Poetry

Shakespeare and Edgar Allan Poe are pretty good.

Agreed.

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DigiCode - My solo company in progress.

I was hoping for someone a little less known...

My favorite poets are T.S. Eliot, e.e. cummings, and Leonard Cohen.


T.S. Eliot, from "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock":

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.


e.e.ecummings, from "concieve a man":

conceive a man,should he have anything
would give a little more than it away

(his autumn''s winter being summer''s spring
who moved by standing in november''s may)
from whose(if loud most howish time derange

the silent whys of such a deathlessness)
rememberance might no patient mind unstrange
learn(nor could all earth''s rotting scholars guess
that life shall not for living find the rule)

and dark beginnings are his luminous ends
who far less lonely than a fire is cool
took bedfellows for moons mountains for friends

-open your thighs to fate and(if you can
withholding nothing)World,conceive a man


Leonard Cohen, from "Suzanne":

Now Suzanne takes your hand
and she leads you to the river
she is wearing rags and feathers
from Salvation Army counters
And the sun pours down like honey
on our lady of the harbour
And she shows you where to look
among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
there are children in the morning
they are leaning out for love
they will lean that way forever

I wrote a poem in 8th grade called "Squishily, Squashily, Pudding" which won a poem contest

Besides that though, I have to say Edgar Allan Poe as well - I can't say I read much poetry, but I have enjoyed his works.

EDIT: spelling

[edited by - mr_dejao on April 21, 2003 2:52:36 PM]

E. A. Poe, William Blake, Lord Byron and e. e. Cummings are my favourite ones

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Edgar Allan Poe... hence the name

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I walk through hell, with red kisses from murderous gods blistering my priestly flesh. Walk with me, for I am Raven. Walk with me, through paths of hatred. Walk with me, through paths of cruelty. Walk with me through Raven''s clockwork orange house of fun.
Quoth the Raven, nevermore...

Shel Silverstein and Ted Guisel(Dr. Seuss).
Their poems are simplistic and perhaps juvenile in some mechanical respects, but they have the wonderful ability to stimulate young minds time and time again, and poetry is not just for intellectual discussion among educated adults. Frankly, I think the ability to fertilize the minds of generations of children into new creative thought is magical.

One of my best friends, Rupert Estanislao.
He was recently on the HBO show Def Poetry Jam.

One of his peoms (an mp3 of him reading)

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Exume my speling.

[edited by - griffenjam on April 21, 2003 4:44:09 PM]

quote:

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Original post by sunandshadow
T.S. Eliot, from "The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock":

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Simply awesome.

[edited by - ChildOfKordova on October 11, 2017 10:32:23 AM]
weird

Christina Rosetti is also very cool. From "The Goblin Market":

But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:
"Good folk, I have no coin;
To take were to purloin:
I have no copper in my purse,
I have no silver either,
And all my gold is on the furze
That shakes in windy weather
Above the rusty heather."
"You have much gold upon your head,"
They answered altogether:
"Buy from us with a golden curl."
She clipped a precious golden lock,
She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,
Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:
Sweeter than honey from the rock,
Stronger than man-rejoicing wine,
Clearer than water flowed that juice;
She never tasted such before,
How should it cloy with length of use?
She sucked and sucked and sucked the more
Fruits which that unknown orchard bore,
She sucked until her lips were sore;
Then flung the emptied rinds away,
But gathered up one kernel stone,
And knew not was it night or day
As she turned home alone.

And in terms of more modern poetesses, Maggie Estep is funny as all hell. From "Sex Goddess of the Western Hemisphere":

Yeah
I got fed up with the oooh oooh oooh oooh oooh
I got fed up with it all
so I put on my combat boots
and hit the road with my bag full of SEX TOYS
that were a vital part of my SEX GODDESS image
even though I would never actually use
my SEX TOYS
''cause my being a SEX GODDESS
it isn''t a SEXUAL thing
it''s a POLITICAL thing
I don''t actually have SEX, no
I''m too busy taking care of
important SEX GODDESS BUSINESS,
yeah,
I gotta go on The Charlie Rose Show
and MTV and become a parody
of myself and make
buckets full of money off my own inane brand
of self-righteous POP PSYCHOLOGY
because my pain is different
because I am a SEX GODDESS
and when I talk,
people listen
why ?
Because, you guessed it,
I AM THE SEX GODDESS OF THE WESTERN HEMISPHERE
and you''re not.

Robert Frost IS TEH SU><0RZZZZ
Honestly, i have never read such depressing crap in my life.


Shakespeare, now that is ART.

(and this is all from memory btw)
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
creeps in this petty pace from day to day
to the last syllable of recorded time
and all our yesterdays have lighted fools
the way to dusty death. Out, out! Brief candle
Lifes but a walking shadow, a poor player
that struts and frets his hour upon the stage.
It is a tale told by and idiot, full out sound and fury
signifying nothing.

Tolkien is also a good poet from his rhyme scheme that he has going in his poems and from the picture it makes

"Gil-Galad was an elven king,
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whos realm was fair and free
between the mountains and the see.

His sword was long, his lance was keen
his shining helm afar was seen;
the countless stars of heaven''s field
were mirrored off his silver shield

But long ago he rode away,
and where he dwelleth none can say;
for into darkness fell his star
in Mordor where the shadows are."


This is also another favorite of mine (wow, i can go on forever)
"Seek for the Sword that was broken:
In Imladris it dwells;
There shall be counsels taken
Stronger than Morgul-spells.
There shall be shown a token
That Doom is near at hand,
For Isildur''s Bane shall waken,
And the Halfling forth shall stand."

And this is also one of my favorites:


"An Elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day:
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey.

A star was bound upon her brows,
A light was on her hair
As sun upon the golden boughs
In Lorien the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs where white,
And fair she was and free;
And in the wind she went as light
As leaf of linden-tree.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,
By water clear and cool,
Her voice as falling silver fell
Into the shinning pool.

Where now she wanders none can tell,
In sunlight or in shade;
For lost of yore was Nimrodel
And in the mountains strayed.

The elven-ship in haven grey
Beneath the mountain-lee
Awaited her for many a day
Beside the roaring sea.

A wind by night in Northern lands
Arose, and loud it cried,
And drove the ship from elven-strands
Across the streaming tide.

When dawn came dim the land was lost,
The mountains sinking grey
Beyond the heaving waves that tossed
Their plumes of blinding spray.

Amroth beheld the fading shore
Now low beyond the swell,
And cursed the faithless ship that bore
Him far from Nimrodel.

Of old he was an Elven-king,
A lord of tree and glen,
When golden were the boughs in spring
In fair Lothlorien.

From helm to sea they saw him leap,
As arrow from the string,
And dive into the water deep,
As mew upon the wing.

The wind was in his flowing hair,
The foam about him shone;
Afar they saw him strong and fair
Go riding like a swan.

But from the West has come no word,
And on the Hither Shore
No tidings Elven-folk heard
Of Amroth evermore."

And my final favorite two:

"Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day''s rising
he rode singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
Hope he rekindled, and in hope ended;
over death, over dread, over doom lifted
out of loss, out of life, unto long glory."



"The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet."