Who Likes Poetry? Post your favourites here....

[Melusine]

K T Ong... No, I certainly wouldn't say that not to appreciate poetry is not to have lived. It's the same discussion that dominates GenD these days: some hold that not to know God is not to live life to the fullest, some hold that to believe in God is a waste of life... and I think it's all a matter of perception. If you think you know what's good for you, you should do it. Poetry certainly adds a LOT to my life, and it's certainly enriched me, but I'll give you that it doesn't do the same for other people, and that's fine as well. I do feel, however, that a great deal depends on the will and the means to understand it. The analogy with religion works well here, too. Some of the members here at least have realised that while they may not believe in something, there may be merit in it after all. I firmly believe that it can never hurt to learn more about something.
I also think that most people who do not like poetry either have not the will to learn, or have never been given the means to learn to appreciate poetry. Of course, partially it should come naturally, but there's also a deal of skill involved. It's a *skill* to know how to read poetry, how to question the words in order to gain some fulfillment out of the reading, and that skill can be learned.
Hope that wasn't too much of a rant... it's still early here

[K T Ong]

Largely agree, Melusine.

I only wish that those who do appreciate poetry -- or certain 'great' works of poetry -- would be sensitive and sensible enough not to belabor those who just happen to march to a different drummer, or to consider themselves somehow a breed above the rest. That would certainly be the surest way to put people off poetry for good.

[Melusine]

Originally posted by K T Ong: Largely agree, Melusine. I only wish that those who do appreciate poetry -- or certain 'great' works of poetry -- would be sensitive and sensible enough not to belabor those who just happen to march to a different drummer, or to consider themselves somehow a breed above the rest. That would certainly be the surest way to put people off poetry for good.

That's true, I agree with that too. [img]smile.gif[/img]
Oh... and I must confess I liked the Iliad... sorry!
I can see where you're coming from though - it's a bit heavy on the um... bloodshed and the naming of heroes.

[K T Ong]

*Shrugs shoulders.*

To each his/her own!

[K T Ong]

Okay, here's a poem from the 13th-century Persian mystic-poet Rumi, one of my all-time favorites.

Every instant thou art dying and returning. "This world is but a moment," said the Prophet.
Our thought is an arrow shot by Him: how should it stay in the air? It flies back to God.
Every instant the world is being renewed, and we unaware of its perpetual change.
Life is ever pouring in afresh, though in the body it has the semblance of continuity.
From its swiftness it appears continuous, like the spark thou whirlest with thy hand.
Time and duration are phenomena produced by the rapidity of Divine Action,
As a firebrand dexterously whirled presents the appearance of a long line of fire.

[DeSoya]

Originally posted by K T Ong: Largely agree, Melusine. I only wish that those who do appreciate poetry -- or certain 'great' works of poetry -- would be sensitive and sensible enough not to belabor those who just happen to march to a different drummer, or to consider themselves somehow a breed above the rest. That would certainly be the surest way to put people off poetry for good.

I agree with you K T. I think it's funny that I go to classes and am told to read the same poets time and time again. It is only just this last year that I had a teacher who went outside of the "established" core of classic poets. The analogy that I just thought of is that english classes are turning into radio stations. There's a play list of fourty songs which the DJ must play ten of every hour and the rest of the music comes from another very short list. Thanks for the Rumi post. Rumi rocks!

DeSoya

[Wynne]

(No title yet)

In sunset glow and haze of red
Two figures stand inside my head
Some visions dreamed and meant to be
Are etched in mind immortally

I stood a moment, watching there
Then saw him stroke her snow-kissed hair
She clutched him fast in black-gloved arms
And he seemed to marvel at new charms

Such sweetness sparked, it made me ache
A trail of tears dropped in my wake
The pain of loneliness I knew
Was salved in seeing love light true

And still they stand, a mystery
This poignant wonder of memory
My heart remains a bitter piece
But in that sight was hope, at least.

And now, to ruin the mood created by that poem: Stupid Toad Haiku.

Watching X-Men film
Green guy extends endless tongue
Will you marry me?

Suddenly I see
Amphibians are lovely
Why never before?

Weather witch hungry
Lightning zaps sumptuous Toad
Damn her, fried frog legs!

Man who climbs on walls
Dextrous with mouth appendage
Great fun at parties.

I don't mind your height
Short has its advantages
Not that you need them.

Piggy-back jump ride
Better than a trampoline
Eeek! Lily-pads sink!

Sweet, agile Toad-boy
Will you never come to me?
Love sees more than warts.

[K T Ong]

To DeSoya:

Glad we see eye-to-eye on certain things regarding poetry, in particular our liking for Rumi.

Yup, the 'Stupid Toad' haiku is funny.

[ 06-29-2002, 08:22 PM: Message edited by: K T Ong ]

[Lioness]

Originally posted by DeSoya: Casy At The Bat by Ernest Lawrenc Thayer: It looked extremely rocky for the Mudville nine that day; The score stood two to four with but one inning left to play. So, when Cooney died at second, and Burrows did the same, A pallor wreathed the features of the patrons of the game. A straggling few got up to go, leaving there the rest, With that hope which springs eternal within the human breast. For they thought: "If only Casey could get a whack at that," They'd put even money now, with Casey at the bat. But Flynn preceded Casey, and likewise so did Blake, And the former was a pudd'n and the latter was a fake. So on that stricken multitude a death-like silence sat; For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat. But Flynn let drive a "single," to the wonderment of all. And the much despised Blakey "tore the cover off the ball." And when the dust had lifted, and they saw what had occurred, There was Blakey safe on second, and Flynn a-huggin' third. Then from the gladdened multitude went up a joyous yell -- It bounded from the mountaintops, it rattled in the dell; It struck upon the hillside and rebounded on the flat; For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat. There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place, There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smiled on Casey's face; And when responding to the cheers he lightly doffed his hat, No stranger in the crowd could doubt, 'twas Casey at the bat. Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt, five thousand toungues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt; Then when the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip, Defiance glanced in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip. And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air, And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there; Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped; "That hain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said. From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar, Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore. "Kill him! kill the umpire!" shouted someone from the stand; And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand. With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone; He stilled the rising tumult, he made the game gon on; He signalled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew; But Casey still ignored it, and the umpired said, "Strike two." "Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered, "Fraud!" But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed; They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain, And they knew that Casey wouldn't let the ball go by again. The sneer is gone from Casey's lips, his teeth are clenched in hate, He punds with cruel vengeance his bat upon the plate; And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go, And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow. Oh, somewhere in the favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville -- Mighty Casey has struck out.

You know I memorized that, and its sequel last year...*shakes head* I need a life.

Nothing Gold

'Nothing Gold can stay', they say,
And so I must confess,
Because I know you will not stay,
I try to love you less.

[Blade]

Sence others have i guess i too will post my own poem be kind to it but criticisms are ok [img]tongue.gif[/img]

(untitled as of yeat)

As I look up upon the sky
I feel the ages past and future go flying by and by
I realize I’m just a mote of life admist the tides of time
I look around and with this knowledge I see and
I realize that I can’t understand others no matter how hard I try
This is for to understand them truly I would need to be them
So instead I let it pass and judge them not
Instead I accept this and let them be
With this knowledge I settle myself to enjoy the moment
For in reality it is all we have
The rest is shadows and uncertain
For the tides of time and humanity change the past and future
To build up new realities

By: Chris Nance AKA Blade