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Think Poetry

Post original poems, as well as other poems that peak your interest.

Members: 49
Latest Activity: Sep 7, 2015

Welcome to THINK POETRY


A Song


Oh do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being:
O, be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me;
O, do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me;
Nor spread them as distract with fears,
Mine own enough betray me.

-- Ben Jonson

Discussion Forum

My last hope

Started by Belle Rose Nov 29, 2014. 0 Replies

Fear Conquered

Started by Belle Rose. Last reply by Belle Rose Dec 31, 2013. 4 Replies

Hippopotamus by T.S. Elliot

Started by Tobie Barb Apr 16, 2012. 0 Replies

Lyrics for "The Note" and song (.MP3) attached

Started by Atheist Exile. Last reply by Atheist Exile Dec 6, 2011. 1 Reply

Two Songs and Lyrics (.MP3 files attached)

Started by Atheist Exile Dec 6, 2011. 0 Replies

ON BEING AN ATHEIST

Started by Paul-Michael Keichel Nov 10, 2011. 0 Replies

"The Built Wonder"

Started by Edmond Jan 18, 2011. 0 Replies

"The Lonely Bed"

Started by Edmond Jan 15, 2011. 0 Replies

A Girl on the Corner

Started by Matt Hossan Jan 13, 2011. 0 Replies

"Social Anxiety's Anthem"

Started by Edmond Jan 4, 2011. 0 Replies

Galway Kinnell: FIRST SONG

Started by Atheist Exile Dec 2, 2010. 0 Replies

Original - By the Waterfront

Started by Ryan E. Hoffman Dec 2, 2010. 0 Replies

Original - Dionysus Rest in Peace

Started by Matt Hossan. Last reply by Atheist Exile Nov 24, 2010. 1 Reply

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Comment by Atheist Exile on September 26, 2010 at 2:14am
Rereading the poems here, I wonder . . . did you guys find inspiration easier in youth or later in life? Did you produce more "keepers" when young or when older?
Comment by Atheist Exile on September 25, 2010 at 11:52pm
I was listening to CSN&Ys "Helplessly Hoping" and noting their use of alliteration. I wondered how far alliteration could go while at the same time telling a story. Here's what I came up with. Warning: it's a bit extreme. :-)

SIRENS, MERMAIDS AND MONGREL MANATEES

The skipperless ship seemingly steered itself,
a seabound sarcophagus, circling, spiraling;
sailing steadily, surely, to the source
of the spellbinding, sepulchral, sound
at the center of the surreal and swirling storm.

Soon we saw the sultry, sensuous siren:
statuesque, salacious, seductive and sinister.
In solitude, she sat swaying side to side
singing soulful soliloquies of sadness,
suffering, sorrow, sin and insanity.

Mesmerized, my muscles motionless,
mentally mired in a mystic, miasmic, milieu,
a maniacal melee menaced my mind
as melodious mermaid minstrels
molested me with malevolent medleys.

Against this mongrel manatee melody,
I mightily mustered my mettle,
managing a momentary memory
- my mirthful maiden's mouth meeting mine -
then: monstrous mayhem, mutilation and massacre.

Jim Ashby
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 25, 2010 at 10:39pm
George,


Glad you like the poem. The line you quoted was one that I particularly labored over. The general gist was there, but it took some rewording for it to have the impact I desired. That it impressed you so means the extra effort was worth my while.

While I am as much a dog person as I am a cat person, there is something in the Cat's winking eyes that is as intriguing as the Dog's wagging tale is endearing. That cloudy window into their inner life has inspired a number of famous writers – and rightfully so.

Your "What's Mine" is fantastic: short and sweet, but paints a complete and compelling picture. It also leaves the reader to wonder at the nature of these sea-faring opportunists. Are they pirates, vikings, conquistadors? Well done, Sir!

Haikus I know well, having written a few of my own – one of which I have posted below. I am not, however, familiar with a selestina and am curious to know more. And speaking of form, I posted another, dismal piece which dispenses with rhyme, but displays a repeated, syllabic pattern which cycles from 6 to 8 to 14, then back again.

Cheers,
Buck
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 25, 2010 at 10:37pm
Collecting Dust


Some people collect stamps –

famed portraits in miniature

or paper windows opening upon far-flung places

to which they never will carry

reports of illnesses,

miraculous recoveries,

unexpected deaths, or funerals one wished to attend,

short courtships and long engagements,

extravagant weddings,

honeymoons spent in tousled sheets,

welcomed birth pangs followed by difficult deliveries,

first words, first steps, first schools, first loves,

homecoming kings and queens,

graduation cards and money,

promotions, terminations, dreams of early retirement,

and the many, small events that,

frame by relentless frame,

form the narrative of a life.

Such fates are not to be for these paper miscarriages

of delayed communication.

No wet mouth will kiss them.

No careful thumb will press them down

to forever embrace an envelope full of promise.

“And neither snow, nor rain, nor heat,

nor gloom of night…” can hope

to threaten them, unless coming

with the force of storms, or floods, or fires, or thieves in the night.

They are missed opportunities,

filed away in a book

until the magnifying glass

stretches their details under their master’s nostalgic eye.

But adoration wanes with time

and masters and paper,

becoming brittle, go to dust.

We are as akin to the stamp as the philatelist,

for what is life and memory

but collected regret?
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 25, 2010 at 10:35pm
What cleaves earth from sky?
There exists no horizon,
only you and I.
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 25, 2010 at 12:09pm
Jim,

You are far too hard on yourself. Your poem is excellent and conveys the imagery with the very economy of words you claim not to exhibit. It also has a sense of the Romantics, who are a major influence on my style and subject matter. Keep up the great work.

Cheers,
Buck
Comment by Atheist Exile on September 25, 2010 at 1:04am
Hey Buck,

You're a pretty good poet. I dabbled with poetry but realized I just don't have what it takes. I can't conjure imagery like you do or convey volumes with such economy. Thanks for sharing.
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 24, 2010 at 7:29pm
George,

Since you have posted two with a rather dismal, universe-as-misanthropic theme, here is one I wrote recently. It involves the Cat, a favored animal of our friend, Mr. Lovecraft.


Only The Cat Will Remember

When, at last, all these false lights tire
of pressing at the patient dark
and, flickering unstoked, expire,
one by one, ‘til Jupiter’s spark,
the sun, the moon, the stars entire,
Pole-girding Aurora’s jade arc,
the bioluminescent fire,
Vulcan’s spittle on summer bark,
or some bolide’s self-absorbed pyre,
are all that remain to remark
on Humanity’s cold ember,
only the Cat will remember.

When this conspiracy of vines,
weeds, shrubs, turf – unchecked manicure
of homogenized lawns – aligns
against the void architecture
where a thin dog, whose lonesome whines
grew hoarse as it sought to conjure
affection from a corpse, consigns
itself to hungrily abjure
Domesticity’s weak confines
and, biting onto Instinct’s lure,
drags off what it can dismember,
only the Cat will remember.

When kennel, collar, leash, and law
have lost all power to harass –
for Master’s swollen, slackened jaw
holds no commandments left to pass –
and shattered tooth and tattered claw
tear holes in mortar, wood, and glass
so these tame kin of wolves may draw
together on suburban grass
to let long frozen Nature thaw
as pecking order’s rigid class
finds a place for each new member,
Only the Cat will remember.

When, hesitant as a first kiss,
come skulking down the avenue
packs of near-wolves exploring this
abandoned world that they once knew,
where, like a beckoning Abyss,
yawns every window’s blackened view
and all the rugs they once would piss
now slosh at forepaws’ touch, soaked through
where roof and wall make sunbeams miss
uncounted mornings’ clinging dew
that will turn frost in November,
only the Cat will remember.

When cow, horse, sheep, pig, ox, and goat
provide the dogs fresh meat and bone,
starved, suffocated fishes float,
caged birds desiccate, dry as stone,
while every free, unfettered throat
sends up one shrill, rejoicing drone,
and, fat on Gluttony’s last bloat,
the crow brags in its jarring tone
as migratory masses float
down to Earth, claiming for their own
the untouched yields of September,
Only the Cat will remember.

From blue whale to blue-green algae,
from preying wolf to mourning dove,
none is so like humanity
as the Cat: they match love for love
and are loyal to loyalty,
but each rudeness, from slight to shove,
is nursed in vengeful memory.
Yet, unlike us, they’d not dream of
letting spite breed catastrophe.
Still, though they may long walk above
the grave of our last December,
at least the Cat will remember.

Original Blog Source: http://buckoroon.wordpress.com/2010/09/09/only-the-cat-will-remember/
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 24, 2010 at 7:21pm
Another nice piece – not certain I agree; you never know what scientific knowledge or technological progress might bring and while there is life, there is hope. Still, it states the reality of the situation nicely. Entropy and the possibility of universal heat-death is quite a conundrum for the extropian and the transhumanist.

You mentioned the craft of my poem and I must admit that I tend to be a stickler for carefully constructed form. While I enjoy and occasionally write in freeform or progressing forms – such as you have exhibited in your pieces – I've found consistent form provides for, to use your words, an "even and pleasant read". And not to cut hairs, but every line in my poem is seven syllables. If you're referring to the word "desire", the second syllable is a diphthong, making the entire word 2 rather than 3 syllables. :D
Comment by Buck O'Roon on September 24, 2010 at 12:49am
Thank you, George. I like yours too, particularly the vivid imagery. Its concept reminds of the great H.P. Lovecraft – life struggling feebly in our dim corner of this indifferent, hostile, and (possibly) ultimately unknowable universe.
 

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Discussion Forum

My last hope

Started by Belle Rose Nov 29, 2014. 0 Replies

Fear Conquered

Started by Belle Rose. Last reply by Belle Rose Dec 31, 2013. 4 Replies

Hippopotamus by T.S. Elliot

Started by Tobie Barb Apr 16, 2012. 0 Replies

Lyrics for "The Note" and song (.MP3) attached

Started by Atheist Exile. Last reply by Atheist Exile Dec 6, 2011. 1 Reply

Two Songs and Lyrics (.MP3 files attached)

Started by Atheist Exile Dec 6, 2011. 0 Replies

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