/poetry/

Post your own or some favorites

THERE will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;And frogs in the pools singing at night,And wild plum-trees in tremulous white;Robins will wear their feathery fireWhistling their whims on a low fence-wire;And not one will know of the war, not oneWill care at last when it is done.Not one would mind, neither bird nor treeIf mankind perished utterly;And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,Would scarcely know that we were gone.

...

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

Dying in Place

O hermetic nave,
Sealed by souls who yearn for redemption
And meaning, but only of the intrinsic mold.

Rapturous corpses; lively, spastic points in space:
A microcosm of the will of everything
Resisting the gyres of time.
But time succeeds
In the generation of want.

The trembling of all things
On the way to somewhere;
Described with words like grace,
And endured with boundless displays.

They fight with walls of hymns, immense.
The visceral bellows imbue.
Their voices flood the sinking room –
The flock beholds a tomb.

                              The unwitting creation of a crypt
                        Gives way to cries within the stygian lay.
                       Withered hands, curled like dead spiders,    
                                      Claw the dense nothing.

Apoptosis

To understand each other,
Material stirs a waltz
And churns madness out of itself.

To swim together
In a flux of airs and motions;
In a closer look:
The activity that made us
But speaks nothing of it.

A vestige passing through a field
Shedding dust from what remains
Of it's nest of love and pain.

The Everlasting Gob

Jupiter hums and Mercury moans
And they maintain their distance:
The frigid space between the solar bodies;
The foul stink in the unforgiving mass;
The burnt sky and the gas that lingers,
From which nothing is apart.

Man is unwelcome – Gob forbid.
How long would a corpse remain intact?
When would the bones become their own?
         All things begin and end…here.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This chan is dead
Hotwheels probably is too

SVT (Superventricular Tachycardia)

My heart is enraged by a dire flutter
And it's beats become innumerable and weak.
The fiend in revolt plunders my breath
Which I hold in resistance.

My face becomes tinted with rose
Blooms from the pressure of bearing down;
A pointless act which once was enough
To restore the conduction.

Now the needles come out and the blood spills.
Adenosine embraces my body
Tightly, but it's not enough to end it–
It'll take more than that.

The pumping of
the drip
Slows
the rhythm
As my heart decides
To keep me alive

There was a young man from Nantucket
Whose dick was so long he could suck it.
He said with a grin
As he wiped off his chin,
"If my ear was a cunt I would fuck it."

You should try a little harder than that, user

I THINK that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

A little generic, but not terrible.

You won't find my poems on google.

Roses are red
(((Violets are blue)))
And black bitches too

You will be missed

Ode to Uncle Ponto
Uncle Ponto sits at home
Uncle Ponto's all alone
He hates the good
He hates the bad
He gluts his food
He's a porno lad
He shoots out one
And then he's done
He comes on Holla Forums
And this says he,
"I'm living the life
With my QT wife.
You're all just losers
And none are bruisers.
So I am unafraid
Of catching a fade.
I'm rich as hell
And I'm faring well.
Oh, and smart too.
Smarter than you.
Bye, you faggots."
So he has it.
Then back to reality
Oh, how sad is he?
He is none of his claims
Tis why he shames
The life of a shitlord
On an anonymous board.
So, Uncle Ponto, do us a favor?
Please check your behaviour.
You're a big bore
Who needs to lurk more.

I like Ponto

It's a shit poem. I posted it because my high school English class gave it as an example of a shit poem because of its mixed metaphors and just being precious.

Ok, it was terrible. From now on, anons need to claim their poems as original or not. I'd rather not shot all over something that means a lot to someone.

Ponto gazes at the sky.
He doesn't know why.
Maybe for an answer
That will end the cancer
On the random board, Holla Forums.
But will Dysnomia agree?
He seems to support it
Any effort to improve?
He will but thwart it.
He is backed by the Jews

Encumbered by rhymes
Dysnomia watches us
Be careful, user

as the one who made the post I can confirm this statement.

“Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one, people ruin beautiful things.” ― Kahlil Gibran

the sun hasnt rose

i'm cold

pulled the trigger

all i feel is death

/bant/ wasn't enough huh?

i only came back here because people bitched about Holla Forums when i left for ONE fucking day

probably some bullshit though

is this Justin Bieber lyrics?

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it
“Because it is bitter,
“And because it is my heart.”