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Last edited by menth; 08-21-2020 at 12:18 PM.
Most of my exposure to poetry comes through music. I'd give anything to be able to write though. Whether it be writing poetry or journalism or novels, I think writers are some of the most brilliant people ever. Period. Too bad I'm terrible hahaha
Some stuff I like tho
As we fall into sequence
and we're eating our young
remain silent and still for modesty
When the splints have been broken
and they can't help you now
do you pray with your eyes closed naturally
Follow me into nowhere
Woven with the utmost care
If I'm lost please don't find me
if I jump let me sink
we descended from no one
with a wink
When it's cold outside hold me
don't hold me
When I choose to rest my eyes coax me
don't coax me
When it's cold outside hold me
don't hold me
When I choose to rest my eyes coax me
don't coax me
Follow me into nowhere
Woven with the utmost care
Have they cleansed you with chloride
and scrubbed behind the knees
Has your body been hollowed by the breeze ― Crystal Castles (Celestica)
Really liked this
I only have a favourite quote
Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future, but today is a gift. That's why it's called the present.
Bil Keane
“They amputated
your thighs off my hips.
As far as I’m concerned
they are all surgeons. All of them.
They dismantled us
each from the other.
As far as I’m concerned
they are all engineers. All of them.
A pity. We were such a good
and loving invention.
An airplane made from a man and wife.
Wings and everything.
We hovered a little above the earth.
We even flew a little.”
—Yehuda Amichai, 'A Pity. We Were Such A Good Invention'
don't worry about rejections, pard,
I've been rejected
before.
sometimes you make a mistake, taking
the wrong poem
more often I make the mistake, writing
it.
but I like a mount in every race
even though the man
who puts up the morning line
tabs it 30 to one.
I get to thinking about death more and
more
senility
crutches
armchairs
writing purple poetry with a
dripping pen
when the young girls with mouths
like barracudas
bodies like lemon trees
bodies like clouds
bodies like flashes of lightning
stop knocking on my door.
don't worry about rejections, pard.
I have smoked 25 cigarettes tonight
and you know about the beer.
the phone has only rung once:
wrong number.
i like that one.
i like this one too.
When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon -- do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.
Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.
Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.
And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.
Ithaca, Constantine.
Originally Posted by Eunice Kennedy ShriverOriginally Posted by Emil ZatopekAnd alsoOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse Tyson
Originally Posted by Neil deGreasse TysonOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse TysonOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse TysonOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse TysonOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse TysonOriginally Posted by Neil deGreasse Tyson
Her skin was as dark as night
Eyes big, brown and bright, couldn't forget a single sight
With ink painted like a cat, she was representing felines everywhere
Lips as red as the blood in her veins
They always left itty bits of stains
But did you remember her name?
She couldn't tell the difference between fantasy and reality
Indecisive and fickle, her mind was a blur
Black was her wardrobe, invisible like a ghost
Out of everyone, she hated herself the most
Her routine was simple and always the same
But did you remember her name?
In a room of yammering idiots, she was the one in the back
Either doodling or thinking, talking was one of her lacks
Everyone thought she was insane and always a bit lame
But did you remember her name?
The sound of old music and the scent of flowers kept her sane
Even when she didn't understand the words or even the name
author - ?
I could never find the original source for this quote but it's always there in my head and possibly my favourite quote of all time.
"A man dies twice. The first point at which a Man dies is when he's brain-dead. The second point at which a Man dies is when his name has last been uttered. I don't want to die a second time."
I paraphrased it but if anyone knows the source for such a saying I'd really be happy to know
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