[ISTP] poetry and you - Page 7

poetry and you

View Poll Results: Do you like poetry

65. You may not vote on this poll
  • Never read/heard a poem i liked

    12 18.46%
  • I like one, or a few, particular poems, but that's pretty much it (please tell us what they are)

    35 53.85%
  • I generall like the work of one - three particular poets (please tell us who they are)

    11 16.92%
  • I love poetry/many poets

    7 10.77%
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This is a discussion on poetry and you within the ISTP Forum - The Mechanics forums, part of the SP's Temperament Forum- The Creators category; I like all the poets you all listed. And one I like, which none of you mentioned is Langston Hughes. ...

  1. #61
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    I like all the poets you all listed. And one I like, which none of you mentioned is Langston Hughes. The poem about a raisin that runs and sticks, and the poem about mother and a tough staircase life, with landings.

    There's a lot of logic in poetry. So don't give up! A lot are metaphoric, analogous, and have weird implications. Don't give up on poetry yet.

    If I knew of a secure job in literature and poetry, I would so not be an engineer. :P

  2. #62
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    Haiku's I like for the structure, order and rhythum while trying to convey your thought/imagery/mood/etc has a certain mix of art and calculated logic to it.

    Some Epic poems, ....much like power ballads in music.

  3. #63
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    W. B. Yeats - The Stolen Child.

    WHERE dips the rocky highland

    Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
    There lies a leafy island
    Where flapping herons wake
    The drowsy water rats;
    There we've hid our faery vats,
    Full of berrys
    And of reddest stolen cherries.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wave of moonlight glosses
    The dim gray sands with light,
    Far off by furthest Rosses
    We foot it all the night,
    Weaving olden dances
    Mingling hands and mingling glances
    Till the moon has taken flight;
    To and fro we leap
    And chase the frothy bubbles,
    While the world is full of troubles
    And anxious in its sleep.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Where the wandering water gushes
    From the hills above Glen-Car,
    In pools among the rushes
    That scarce could bathe a star,
    We seek for slumbering trout
    And whispering in their ears
    Give them unquiet dreams;
    Leaning softly out
    From ferns that drop their tears
    Over the young streams.
    Come away, O human child!
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

    Away with us he's going,
    The solemn-eyed:
    He'll hear no more the lowing
    Of the calves on the warm hillside
    Or the kettle on the hob
    Sing peace into his breast,
    Or see the brown mice bob
    Round and round the oatmeal chest.
    For he comes, the human child,
    To the waters and the wild
    With a faery, hand in hand,
    For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.


    TL;DR: Faeries are trying to capture some kid. It's one of the only poems I actually got - I guess because it's more descriptive than metaphorical or analogical. Centuries ago in my country, if a deformed child was born, or there was something wrong with it, the parents would say that the faeries came in the night and stole the real child and replaced it with this one - according to legend faeries couldn't have perfect children, only deformed ones. That's what the poem is about.
    madhatter and hannachi thanked this post.

  4. #64
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    Quote Originally Posted by parazep View Post
    W. B. Yeats - The Stolen Child.
    Yeats FTW!
    parazep thanked this post.

  5. #65
    ISTP - The Mechanics


    It is an ancient Mariner,
    And he stoppeth one of three.
    "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
    Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

    "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
    And I am next of kin;
    The guests are met, the feast is set:
    May'st hear the merry din."

    He holds him with his skinny hand,
    "There was a ship," quoth he.
    "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
    Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

    He holds him with his glittering eye--
    The Wedding-Guest stood still,
    And listens like a three years child:
    The Mariner hath his will.

    The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
    He cannot chuse but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
    Merrily did we drop
    Below the kirk, below the hill,
    Below the light-house top.

    The Sun came up upon the left,
    Out of the sea came he!
    And he shone bright, and on the right
    Went down into the sea.

    Higher and higher every day,
    Till over the mast at noon--
    The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
    For he heard the loud bassoon.

    The bride hath paced into the hall,
    Red as a rose is she;
    Nodding their heads before her goes
    The merry minstrelsy.

    The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
    Yet he cannot chuse but hear;
    And thus spake on that ancient man,
    The bright-eyed Mariner.

    And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
    Was tyrannous and strong:
    He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
    And chased south along.

    With sloping masts and dipping prow,
    As who pursued with yell and blow
    Still treads the shadow of his foe
    And forward bends his head,
    The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
    And southward aye we fled.

    And now there came both mist and snow,
    And it grew wondrous cold:
    And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
    As green as emerald.

    And through the drifts the snowy clifts
    Did send a dismal sheen:
    Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
    The ice was all between.

    The ice was here, the ice was there,
    The ice was all around:
    It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
    Like noises in a swound!

    At length did cross an Albatross:
    Thorough the fog it came;
    As if it had been a Christian soul,
    We hailed it in God's name.

    It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
    And round and round it flew.
    The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
    The helmsman steered us through!

    And a good south wind sprung up behind;
    The Albatross did follow,
    And every day, for food or play,
    Came to the mariners' hollo!

    In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
    It perched for vespers nine;
    Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
    Glimmered the white Moon-shine.

    "God save thee, ancient Mariner!
    From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
    Why look'st thou so?"--With my cross-bow
    I shot the ALBATROSS.


    The Sun now rose upon the right:
    Out of the sea came he,
    Still hid in mist, and on the left
    Went down into the sea.

    And the good south wind still blew behind
    But no sweet bird did follow,
    Nor any day for food or play
    Came to the mariners' hollo!

    And I had done an hellish thing,
    And it would work 'em woe:
    For all averred, I had killed the bird
    That made the breeze to blow.
    Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay
    That made the breeze to blow!

    Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
    The glorious Sun uprist:
    Then all averred, I had killed the bird
    That brought the fog and mist.
    'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
    That bring the fog and mist.

    The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
    The furrow followed free:
    We were the first that ever burst
    Into that silent sea.

    Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
    'Twas sad as sad could be;
    And we did speak only to break
    The silence of the sea!

    All in a hot and copper sky,
    The bloody Sun, at noon,
    Right up above the mast did stand,
    No bigger than the Moon.

    Day after day, day after day,
    We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
    As idle as a painted ship
    Upon a painted ocean.

    Water, water, every where,
    And all the boards did shrink;
    Water, water, every where,
    Nor any drop to drink.

    The very deep did rot: O Christ!
    That ever this should be!
    Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
    Upon the slimy sea.

    About, about, in reel and rout
    The death-fires danced at night;
    The water, like a witch's oils,
    Burnt green, and blue and white.

    And some in dreams assured were
    Of the spirit that plagued us so:
    Nine fathom deep he had followed us
    From the land of mist and snow.

    And every tongue, through utter drought,
    Was withered at the root;
    We could not speak, no more than if
    We had been choked with soot.

    Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
    Had I from old and young!
    Instead of the cross, the Albatross
    About my neck was hung.


    There passed a weary time. Each throat
    Was parched, and glazed each eye.
    A weary time! a weary time!
    How glazed each weary eye,
    When looking westward, I beheld
    A something in the sky.

    At first it seemed a little speck,
    And then it seemed a mist:
    It moved and moved, and took at last
    A certain shape, I wist.

    A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
    And still it neared and neared:
    As if it dodged a water-sprite,
    It plunged and tacked and veered.

    With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
    We could not laugh nor wail;
    Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
    I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
    And cried, A sail! a sail!

    With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
    Agape they heard me call:
    Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
    And all at once their breath drew in,
    As they were drinking all.

    See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
    Hither to work us weal;
    Without a breeze, without a tide,
    She steadies with upright keel!

    The western wave was all a-flame
    The day was well nigh done!
    Almost upon the western wave
    Rested the broad bright Sun;
    When that strange shape drove suddenly
    Betwixt us and the Sun.

    And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
    (Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
    As if through a dungeon-grate he peered,
    With broad and burning face.

    Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
    How fast she nears and nears!
    Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
    Like restless gossameres!

    Are those her ribs through which the Sun
    Did peer, as through a grate?
    And is that Woman all her crew?
    Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
    Is DEATH that woman's mate?

    Her lips were red, her looks were free,
    Her locks were yellow as gold:
    Her skin was as white as leprosy,
    The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
    Who thicks man's blood with cold.

    The naked hulk alongside came,
    And the twain were casting dice;
    "The game is done! I've won! I've won!"
    Quoth she, and whistles thrice.

    The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out:
    At one stride comes the dark;
    With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea.
    Off shot the spectre-bark.

    We listened and looked sideways up!
    Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
    My life-blood seemed to sip!

    The stars were dim, and thick the night,
    The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
    From the sails the dew did drip--
    Till clombe above the eastern bar
    The horned Moon, with one bright star
    Within the nether tip.

    One after one, by the star-dogged Moon
    Too quick for groan or sigh,
    Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
    And cursed me with his eye.

    Four times fifty living men,
    (And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
    With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
    They dropped down one by one.

    The souls did from their bodies fly,--
    They fled to bliss or woe!
    And every soul, it passed me by,
    Like the whizz of my CROSS-BOW!


    "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
    I fear thy skinny hand!
    And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
    As is the ribbed sea-sand.

    "I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
    And thy skinny hand, so brown."--
    Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
    This body dropt not down.

    Alone, alone, all, all alone,
    Alone on a wide wide sea!
    And never a saint took pity on
    My soul in agony.

    The many men, so beautiful!
    And they all dead did lie:
    And a thousand thousand slimy things
    Lived on; and so did I.

    I looked upon the rotting sea,
    And drew my eyes away;
    I looked upon the rotting deck,
    And there the dead men lay.

    I looked to Heaven, and tried to pray:
    But or ever a prayer had gusht,
    A wicked whisper came, and made
    my heart as dry as dust.

    I closed my lids, and kept them close,
    And the balls like pulses beat;
    For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
    Lay like a load on my weary eye,
    And the dead were at my feet.

    The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
    Nor rot nor reek did they:
    The look with which they looked on me
    Had never passed away.

    An orphan's curse would drag to Hell
    A spirit from on high;
    But oh! more horrible than that
    Is a curse in a dead man's eye!
    Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
    And yet I could not die.

    The moving Moon went up the sky,
    And no where did abide:
    Softly she was going up,
    And a star or two beside.

    Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
    Like April hoar-frost spread;
    But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
    The charmed water burnt alway
    A still and awful red.

    Beyond the shadow of the ship,
    I watched the water-snakes:
    They moved in tracks of shining white,
    And when they reared, the elfish light
    Fell off in hoary flakes.

    Within the shadow of the ship
    I watched their rich attire:
    Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
    They coiled and swam; and every track
    Was a flash of golden fire.

    O happy living things! no tongue
    Their beauty might declare:
    A spring of love gushed from my heart,
    And I blessed them unaware:
    Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
    And I blessed them unaware.

    The self same moment I could pray;
    And from my neck so free
    The Albatross fell off, and sank
    Like lead into the sea.


    Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
    Beloved from pole to pole!
    To Mary Queen the praise be given!
    She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
    That slid into my soul.

    The silly buckets on the deck,
    That had so long remained,
    I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
    And when I awoke, it rained.

    My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
    My garments all were dank;
    Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
    And still my body drank.

    I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
    I was so light--almost
    I thought that I had died in sleep,
    And was a blessed ghost.

    And soon I heard a roaring wind:
    It did not come anear;
    But with its sound it shook the sails,
    That were so thin and sere.

    The upper air burst into life!
    And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
    To and fro they were hurried about!
    And to and fro, and in and out,
    The wan stars danced between.

    And the coming wind did roar more loud,
    And the sails did sigh like sedge;
    And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
    The Moon was at its edge.

    The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
    The Moon was at its side:
    Like waters shot from some high crag,
    The lightning fell with never a jag,
    A river steep and wide.

    The loud wind never reached the ship,
    Yet now the ship moved on!
    Beneath the lightning and the Moon
    The dead men gave a groan.

    They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
    Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
    It had been strange, even in a dream,
    To have seen those dead men rise.

    The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
    Yet never a breeze up blew;
    The mariners all 'gan work the ropes,
    Where they were wont to do:
    They raised their limbs like lifeless tools--
    We were a ghastly crew.

    The body of my brother's son,
    Stood by me, knee to knee:
    The body and I pulled at one rope,
    But he said nought to me.

    "I fear thee, ancient Mariner!"
    Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
    'Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
    Which to their corses came again,
    But a troop of spirits blest:

    For when it dawned--they dropped their arms,
    And clustered round the mast;
    Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
    And from their bodies passed.

    Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
    Then darted to the Sun;
    Slowly the sounds came back again,
    Now mixed, now one by one.

    Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
    I heard the sky-lark sing;
    Sometimes all little birds that are,
    How they seemed to fill the sea and air
    With their sweet jargoning!

    And now 'twas like all instruments,
    Now like a lonely flute;
    And now it is an angel's song,
    That makes the Heavens be mute.

    It ceased; yet still the sails made on
    A pleasant noise till noon,
    A noise like of a hidden brook
    In the leafy month of June,
    That to the sleeping woods all night
    Singeth a quiet tune.

    Till noon we quietly sailed on,
    Yet never a breeze did breathe:
    Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
    Moved onward from beneath.

    Under the keel nine fathom deep,
    From the land of mist and snow,
    The spirit slid: and it was he
    That made the ship to go.
    The sails at noon left off their tune,
    And the ship stood still also.

    The Sun, right up above the mast,
    Had fixed her to the ocean:
    But in a minute she 'gan stir,
    With a short uneasy motion--
    Backwards and forwards half her length
    With a short uneasy motion.

    Then like a pawing horse let go,
    She made a sudden bound:
    It flung the blood into my head,
    And I fell down in a swound.

    How long in that same fit I lay,
    I have not to declare;
    But ere my living life returned,
    I heard and in my soul discerned
    Two VOICES in the air.

    "Is it he?" quoth one, "Is this the man?
    By him who died on cross,
    With his cruel bow he laid full low,
    The harmless Albatross.

    "The spirit who bideth by himself
    In the land of mist and snow,
    He loved the bird that loved the man
    Who shot him with his bow."

    The other was a softer voice,
    As soft as honey-dew:
    Quoth he, "The man hath penance done,
    And penance more will do."



    But tell me, tell me! speak again,
    Thy soft response renewing--
    What makes that ship drive on so fast?
    What is the OCEAN doing?


    Still as a slave before his lord,
    The OCEAN hath no blast;
    His great bright eye most silently
    Up to the Moon is cast--

    If he may know which way to go;
    For she guides him smooth or grim
    See, brother, see! how graciously
    She looketh down on him.


    But why drives on that ship so fast,
    Without or wave or wind?


    The air is cut away before,
    And closes from behind.

    Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high
    Or we shall be belated:
    For slow and slow that ship will go,
    When the Mariner's trance is abated.

    I woke, and we were sailing on
    As in a gentle weather:
    'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;
    The dead men stood together.

    All stood together on the deck,
    For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
    All fixed on me their stony eyes,
    That in the Moon did glitter.

    The pang, the curse, with which they died,
    Had never passed away:
    I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
    Nor turn them up to pray.

    And now this spell was snapt: once more
    I viewed the ocean green.
    And looked far forth, yet little saw
    Of what had else been seen--

    Like one that on a lonesome road
    Doth walk in fear and dread,
    And having once turned round walks on,
    And turns no more his head;
    Because he knows, a frightful fiend
    Doth close behind him tread.

    But soon there breathed a wind on me,
    Nor sound nor motion made:
    Its path was not upon the sea,
    In ripple or in shade.

    It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
    Like a meadow-gale of spring--
    It mingled strangely with my fears,
    Yet it felt like a welcoming.

    Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
    Yet she sailed softly too:
    Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze--
    On me alone it blew.

    Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
    The light-house top I see?
    Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
    Is this mine own countree!

    We drifted o'er the harbour-bar,
    And I with sobs did pray--
    O let me be awake, my God!
    Or let me sleep alway.

    The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
    So smoothly it was strewn!
    And on the bay the moonlight lay,
    And the shadow of the moon.

    The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
    That stands above the rock:
    The moonlight steeped in silentness
    The steady weathercock.

    And the bay was white with silent light,
    Till rising from the same,
    Full many shapes, that shadows were,
    In crimson colours came.

    A little distance from the prow
    Those crimson shadows were:
    I turned my eyes upon the deck--
    Oh, Christ! what saw I there!

    Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
    And, by the holy rood!
    A man all light, a seraph-man,
    On every corse there stood.

    This seraph band, each waved his hand:
    It was a heavenly sight!
    They stood as signals to the land,
    Each one a lovely light:

    This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
    No voice did they impart--
    No voice; but oh! the silence sank
    Like music on my heart.

    But soon I heard the dash of oars;
    I heard the Pilot's cheer;
    My head was turned perforce away,
    And I saw a boat appear.

    The Pilot, and the Pilot's boy,
    I heard them coming fast:
    Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
    The dead men could not blast.

    I saw a third--I heard his voice:
    It is the Hermit good!
    He singeth loud his godly hymns
    That he makes in the wood.
    He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away
    The Albatross's blood.


    This Hermit good lives in that wood
    Which slopes down to the sea.
    How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
    He loves to talk with marineres
    That come from a far countree.

    He kneels at morn and noon and eve--
    He hath a cushion plump:
    It is the moss that wholly hides
    The rotted old oak-stump.

    The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
    "Why this is strange, I trow!
    Where are those lights so many and fair,
    That signal made but now?"

    "Strange, by my faith!" the Hermit said--
    "And they answered not our cheer!
    The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
    How thin they are and sere!
    I never saw aught like to them,
    Unless perchance it were

    "Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
    My forest-brook along;
    When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
    And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
    That eats the she-wolf's young."

    "Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look--
    (The Pilot made reply)
    I am a-feared"--"Push on, push on!"
    Said the Hermit cheerily.

    The boat came closer to the ship,
    But I nor spake nor stirred;
    The boat came close beneath the ship,
    And straight a sound was heard.

    Under the water it rumbled on,
    Still louder and more dread:
    It reached the ship, it split the bay;
    The ship went down like lead.

    Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
    Which sky and ocean smote,
    Like one that hath been seven days drowned
    My body lay afloat;
    But swift as dreams, myself I found
    Within the Pilot's boat.

    Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
    The boat spun round and round;
    And all was still, save that the hill
    Was telling of the sound.

    I moved my lips--the Pilot shrieked
    And fell down in a fit;
    The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
    And prayed where he did sit.

    I took the oars: the Pilot's boy,
    Who now doth crazy go,
    Laughed loud and long, and all the while
    His eyes went to and fro.
    "Ha! ha!" quoth he, "full plain I see,
    The Devil knows how to row."

    And now, all in my own countree,
    I stood on the firm land!
    The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
    And scarcely he could stand.

    "O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!"
    The Hermit crossed his brow.
    "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say--
    What manner of man art thou?"

    Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
    With a woeful agony,
    Which forced me to begin my tale;
    And then it left me free.

    Since then, at an uncertain hour,
    That agony returns;
    And till my ghastly tale is told,
    This heart within me burns.

    I pass, like night, from land to land;
    I have strange power of speech;
    That moment that his face I see,
    I know the man that must hear me:
    To him my tale I teach.

    What loud uproar bursts from that door!
    The wedding-guests are there:
    But in the garden-bower the bride
    And bride-maids singing are:
    And hark the little vesper bell,
    Which biddeth me to prayer!

    O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
    Alone on a wide wide sea:
    So lonely 'twas, that God himself
    Scarce seemed there to be.

    O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
    'Tis sweeter far to me,
    To walk together to the kirk
    With a goodly company!--

    To walk together to the kirk,
    And all together pray,
    While each to his great Father bends,
    Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
    And youths and maidens gay!

    Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
    To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
    He prayeth well, who loveth well
    Both man and bird and beast.

    He prayeth best, who loveth best
    All things both great and small;
    For the dear God who loveth us
    He made and loveth all.

    The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
    Whose beard with age is hoar,
    Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
    Turned from the bridegroom's door.

    He went like one that hath been stunned,
    And is of sense forlorn:
    A sadder and a wiser man,
    He rose the morrow morn.

  6. #66
    ESTP - The Doers

    I really like Shel Silverstein's poems. They're cute and to-the-point. This is one of the only poems I've ever memorized, I just love it.

    I opened my eyes,
    And looked up at the rain,
    And it dripped in my head,
    And flowed into my brain,
    And all that I hear as I like in my bed,
    Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

    I tread very softly,
    I walk very slow,
    I can't do a handstand--
    I might overflow,
    So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said,
    I'm not quite the same since there's rain in my head.

    I also like Edgar Allan Poe's, The Raven.

    P.S. Am I the only one who doesn't like Robert Frost's poems? I cringe when I read them. But that's probably just from frustrating experience when I was in school and had to dissect the metaphor and symbolism and shit.
    madhatter thanked this post.

  7. #67
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    I like The Raven and a few cheeky haikus, but that's it.
    "Haikus are easy
    But sometimes they don't make sense
    Seralya, Leeoflittlefaith and Poptart thanked this post.

  8. #68
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    Quote Originally Posted by Elizabeth S View Post
    P.S. Am I the only one who doesn't like Robert Frost's poems? I cringe when I read them. But that's probably just from frustrating experience when I was in school and had to dissect the metaphor and symbolism and shit.
    I don't blame you then. Sounds like that would be an effective torture device.
    Nymeria thanked this post.

  9. #69
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    This poem I once saw in a tram during some sort of poetry / art week month thing. I don't know why I liked it so much, but I did.


    'When you stop to consider
    The days spent dreaming of a future
    And say then, that was my life.'

    For the days are long --
    From the first milk van
    To the last shout in the night,
    An eternity. But the weeks go by
    Like birds; and the years, the years
    Fly past anti-clockwise
    Like clock hands in a bar mirror.
    Derek Mahon, Selected Poems (Viking/The Gallery Press 1991).
    madhatter thanked this post.

  10. #70
    ISTP - The Mechanics

    I'm a big fan of Dorothy Parker. I enjoy short, witty poetry. I don't have the attention span for anything else, really, and while I can appreciate the imagery in some poetry it's not something I would read for pleasure.


    There's little in taking or giving,
    There's little in water or wine;
    This living, this living, this living
    Was never a project of mine.
    Oh, hard is the struggle, and sparse is
    The gain of the one at the top,
    For art is a form of catharsis,
    And love is a permanent flop,
    And work is the province of cattle,
    And rest's for a clam in a shell,
    So I'm thinking of throwing the battle-
    Would you kindly direct me to hell?
    madhatter thanked this post.

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