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Thread: Poems

  1. #26
    rainbow burrito Simplice's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    excerpts from the waste land by T.S Eliot

    APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
    Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
    Memory and desire, stirring
    Dull roots with spring rain.
    Winter kept us warm, covering
    Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
    A little life with dried tubers.

    You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
    They called me the hyacinth girl.
    —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
    Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
    Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
    Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
    Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
    Öd’ und leer das Meer.
    jdzg likes this.
    a r t s / l a w @ u s y d ( I )
    government and international relations + english

    "plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.''

  2. #27
    Dont.msg.me.about.english nerdasdasd's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    Mysterious Pain

    With her head hung low
    and nowhere to go

    She can't explain
    this mysterious pain

    It comes on so fast
    How long will it last

    Her heart is just pounding, her head starts to spin
    Please go away, she does not want you in

    She's uncontrollably crying
    It feels like she's dying

    Her body is trembling, her hands start to shake
    She feels so helpless with this horrible ache

    Someone, please help her, make this go away
    She can't stand to feel this way one more day

    Someone, please help her, she's down on her knees
    She's scared and helpless and hopes no one sees

    With her head hung low
    not knowing where to go

    She tries to explain
    This mysterious pain
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  3. #28
    Che barba Ununoctium's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    As a poetry enthusiast and as someone who writes poetry, this thread makes me so happy. It's fantastic to see that people like poetry .

    Blackberry-Picking
    BY SEAMUS HEANEY

    Late August, given heavy rain and sun
    For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
    At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
    Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
    You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
    Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
    Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
    Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
    Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
    Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
    Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
    We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
    Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
    With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
    Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
    With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.

    We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
    But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
    A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
    The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
    The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
    I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
    That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
    Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

  4. #29
    rainbow burrito Simplice's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    Quote Originally Posted by Ununoctium View Post
    As a poetry enthusiast and as someone who writes poetry, this thread makes me so happy. It's fantastic to see that people like poetry .

    Blackberry-Picking
    BY SEAMUS HEANEY

    Late August, given heavy rain and sun
    For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
    At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
    Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
    You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
    Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
    Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
    Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
    Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
    Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
    Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
    We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
    Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
    With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
    Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
    With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.

    We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
    But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
    A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
    The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
    The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
    I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
    That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
    Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

    Ahhh I love that poem!
    a r t s / l a w @ u s y d ( I )
    government and international relations + english

    "plaudite, amici, comedia finita est.''

  5. #30
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    Cause I Ain’t Got a Pencil
    ~Joshua T. Dickerson

    I woke myself up
    Because we ain’t got an alarm clock
    Dug in the dirty clothes basket,
    Cause ain’t nobody washed my uniform
    Brushed my hair and teeth in the dark,
    Cause the lights ain’t on
    Even got my baby sister ready,
    Cause my mama wasn’t home.
    Got us both to school on time,
    To eat us a good breakfast.
    Then when I got to class the teacher fussed
    Cause I ain’t got no pencil
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

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  6. #31
    Executive Member Rhinoz8142's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    A hundred to one.
    I can do a hundred good deeds,
    But one bad deed,
    Will destroy them.
    By now I am so far in debt,
    I can never repay,
    What I owe.
    Even death cannot now be recompense,
    I can only repay,
    For all eternity.
    I am tired.
    I am tired of trying.
    Trying to do things for others,
    When I will fail or forget some small thing,
    And that is what they remember.
    Trying to have a child,
    Never to know the joy and sorrow,
    When failure is all I meet.
    Trying to have hope,
    When it is beaten out of me every day,
    And I struggle to go on.
    I am tired of living,
    Struggling day to day,
    To meet more failures in the future.
    I am tired of trying to provide,
    Seeing those faces when I cannot,
    Faces not remembering what I have.
    I am tired of working,
    Doing my best every day,
    To see it undone the next.
    I am tired of my creativity,
    Having wonderful things waiting to be made,
    Never seeing day, for lack of time.
    I am tired of the world,
    One where I never fit in,
    And becomes worse every day.
    I am tired of being tired,
    Eternally plodding from one thing to the next,
    Never to know rest.
    I am tired.

    Quote Originally Posted by Oer View Post
    I am grateful for Rhino's existence

  7. #32
    Good grief. EarthSci34's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    “You say that you love the rain
    but you open your umbrella when it rains

    You say that you love the sun
    but you find a shadow spot when the sun shines

    You say that you love the wind
    but you close your windows when the wind blows

    This is why I am afraid, you said that you love me too.“

    I am Afraid (Korkuyorum) —Turkish Poem

    Some people say it's from William Shakespeare, others attribute this to Bob Marley. Despite the ambiguity associated with its author, I decided it's worth sharing
    Survivor of HSC 2015
    University of Sydney 2016-2019

  8. #33
    The pessimistic optimist. BLIT2014's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    "We have calcium in our bones,
    iron in our veins,
    carbon in our souls,
    and nitrogen in our brains.
    93 percent stardust,
    with souls made of flames,
    we are all just stars
    that have people names."
    Non scholæ sed vitæ discimus

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  9. #34
    Disillusioned BandSixFix's Avatar
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    Re: Poems

    Cloths of Heaven


    Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
    Enwrought with golden and silver light,
    The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
    Of night and light and the half-light,
    I would spread the cloths under your feet:
    But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
    I have spread my dreams under your feet;
    Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


    - William Butler Yeats

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