Think Poetry

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

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Latest Activity: Sep 7, 2015


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


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

Comment Wall


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Comment by Zombie Atheist on November 20, 2010 at 6:42pm
someone suggested I join this. Hullo. Heres the poem I wrote on my page that got me the suggestion, It's called; Poem made from a friends Denny's based idiocy.

Rhetorical comparatives made from the mouth piece of an ass.

Turning chaos to conformity
formalities then become crass.

From this world of urgency, true importance lies in ruins.

At the bottom of a mountain, at the tops of tempted nations.

Morality keeps moving.
Humanity is broken.
Comment by Buck O'Roon on November 19, 2010 at 1:00am

Beyond the obvious source material, there is something rather Lovecraftian in the feel of this poem. I think old H.P. would have been proud.

Comment by Buck O'Roon on November 2, 2010 at 2:34am
Thanks, AE!

George ~ Great imagery and development of theme in "Dracula's Lament"! And "Someday Never Comes" was powerful. Nice work!
Comment by Atheist Exile on November 1, 2010 at 9:17pm
Hey Buck,

That was an imaginative and entertaining poem, as usual.
Comment by Atheist Exile on November 1, 2010 at 9:16pm
Hey George,

Nice poem. I had to Google "Wallachia" to get the connection :-) It sounds like an American Indian place name.
Comment by Buck O'Roon on November 1, 2010 at 2:46pm
An old poem of mine I posted in honor of the mid-term elections:

And so, for those of us who are citizens of the United States of America, our national mid-term elections are upon us. It is a time to reflect upon the achievements and mistakes of the past and to suggest the course for the work ahead. I use the word "suggest" because we cannot readily applaud the good work of those few, honest, earnest politicians without also acknowledging the overwhelming, selfish resistance constantly undermining their efforts. Plato's unscrupulous flatterers and Lord Acton's warning of the corrupting influence of power are ever with us.

Each vote given will take one of two shapes; it will be either a nod of approval toward maintaining the status quo or a loud, insistent call to steer the ship of state along a new heading. For the vast majority of us, it must be admitted that we do not know our politicians. Rather, we are acquainted only with the product of their public relation machines, machines which have been working overtime this election season. I cannot recall a more volatile political arena in the recent history of this country. The mudslinging, threatening innuendo, and outright violence are a national embarrassment and if we do not admit this, we should be doubly ashamed.

As we descend into the booth on November 2nd, let us give neither credence nor authority to those who would, on the one hand, use fear to strip ourselves or others of unalienable rights and on the other, entice us with empty promises of entitlement unhitched from the civic responsibilities by which they are earned. In that spirit, I give you:


(With my deepest apologies to Lewis Carroll)

The Hermit Crab was in his shell,
Straining from its tight fit:
Despite his discomfort, he made
The very best of it--
And this was odd, because he had
Outgrown it, bit by bit.

The Snail crept by too busily
To give the Crab a thought.
The Crab had business too: a shell
His outstretched claw besought--
"It's very rude of him to beg,”
The Snail had long been taught.

The Crab was poor as poor could be,
The Snail was blest as blest.
But not a heartbeat could be heard;
Each had a hollow chest--
Pride’s fullness and pride’s scarcity
Had robbed each beating breast.

The Starfish and the Albatross
Observed the pair askance;
They dreamt like anything to see
Such pawns of circumstance:
"If they were utilized with care,"
They said, "we could advance!"

"Through your talismanic fortune
And my unmatched beauty,"
The Starfish asked, "Could we gain from
Their assiduity?"
"I’m certain," said the Albatross,
Laughing seriously.

"But it’s those shells that give me pause,"
The Starfish spoke with doubt.
"Fear not,” The Albatross replied,
“We’ve but their trust to tout,
To coax the Crab from his shelter
And pull that fine Snail out."

"O Shelled-Ones, come and wade with us!"
The Starfish told the fools.
"A pleasant wade; success is made
Amid the Tidal Pools.
The Albatross could use a snail
Of your talents and tools."

The Crab looked on in yearning as
The snail was led away;
There was a time he had worth too,
But that was yesterday.
So, he listened closely to all
The Starfish had to say:

"I’ve started a foundation to
Enable crabs like you
To grow to their full potential,
And earn their earnest due--
We’ll put you in a nicer shell
And fill your belly too.”

Then, the Starfish crawled up the beach.
Eager to match his pace,
The Crab, squirming, slowly emerged
From his dark, hiding-place--
Hope, or something akin to it,
Lit up his hardened face.

His six strong legs raised one soft shell
Above the salty ground
And scurried to the Tidal Pool,
Where sun and surf abound--
And this was odd, because, you know,
He’d thought his pride long-drowned.

The Starfish and the Albatross
Came to the pool’s thin edge,
A fortuitous perch from which
Their bets they soon would hedge;
Smacking their lips, they gazed upon
The life they sought to dredge.

The Snail and the Crab, following
Their benefactors’ lead,
Came to the edge as well and looked
With eyes of want and need--
One felt his gut twist with hunger,
The other’s gut, with greed.

"Your time’s come," said the Albatross,
"Descend, Snail! Get your fill:
Of algae--plankton--sun-dried kelp--
Bacteria-rich swill.
Behold: The Sea of Avarice--
It’s One Law: Die or Kill!"

"Without delay," replied the Snail
And slunk into the tide;
There, in his wide, mucus-slicked jaws,
A generation died--
His shell’s girth grew gargantuan,
Nearly matching his pride.

“The multitude,” the Starfish spoke,
"Must all be fed as well;
Stand by me, Crab, so all your kind
Can rightly, justly tell--
Only through me, can each expect
a full gut and new shell."

The Starfish basked in the sunlight;
It glinted off his skin
And added quite a luster to
His sharp, pearlescent grin--
And to the bits of oyster flesh
That stained his dimpled chin.

The sight drew every eye to him;
His glamour and his fame
Were such that crabs he’d never met
Knew him by face and name--
And so, to fawn upon his grace,
A thousand more crabs came.

The Starfish stretched his five, thick arms,
Whose siphoning tube-feet
Gathered sustenance, to ensure
That every crab could eat--
And as they ate, each carapace
Filled up with rich crabmeat.

The Snail, for his part, climbed back from
The briny killing-field.
The Albatross sang his praises,
Thanking him for his yield;
The Snail, with joy, awaited
His reward to be revealed.

The Albatross, without a word,
Pecked out the Snail’s wide eyes.
And then his tongue--The Albatross
Had wearied of his cries.
The flesh was swallowed last, the shell
Left vacant on the rise.

The crabs, now too fat for their shells,
Began to curse and wail.
“Don’t fret! Look here,” the Starfish crowed,
“My mission did not fail.”;
There, at his feet, lay one, huge shell--
The remnants of the Snail.

“But surely, Friend, you jest; that shell
Would barely house just one.
We must have more,” the crabs cried in
Convenient unison--
The Starfish tossed the shell to them
And sat to watch the fun.

A riot fast broke out among
This voluntary thrall;
Claws raised, shells cast from sturdy backs,
They waged a civil brawl--
The Starfish, smiling with content,
Consumed them, one and all.

"Well, Albatross," the Starfish said,
"We’re plump from our fine chore.”
The Albatross, hardly full, said,
“I wouldn’t mind some more.”
And this was scarcely odd, because
They’d done it all before.

*based upon The Walrus and the Carpenter, from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, by Lewis Carroll, 1872

Original Source Post:
Comment by Buck O'Roon on October 7, 2010 at 5:36pm
George ~ I thoroughly enjoyed your poem. What an interesting perspective and fine imagery! The 'wine/dung' contrast is particularly potent and leads strongly toward the concluding lines. Well done!

Ava ~ I enjoyed your poem as well. It develops naturally and the picture of the wrongs committed on the land are as vague as the unquiet ghosts that roam there, which makes it all the more effective. It reminds me of a quote from Dostoevsky's "The Brothers Karamazov":

"Imagine that you are creating a fabric of human destiny with the object of making men happy in the end... but that it was essential and inevitable to torture to death only one tiny creature ... And to found that edifice on its unavenged tears: would you consent to be the architect on those conditions? Tell me, and tell me the truth!"

Perthy ~ Yet again, another poem to enjoy. There is something in the language that captures a wounded innocence, giving the verse the subtle intimacy of a conversation. We are all, I think, in our own whorehouse, in one respect or another. Even in the absence of guilt-riddled religion, there is much to regret in human nature. So often we seek salvation in damnation, never realizing the finger of accusation is our own – as is the strongest helping hand. Forgiveness, particularly self-forgiveness, need not be monopolized by the religious. Life would be so much easier if it came with a user's manual, would it not?

On a final note, I think all three of these poems could do with a touch more editing, but only because they are worthy of the effort. For my own part, I never seem to finish editing my work - I always manage to find something that needs improving. To paraphrase the old saying, 'Art is never finished, merely abandoned.'
Comment by Perthy on October 7, 2010 at 12:08am
House of Whores

Welcome to the House of Whores
walk up close, open the doors.
we are the ones who live here
selling that which we hold dear
for a taste of affection,
perhaps for retribution;
a punishment to ourselves,
only time promises to tell.
Shunned by those you deem decent,
but no harm by us is meant.
We want only to feel loved,
for this only, long we roved,
starved only for a soft touch,
something that's not gotten much.
Longing to hear gentle word
and our sickness to be cured.
If you think this you can do,
make our tired hearts beat anew,
walk up close, open the doors...
Welcome to the House of Whores.

-Beth Pals
Comment by Ava Wilson on October 6, 2010 at 10:36pm

An amber sky melts beyond the clouds,
A sea of black lies infinite in its path,
Folds of dark velvet drape lovingly
Over the glimmering moon.
Leaves of mighty oak and slender birch
Fly boundless past the praying stars,
While emerald walls and fallen towers
Watch over these ancient woods.
Eyes of rich umber, scarred and burned,
Tell tales of wars fought long ago
When this ground was far too young
Even for the crumbling rotten logs.
In silence, dark and frigid waters pass
The resting willow weeping here,
Like blood from the wounds of men,
And drift beneath the waking forest.
Screams of hunting and hunted
Linger over forgotten bones,
While nightingales twitter softly
In the shadows of the wind.
Tonight, the world that man has built
Will slumber gently with no regret.
But the one they have destroyed
Shall never sleep.

--- Ava Germaine
Comment by Buck O'Roon on October 4, 2010 at 3:18pm
Sure thing, AE.

Members (46)


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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