by ntumlin on 9/18/17, 8:00 PM with 17 comments
by vijayr on 9/19/17, 12:03 PM
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42891/stopping-by-woo...
Emily Dickinson!
Here is one
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!
How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!
by Jemaclus on 9/19/17, 4:23 PM
That said, I do enjoy Robert Frost (cliche, I know). The only poem I can recite in totality is "Annabel Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe, and part of why I really liked that one is that it tells a short story, and a vivid one at that.
Beyond that, I'm not sure. I'd be interested in a "Understanding Poetry's Awesomeness for Dummies" course, though...
by bmomb on 9/21/17, 6:51 PM
Wikipedia as an assert about it: The most prominent of these later metaphysical poems is A Máquina do Mundo (The World's Machine). The poem deals with an anti-Faust referred to in the first person, who receives the visit of the aforementioned Machine, which stands for all possible knowledge, and the sum of the answers for all the questions which afflict men; in highly dramatic and baroque versification the poem develops only for the anonymous subject to decline the offer of endless knowledge and proceed his gloomy path in the solitary road. It takes the renaissance allegory of the Machine of the World from Portugal's most esteemed poet, Luís de Camões, more precisely, from a canto at the end of his epic masterpiece Os Lusíadas.[0]
[0] Wikipedia about Drummond, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos_Drummond_de_Andrade
by seeyes on 9/19/17, 8:41 PM
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening - Robert Frost https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42891/stopping-by-woo...
Mending Wall - Robert Frost https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44266/mending-wall
The Second Coming - W.B.Yeats http://www.potw.org/archive/potw351.html
The Mountain and the Squirrel - Emerson https://sites.google.com/site/rainydaypoems/poems-for-kids/c...
by krapp on 9/20/17, 8:12 PM
pity this busy monster, manunkind,
not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh
and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. We doctors know
a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go.
by danm07 on 9/19/17, 7:14 AM
Ages on ages before any eyes could see year after year thunderously pounding the shore as now. For whom, for what? On a dead planet with no life to entertain.
Never at rest tortured by energy wasted prodigiously by the Sun poured into space. A mite makes the sea roar.
Deep in the sea all molecules repeat the patterns of one another till complex new ones are formed. They make others like themselves and a new dance starts. Growing in size and complexity living things masses of atoms DNA, protein dancing a pattern ever more intricate.
Out of the cradle onto dry land here it is standing: atoms with consciousness; matter with curiosity.
Stands at the sea, wonders at wondering: I a universe of atoms an atom in the Universe.
Feynman
by yung_endian on 9/20/17, 7:24 PM
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.by PaulHoule on 9/18/17, 11:43 PM
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_Bukowski#Poetry_collec...
"War all the time" is a good place to start.
by david927 on 9/19/17, 5:36 PM
by Carl Sandburg
Desolate and lone
All night long on the lake
Where fog trails and mist creeps,
The whistle of a boat
Calls and cries unendingly,
Like some lost child
In tears and trouble
Hunting the harbor's breast
And the harbor's eyes.
by kleer001 on 9/20/17, 8:39 PM
by mrdependable on 9/19/17, 9:53 PM
Curiosity - Alistair Reid
by wu-ikkyu on 9/18/17, 8:27 PM
The sound of the water
Says what I think.
-Gochiku
by cmoney on 9/18/17, 11:07 PM