate school

-----
Haiku 0wnz you.

It seems that it is time to brew some tea
For once again my teacup has run dry
And soothing ginseng--a favorite, you see--
Has long been emptied from my tea-box. Why
Have I been so a-sloth'd to never note
When to the groc'ry store I oft would go
To see if tea was needed. But by rote
(As usual) it o'er my head did blow
And merrily I scampered past the aisle
In which the teabags lurked in silent form
But now I do bemoan my vapid smile
And yearn for strain'ed leaf-juice, nice and warm
Upon discov'ry of its missing ilk
I guess I'll pass on tea, and have some milk

No "itsy bitsy hockey" jokes, please.

Well, fancy meeting you here. Nice sonnet.

/Pyro applies a DNI sticker to a randomly selected portion of AriaMech's anatomy.

There you go. C'est traditional to put "DNIed by Pyromancer" in your .sig for a couple of weeks or until you build up a decent postcount.

Welcome to the forums.

P-M

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We sit and we type and we stare at our screens
We can't help but wonder what all of this means.
With mouse in hand, we roam through this maze,
On an infinite search... lost in a daze.

We chat with each other, we type all our woes
At times we'll band together to gang up on our foes.
We wait for somebody, to type out our name
We want recognition, but it is always the same.

Soon friendships are formed - why, we don't know,
But some of these friendships will flourish and grow.
We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes we'll flirt,
In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt.

Why is it on screen, we are so easily bold,
Telling secrets that have never been told.
The answer is simple, it's clear as a bell,
We all have our problems and need someone to tell.

We can't tell real people, but tell someone we must
So we turn to our 'puters and to those we can trust.
Even though it sounds crazy, the truth still remains,
Most of my "friends" have no faces... and odd little names.

--Anonymous

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 out 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
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.

Michael Owen, 1921

I held the razor in my left hand.
The mirror in front of me blank.
I dared not look at the creature there.
I have seen the darkness, the light
And now I need to sleep.
I looked up, just once.
One quick look before its all gone.
The infinity of the last few months,
Of the choice I made so long ago.
I had promised to go on.
I was weaker than any man.
I rose my left hand.
Slashing swiftly.
My beard was gone at last.
-Actor, just written then.


An old one I wrote in year 9

Depression, isolation, misery and more
None of these will make thy heart sore.
Happiness, peacefulnes, fun and the gloss,
All are considered nothing to loss.
I see an island, I see your pain.
I see a cloud that pours out rain.
There is power, there is glory
But all around has his dismal story.

All that lives and all that dies
Is forever watched by forbidden eyes
A story ends another start
The rest is just the useless parts.
There is no glory there is no joy
Nothing is out there for you, my boy.
For every black there is a white
Something as deadly as the night.

For every couple there is a one
For every searcher there is the sun
All the cities like all the towns
Slowly writher and lie down
The poor man suffers the rich one cries
Neither matter both shalt die
One mans loss is another mans gain
The field of dreams is ruined by rain.
End.

Alternate line:(Verse 2 line 6)
There is nothing out there for you my boy.


Used to have a WW1 poem that was really good but I lost it when My comp was destroyed last year.

Actor.

Joke/Poems at the same time:

Robbie Burns and Willy Shakespear are walking down a road argueing about who is the best poet. To settle the dispute Willy Shakespear decides that they should both make a poem about the next think that comes down the road towards them. As it turns out it was a man with rickets, so Robbie Burns takes the first shot:

"I was walking down this very road, and spied a man whose legs were bowed"

They both agree this was pretty shite, so it was Willy Shakespear takes his turn:

"Alas, what manner of man is this?
Whomb holds his balls in parentesis"

Once again tehy agree, and decide Willy Shakespear's was the best. This time though it was Robbie Burn's turn to decide what they have to write a poem about, so the challenge was to write a poem taht began with the work "Tim" and ended with the word "Timbuctoo". Shakespear was up first:

Tim and i went out to sea,
on a boat to Timbucktoo."

So that was shite, and they both knew it, so it was Robbie Burn's turn:

"Tim and i went to Kent,
We saw three ladys in a tent,
They were three and we were two,
I booked one and Timbuctooo."

(PS. only works when read out load)

'Whatever (I Had A Dream)'
-Butthole Surfers

I had a dream last night
‘Cause it looked just like a dream
I had a dream last night
But it looked unlike a dream
Mercy, mercy, I’m made of parts
Make me a suit so I can get it off
Heaven help my head is spin’n round
Stop this airplane cause I got to get down
I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove
I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove
Here’s to the Montagues, John Wayne, and Bette Davis
And Romeo, he waved before this chorus girl and beggars hair
Juliet is up in heaven, a pocket full of pills
And Jesus drives to Mexico, to get her prescription filled
I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove
I heard a scream last night
It was getting kinda fun (yeah, rock out, whatever)
I had a dream last night, because she looked just like a dream
I had a dream last night, because she looked just like a dream
She was on fire last night, and I was breathing gasoline
I had a dream last night, and it fit me like a glove
I had to scream last night
Lord of Love
I didn’t know where to shake my butt
Walked backwards, f___ed like a fox
I was more f___ed up than your sister’s tackle box
Three a.m. at five o’clock
And one of us leaves, and I got shot!
Shot me down
Yeah, whatever, rock out
That’s it, that’s my rhyme, take it to the streets, b__tch.


This song made the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack a good buy. Kudos also for 'Lovefool'.

_________________
The fight is all.

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: Dominic on 2002-11-22 10:45 ]</font>

Random haiku from a buddy of mine

----Sometimes I wish that
----Jared from Subway would choke
----On a veggie sub

Starkle starkle little twink
who the heck you are I think
I'm not under what you call
the alcofluence of incohol
I'm just a little slort of sheep
I'm not drunk like thinkle peep
I don't know who is me yet
but the drunker I stand here the longer I get
Just give me one more drink to fill me cup
'cuz I got all day sober to Sunday up

-Not by me but I'd gladly take credit for it

Torture of the Mind

A new assignment looms in front of me,
This bloody thing is so damn frustrating.
It puts my mind in so much agony.
Quite deterring, hence procrastinating

Every time I see your lines fourteen
My forehead starts to breakout in a sweat.
I feel a gentle gnawing on my spleen.
Executioner comes, I start to fret.

The vast world I roam for inspiration,
I search the deepest bowels of my brain.
This will cause my mental devastation.
But a revelation soon ends the pain.

What was once black to me, has now turned white.
The next time it comes, my brain shall take flight.

In that book that is my memory
on the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you
appear the words, "Here begins a new life."
-- Dante Aligeri

I really like this one:

You are the last drink I never should have drunk
You are the body hidden in the trunk
You are the habit I can't seem to kick
You are the secret on the front page every week
You are the car I never should have bought
You are the dream I never should have thought
You are the mirror that makes me hide my face
You are the person that makes me see my hate.
--L0cke (the damaged.anime.net guy)

There once was a guy called keith.
He circumsized men with his teeth.
He didnt do it for leisure,
Or sexual pleasure,
He did it for the cheese underneath.

Hmmm, I know this poem is a bit overexposed, but it's still one of my favorites. I love William Blake, and the poets of the Romantic Period in general.

Anyway:



Poetry of William Blake

THE TYGER


Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And, when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger, tyger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


_________________
"Religion is the opium of them asses." - Karlm Arx

<font size=-1>[ This Message was edited by: IcyMonkey on 2002-11-23 15:57 ]</font>

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
`Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

`Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson

I used to sit in my cubicle
And blindly stare out the window.
When you came in you changed all that,
You smashed through the glass window.

If I could have just one wish
It would be to steal your kiss.
Those lips that smile everyday,
They brighten up my way.

I’ll cherish the moments when we hug
Because as much as I want to be your protector,
I can’t help but feel safe in your arms.
Your embrace is warm.

Please don’t walk home alone!
As much faith as you have
Please put some in me.

And I could wait another lifetime
For you to tell me how you feel,
But not to see your face again.
I need your presence everyday.

How the mighty fall from their cold thrones of ice.
We audacious enough to think so much
As to live on our own.
Our lives belong to others too.

One day we’ll both have trouble sleeping,
That night I’ll give you all my love in a kiss.
I can only hope you’ll smile
And draw me a little closer to you.

This, "The Hollow Men" by T.S. Eliot, has been one of my favorite poems since I first read it in high school. Don't know why. Perhaps I'm a closet Goth.


"Mistah Kurtz, he dead."

"A penny for the old guy."

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us--if at all--not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer--

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang, but a whimper.

P-M

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