Poetics and Poetry Discussion


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  • Rookie - 81 Points Poetry Hound (11/27/2014 12:02:00 PM) Post reply
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    God has Priorities

    I was thinking about Noah’s ark the other day.
    No, not the implausibility of the whole thing.
    I was thinking about the Great Flood that God created.
    Specifically, I was thinking about what people were
    thinking and saying as the flood waters rose. They
    were probably shouting and screaming, “Help! Save us! ”
    That was back in the days when God talked a lot - you
    know, before he pretty much clammed up. So when
    everyone was scared and beseeching him for help, he
    probably just said, “Nope.”

    And then he watched them drown.
    Just like he watches people getting murdered and kids
    getting raped, and doesn’t do anything about it. When
    was the last time you heard about a guy getting struck
    down by lighting while he was raping a kid?Never.
    And when the kids call out to him for help, his silence
    and inaction are the same thing as saying, “Nope.”

    And yet football players regularly get down on a knee
    and cross themselves after they score a touchdown.
    So God helps people in sporting events but doesn’t help
    kids getting raped. I’m glad he has his priorities straight.

  • Rookie - 540 Points The Pundit (11/26/2014 2:17:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hey, good news everyone! PoemHunter has an iphone app now! ! It works almost as good as their website!

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  • Freshman - 1,911 Points Melikhaya Zagagana (11/26/2014 3:37:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    You must be one of the seniors in this business, thanks for coming down to earth and shine in the dusk.

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  • Rookie - 225 Points Timothy Walters (11/25/2014 9:24:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    The Poor Boy

    Without money or clothes,
    Down the streets he goes,
    Begging for recompense,
    Just fifty pence,
    To make him feel better,
    And maybe look a little fatter;
    So that he can sleep well,
    And soon dwell,
    Far away in a dream,
    That many may deem,
    Too fantastical,
    And remarkable:
    A place where rivers flow,
    And daisies grow;
    A place where life seems to slow,
    And leaves behind all woes;
    To put on a new show,
    And avoid all deadly blows,
    That could disrupt,
    And also corrupt,
    The divine order of Nature,
    That we Earthly creatures
    Owe penance to.
    But the skies that were so blue,
    Have now vanished,
    Only to find himself banished,
    From this forbidden land,
    As he looks down at his hands,
    Devoid of joy,
    Realising that he is, after all, just a poor boy.

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  • Rookie - 225 Points Timothy Walters (11/25/2014 9:08:00 PM) Post reply

    The Torture

    To behold a sight so true,
    A calling foretold,
    A hearing he knew,
    That he kept to himself, like gold.

    Astray he went,
    Like rivers bent,
    He saw not,
    A disastrous plot.

    Treading on a skinny pole,
    One foot before the other,
    Holding on dearly to his soul,
    Crying out loud for his mother and father.

    But darkness fled,
    And light returned,
    Looking up, body bled,
    His judgement adjourned.

    To behold a sight so true,
    A calling foretold,
    A hearing he knew,
    That he kept to himself, like gold.

  • Rookie - 225 Points Timothy Walters (11/25/2014 9:00:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    The Formless Form

    Killing time,
    Precious it is, like a dime,
    Forget all memories gone,
    And all deeds that ride on,
    Be like the wind,
    Howling past trees aligned;
    Yet be like the echo,
    That reverberates to and fro,
    Mirroring my thoughts,
    Hurt I cannot, so am free from faults.

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    • Rookie - 225 Points Mandolyn ... (11/26/2014 1:31:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

      (I knew a Timothy Walters once, but his a was an o) suggestion for alternate ending: forget memories, they are deeds riding on the wind - - i think this poem could be tossed more. be crea ... more

  • Rookie - 81 Points Poetry Hound (11/24/2014 9:58:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Not A Poem

    Not that you have a chance, but if you could dedicate yourself to any Olympic sport in the hopes of competing in the Olympics, what event do you think you'd have the best chance at?How about sailing?You don't even have to be in good physical shape to compete in that.

    You don't have to be in good shape to ride a horse or steer a bobsled either.

    Maybe badmitten, although the Chinese would clean your clock. Maybe you could be on the bronze medal team. Nah. Forget about badmitten. It's too lightweight. You have to be quick but you hardly have to move. If I was forced to play badmitten all day, I'd probably kill myself.

    What about weightlifting?You could probably get all bulked up, but what a boring way to spend precious hours and days of your life. Besides, no one really cares how much you can lift.

    Archery would be a possibility. You just have to practice at not shaking. Anyone can aim, but not everyone can not shake. One time, I asked my boss for a raise. I was really shaking and he took pity on me. Unlike the Olympic judges. Those guys take themselves way too seriously.

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  • Rookie - 12 Points Vikash Pathak (11/24/2014 6:06:00 AM) Post reply

    test

  • Rookie - 87 Points Rocky Lizardi.brown (11/23/2014 8:46:00 AM) Post reply

    I have noted in a couple of different poems the metaphor of poets opening their mouths wide and 'being breathless with inspiration'. So that bring up my question to you all, does poetic inspiration consist of divine inspiration, or do they have nothing to do with each other?

  • Freshman - 1,247 Points Mike Acker (11/23/2014 2:54:00 AM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Stripes

    Like a soldier's hard-earned stripes, his cuts
    run across his arms, their raised shine standing out.
    I am mesmerized by the number and depth
    of these now-healed scars. I can not fathom
    what would drive this young man
    to slash his own flesh.

    Then I think, like me, he must get
    some sweet relief from the self-inflicted pain.
    As I turn to walk away, I perceive
    myself as cowardly, and yet grateful
    that my self-inflicted wounds, are well-hidden,
    in the depths of my soul.

    Mike Acker

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    • Freshman - 1,247 Points Timothy Walters (11/25/2014 10:28:00 PM) Post reply

      You seem almost too conscious of your own writing- it's as though you care more about the words themselves than the lyrical qualities of the poem that were already lost from the very first line.

    • Freshman - 1,247 Points The Pundit (11/24/2014 8:04:00 PM) Post reply

      This is awful. You come across like you want to be viewed as some kind of hero, but the reader is just laughing at you behind your back. First, the writer says that he " can't 'fathom'- such and ... more

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