I always loved poetry, studied English literature at university (brag, brag), so i thought I'd start a thread on poetry. I'm not a wine snob, nor am I a poetry snob, so please feel free to post anything you like, it's a very subjective thread, you don't need any academic skill to like poetry.

This is one of my favourites, the Alsatian for sale thread prompted it.

The Tiger, Blake.

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

In what distant deeps or skies 5
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? 10
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 15
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee? 20

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

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
If you should ever see
A poem lovely as a tree,
Give me a call
at 548 0463.

This is one i wrote 2 years ago, coming out of a depressive hole with the help of Buddhism...

"Nirvana Apocalypse"

Twisted,
Planets shifted,
Mind earthquakes causing tsunami headaches,
Mass flash flooding drowning me out,
Washing away the blood where our battles were once fought,
Volcanic eruptions causing pollution to all assumptions and thoughts,
Comets raining down causing devastating extinction to all that once was,
Tomorrow is a new day to be lived in a new way,
Mistakes are made and lessons learnt,
Play with fire you will get burnt,
For every action a reaction,
Satisfaction in karma,
Be enlightened and reach nirvana,
Live a calmer life,
Eliminate strife,
Be free from yourself,
The one that brings you down,
The sound of birds forever ringing in your ears,
Peaceful sounds drown out the frowns,
Wake up each day with the desire to do better,
Sun setting and sunrise,
Widen the eyes,
Gaze at the nights sky watch shooting stars expanding the mind,
Make a wish,
Reality isn't like this,
Brainwashed by our own matrix,
Pain is an illusion,
Free life is a fallacy,
We are eternal,
Immortality!

"Lions don't eat cabbage.
And in spite of that of adage
You'll never see one lie down with a lamb."

-- Chris Smither

vladimir wrote: studied English literature at university (brag, brag), so i thought I'd start a thread on poetry.

(Standard science grad response) So you decided young to not contribute, then?

Upon reading an article in the paper about the Da Vinci Code [which I haven't read] in which Jesus apparently marries Mary Magdalene and goes off to live in, of all places, France:


Now Jesus he married sweet Magda
Though many to the bushes had dragged 'er.
Said his father Joe,
"He's divine, it's your woe"
To old patrons who ogled or ragged 'er.

His grandsons are priests, they're called Pere
Penitential in shirts made of hair.
Granddaughters: their druthers
Were to cavort 'bout with others
And dance in the Follies Begere.

Hahaha

Voulez vous couchez avec ho ce soir?

I also studied English literature at school, but have never learn about writing poetry. It is bit confusing in Cambodia. When we say we study English literature meaning we study English either English for teaching (TEFL) or English for communication.

Great Poem from the Sufi-Muslim Poet, Hafiz, about the dangers of organized religion and the gullibility of those that follow blindly:


THE DIAMOND TAKES SHAPE

Some parrots
Have become so skilled with
The human voice
They could give a brilliant discourse
About freedom and God

And an unsighted man nearby might
Even begin applauding with
The thought:
I just heard jewels fall from a
Great saint's mouth,

Though my Master used to say,
"The diamond takes shape slowly
With integrity's great force,
And from
The profound courage to never relinquish love."

Some parrots have become so skilled
With words,
The blind turn over their gold
And lives to caged
Feathers.

Teaching the Ape to Write Poems
James Tate, 1943

They didn’t have much trouble
teaching the ape to write poems:
first they strapped him into the chair,
then tied the pencil around his hand
(the paper had already been nailed down).
Then Dr. Bluespire leaned over his shoulder
and whispered into his ear:
“You look like a god sitting there.
Why don’t you try writing something?”