ITT:
Post your favorite poems (not written by yourselves)
>inb4 poetry is for faggots
Yes.
ITT:
Easton Diaz
Jace Gomez
that is one tough cat
Carter Cox
Joshua Miller
Here's another one
Jonathan Butler
The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner by Randall Jarrell
From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
Jace Sullivan
whoa
Henry Flores
I legitimately thought that was a furry costume from the thumbnail
Chase Lee
Thanks for that dude I saved it, I read it out loud and am happier now, the word goes so far, and is perhaps all we have.
Noah Sullivan
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Ian Johnson
William Jenkins
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
Christopher Anderson
One of my favorites
Wyatt Jackson
recommend me some horror poetry authors
Tyler Fisher
Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Kubla Khan
Death Grips - Beware
Nathan Nguyen
К Кepн*
Я пoмню чyднoe мгнoвeньe:
Пepeдo мнoй явилacь ты,
Кaк мимoлeтнoe видeньe,
Кaк гeний чиcтoй кpacoты.
B тoмлeньях гpycти бeзнaдeжнoй,
B тpeвoгaх шyмнoй cyeты,
Звyчaл мнe дoлгo гoлoc нeжный
И cнилиcь милыe чepты.
Шли гoды. Бypь пopыв мятeжный
Pacceял пpeжниe мeчты,
И я зaбыл твoй гoлoc нeжный,
Tвoи нeбecныe чepты.
B глyши, вo мpaкe зaтoчeнья
Tянyлиcь тихo дни мoи
Бeз бoжecтвa, бeз вдoхнoвeнья,
Бeз cлeз, бeз жизни, бeз любви.
Дyшe нacтaлo пpoбyждeньe:
И вoт oпять явилacь ты,
Кaк мимoлeтнoe видeньe,
Кaк гeний чиcтoй кpacoты.
И cepдцe бьeтcя в yпoeньe,
И для нeгo вocкpecли внoвь
И бoжecтвo, и вдoхнoвeньe,
И жизнь, и cлeзы, и любoвь.
in my opiniion the best poem ever written. you can't translate it properly but here is basically what it says
I remember the wondrous moment
Before me appeared you
Like a sudden vision
Like a spirit of pure beauty
In the throes of hopeless grief
In the troubles of noisy vanity
Sounded to me long your gentle voice
And I dreamed your pretty features
Years passed. The storm gust rebellious
Scattered earlier dreams
And I forgot your gentle voice
Your heavenly features
In wilderness, in the gloom of exile
Passed quietly my days
Without god, without inspiration
Without tears, without love, without life
To my soul came awakening
And there again you appeared
Like a sudden vision
Like a spirit of pure beauty
And my heart beat in rapture
And for it were reborn again
(and) God, and inspiration
And life, and tears, and love.
youll notice this is awkward as shit i tried to say it exactly how it is in russian and in russian it rhymes and flows so beautifully and the way the words sound is just unreal to me. The meaning of the poem is I think the central most important thing in all of life and I relate to it intensely and find it perfect of every level.
if you want to see an official translation here is one
linguafennica.wordpress.com
you can see how they changed stuff to make it rhyme and have metre and whatever, and be poetic in english.
Kayden Campbell
Pack a bowl in her colon.
Shit weed smokin.
Somebody call Rogan.
Ass so wide feel like I'm bowlin.
I'm a poet of the caca school.
I'm the nigga who makes braap posting cool.
Inspect the stool.
See it I drool.
Appetite ready for a brown pool.
LIPS COVERED IN SHIT THE ASSHOLE BONG I HIT.
Q'S SISTER'S ASS GOT ME IN A FIT.
Smells great I take a bite.
Euphoria got me light like a kite.
Damn she's tight.
Anal lockjaw bite.
Trapped in the ass but I don't wanna fight.
This is heaven true enlightenment.
Covered in caca full of vitamin.
I breath it in.
let this be the end.
I'll die here happy in her rear end.
Muscle memory for asshole inspection.
Think of her diet I get an erection.
Quentin your sister she makes me itch...
I'd do anything to marry that bitch...
Ethan Walker
>In the troubles of noisy vanity
sorry i meant to write torments of noisy vanity
Jace Wright
Hidden art, between and beneath, every fragmented, figure of speech
Tongue in reverse, whenever the beat
Causes my jaws to call out, out, out, out
The screens flashing red, can't see shit but heads
Spinning exorcist like planets out of orbit off the edge
Off mine axis whipping through doors to far more than all that’s ever been said
Asher Gonzalez
Thanks for posting this one, user. Very lovely.
Luis Diaz
Carson Butler
don juan. the entire thing.
Jonathan Campbell
Oh shit, wasn’t really expecting it to be remarked on positively. Glad you appreciated it, friend.
Daniel Bell
But I shall not want my death so soon
For even Asylum takes of the world for being.
Even Asylum goes mad with winter, summer, autumn, and spring.
And my children will change into men.
Jace Morales
Such Beautiful Composing
Of Words, Thank You Based Nigger Culture
Ian Williams
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Samuel Gonzalez
I wanted you forever but your forever had other plans
Joseph Taylor
kipling is master tier poet,
You may also enjoy edger albert guest
Jeremiah Reed
I remember studying this poem at school when I was ten years old. Thanks for helping me recall a happy memory, user.
Angel Evans
Comfy as hell, user. Brooke was a veritable chad in the poetry scene of his time.
Blake Price
Thank you for your translation.
Adam King
I'm holding out hope that Quentin pits his sister up for auction some day. Thanks for the based words, user.
Daniel Gomez
William Blake - Ah Sun-Flower!
Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
Blake - A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in fears,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I see;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
Sebastian Fisher
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Kevin Cook
Thanks boys. Here is what I consider the alternative or the shadow side to The Soldier, written a little later in the Great War by another wonderful poet
Cameron Reyes
I remember learning the alphabet. How those strange markings, alien and incoherent, grew more and more familiar, like the name of someone you love.
The moment words found me, they burrowed themselves into my bones, they settled like dust in my lungs until I felt them every time I breathed in and out. I would place them side by side like fractals, in a myriad of verse.
I remember learning your name, the strange jumble of letters that danced under my tongue, that leapt from my hungry mouth. Those four syllables that bit deep into my soul like poetry.
I remember how I whispered them against your lips.
And you would say, This is how I am with you, with you.
It was words that I fell for. In the end, it was words that broke my heart.
Brody Long
James Wright
I loved this so much. I didn't read this copy, but I adore its cover.
Julian Long
>Atmen, du unsichtbares Gedicht!
>Immerfort um das eigne
>Sein rein eingetauschter Weltraum. Gegengewicht,
>in dem ich mich rhythmisch ereigne.
>Einzige Welle, deren
>allmähliches Meer ich bin;
>sparsamstes du von allen möglichen Meeren, –
>Raumgewinn.
>Wie viele von diesen Stellen der Räume waren >schon innen in mir. Manche Winde
>sind wie mein Sohn.
>Erkennst du mich, Luft, du, voll noch einst meiniger Orte?
>Du, einmal glatte Rinde,
>Rundung und Blatt meiner Worte.
Breath, you poem beyond all seeing!
Pure and ceaseless demi-urge
in counterpoise with our own being.
Interchange in which I rhythmically emerge.
Lone wave, whose gradual sea
am I; You, the most austere
of all conceivable seas, -
space's conqueror.
How many spaces in this vast horizon
have I contained within? Many a wind
seems like my own son.
Do you know me, you breeze, so full of spots
hitherto mine? You once smooth rind,
swell and leaf of my spoken thoughts.
>Portami il girasole ch'io lo trapianti
>nel mio terreno bruciato dal salino,
>e mostri tutto il giorno agli azzurri specchianti
>del cielo l'ansietà del suo volto giallino.
>Tendono alla chiarità le cose oscure,
>si esauriscono i corpi in un fluire
>di tinte: queste in musiche. Svanire
>è dunque la ventura delle venture.
>Portami tu la pianta che conduce
>dove sorgono bionde trasparenze
>e vapora la vita quale essenza;
>portami il girasole impazzito di luce.
Bring me the sunflower so that I may plant it in my field
whose earth, exposed to winds from off the sea, is scorched and dry;
then all day long its troubled upturned face will be revealed,
sending a yellow signal to the blue reflecting sky.
Dark things seek their opposite — the clarity of day;
and bodies spend their substance in the urgent flux and flow
of colours, just as colours do in strains of music; so
it is the destiny of destinies to pass away.
Bring me the plant, my love, that leads the traveller to a place
where blond transparencies are formed and, as they form, take flight
and life unmakes itself, from solid essence into hazy space;
bring me the sunflower driven to insanity by light.