your favorite poem?

[Layladay]

at the bottom is one of my favorite ppoem, and no i didnt write it.
if you want to, post your favorite, yes it could be yours, or not.


A teenage girl's first crush is . . . well, crushing.
Her body isn't hers, nor is her mind.
She finds herself shivering, shaking, blushing,
Weak, tormented, sick, and going blind.
And why? Because some guy might look her way,
Then cast his eyes as quickly to the ground;
Some special one, for reasons she can't say,
Whose voice makes her feel faint when he's around.
But now my crush on you has been returned,
And so the two of us stand on some brink:
It can't be love so young, and yet we've learned
Love does its will, no matter what we think.
Slowly, slowly now--we mustn't rush:
Let's enjoy this first sweet teenage crush.

[banditcom]

RE: your favorite poem?

At first I thought the title said porn instead of poem...

[JurseyRider734]

RE: your favorite poem?

I went to a birthday party
but I remembered what you said.
You told me not to drink at all,
so I had a Sprite instead.
I felt proud of myself,
the way you said I would,
that I didn't choose to drink and drive,
though some friends said I should.
I knew I made a healthy choice and
your advice to me was right
as the party finally ended
and the kids drove out of site.
I got into my own car,
sure to get home in one piece,
never knowing what was coming,
something I expected least.
Now I'm lying on the pavement.
I can hear the policeman say,
"The kid that caused this wreck was drunk."
His voice seems far away.
My own blood is all around me,
as I try hard not to cry.
I can hear the paramedic say,
"This girl is going to die."
I'm sure the guy had no idea,
while he was flying high,
because he chose to drink and drive
that I would have to die.
So why do people do it,
knowing that it ruins lives?
But now the pain is cutting me
like a hundred stabbing knives.
Tell my sister not to be afraid,
tell Daddy to be brave,
and when I go to heaven to
put "Daddy's Girl" on my grave.
Someone should have taught him
that it's wrong to drink and drive.
Maybe if his mom and dad had,
I'd still be alive.
My breath is getting shorter,
I'm getting really scared.
These are my final moments,
and I'm so unprepared.
I wish that you could hold me, Mom,
as I lie here and die.
I wish that I could say
I love you and good-bye.


It used to make me cry, but i'm not an emo 7th grader anymore. It's still my favorite poem thing because it gives a good STRONG MESSAGE.

[Layladay]

RE: your favorite poem?

wow thats good jurs. i love poems, especially the one i got, that "teenage crush" girl reminds me a lot of myself lol

and i typed it wrong because my 5 year old cousin was playing around with the keyboard.

[GuidoHunter]

Re: RE: your favorite poem?

At first I thought the title said porn instead of poem...

You, too? Anyway, here're mine:

When you get what you want for your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day,
Just go to a mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn't your father or mother or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass.
But the fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

You may be like Jack Horner and chisel a plum
And think you're a wonderful guy.
But the man in the glass says you're only a bum
If you can't look him straight in the eye.

He's the fellow to please; Never mind all the rest.
For he's with you clear up to the end.
And you've passed your most dangerous, difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of tears
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you've cheated the man in the glass.
--Unknown
-----

"The Hopping Poem" by Ethan Coen

Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck

That
Hurt
Fuck
Fuck
-----

Whoops, never actually looked at my post. Thanks, tny.

--Guido

http://andy.mikee385.com

[tnyhwk900]

RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

"The Hopping Poem" by Ethan Coen

Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck

That
Hurt
Fuck
Fuck

fix'd 4 u

And I don't have a favorite poem.

[Layladay]

RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

ur stupid.
People, please use comdoms and birth control.
It works.

[Moogy]

RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

asdf

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asdf

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By Emily Dickenson

[Privateer]

RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

Whoa. Jurs, a girl memorized that poem and recited it to our English class last year. She cried as she was reciting it.

[GuidoHunter]

Re: RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

ur stupid.
People, please use comdoms and birth control.
It works.

Man, I love how I post a poem that someone doesn't like and I turn into an advertisement for birth control.

--Guido

http://andy.mikee385.com

[Afrobean]

your favorite porn?

I wonder if I could fit all of Romeo and Juliet in this one post...

Don't worry, I'm not evil. Just be sure to check out Romeo and Juliet if you have time.

PS don't any of you say that R+J isn't poetry. It's far more poetic than a lot of your fancy pants poems.

EDIT: PPS For those interested, the "balcony scene" is act 2 scene 2.

[Piroteknix]

Re: RE: Re: RE: your favorite poem?

asdf

asdf

asdf

asdf

By Emily Dickenson

Heh heh. Ok, my favorite poem...

There once was a man from Peru
Who dreamed he was eating a shoe
He awoke with a fright
In the middle of the nigh
To find that his dream had come true

....damnit, a lymric! I don't really have a favorite poem :/

[GuidoHunter]

Re: your favorite porn?

PS don't any of you say that R+J isn't poetry. It's far more poetic than a lot of your fancy pants poems.

I don't believe in poetry too much. Take The Hopping Poem. Do I think it's really poetry? No, but the author said it was a poem, so I'll take his word for it.

Plus, somebody (I really wish I knew who) said "Art is anything well-placed." That poem was in a book of poetry, so it's a poem. If "The Garden of the Sun" weren't in front of an art museum, it would be considered scrap metal.

Do I consider Shakespeare poetry? I don't think so. It's got meter, but no rhyme scheme. I don't like expressive poetry, so I have very stringent guidelines on what fits into that category in my mind. Regardless, I do realize how EXTREMELY difficult it would be to write like Shakespeare, so I will give him many many awesome points, despite the fact that I don't enjoy reading him too much.

--Guido

http://andy.mikee385.com

[SpookG]

RE: Re: your favorite porn?

"Ode to a Nightingale" by John Keats.. I've written two papers on it already..


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?

[87x]

RE: Re: your favorite porn?

Here is mine.. I found it like 3 years ago, in my english book at school.. and I have loved it ever since...


"Mother dear, may I go downtown
Instead of out to play,
And march the streets of Birmingham
In a Freedom March today?"
"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For the dogs are fierce and wild,
And clubs and hoses, guns and jails
Aren't good for a little child."

"But, mother, I won't be alone.
Other children will go with me,
And march the streets of Birmingham
To make our country free."

"No, baby, no, you may not go,
For I fear those guns will fire.

But you may go to church instead
And sing in the children's choir."

She has combed and brushed her night-dark hair,
And bathed rose petal sweet,
And drawn white gloves on her small brown hands,
And white shoes on her feet.

The mother smiled to know that her child
Was in the sacred place,
But that smile was the last smile
To come upon her face.

For when she heard the explosion,
Her eyes grew wet and wild.
She raced through the streets of Birmingham
Calling for her child.

She clawed through bits of glass and brick,
Then lifted out a shoe.
"O, here's the shoe my baby wore,
But, baby, where are you?"