poetry caty it is that sea of words that we cannot understand, which holds all of life's experiences. 981005 ... dallas the rhythm and the flow of the characters across time is more fundamental to the human condition than any number of dollar signs. 981027 ... allie is describing one hitng in the terms of another 990501 ... allie is describing one thing in the terms of another 990501 ... stephen the only way to turn a man into a puddle. 990502 ... ceorl the art of expressing something in words without actually saying it 990502 ... Zed and um what I mean you know. beautiful, beautiful words all that expressing of stuff I can feel it now. 990503 ... Krishone it's the heart and soul of the human language. no matter how someone thinks, no matter how someone feels, no matter what someone believes in, if they have any kind of heart, a poet out there can find a way to touch it. everything is poetic in some sort of way. the real trick is seeing the poem where it shouldn't be. 990503 ... Nate Higgins Poetry poetry poetry Always metaphor For Something else Speak plainly please So we may see If you Really do Have something to say 991030 ... marjorie the way things should be said existence put into words 991203 ... ready2run you don't understand yet you can't understand from there you have to come here is it worth it? you can't know from there you have to come here then, if not, it's too late but it is 991221 ... Q besides play, write poetry and read it 000104 ... bellee my salvation... my sanity... my soul... 000121 ... apr!l "although they are only breath, words which i command are immortal" --sappho #9, as translated by mary barnard 000122 ... ace the poets shall gain the universe back, eventually. 000224 ... amorfus i dont pretend to be good at it but that's my own poetry... how much of this is repated? how much of this is original? is_this what its supposed to be like? 000302 ... Mika If i had all the time in the world, the poet would be pleased. The world would cease to turn and the snowflake would be easy to catch with your tounge. 000306 ... Midnight Bliss as they ash i breathe camoflaged corpses of disappointment and watch as the cold mourning air burns babies into molded gasses of vastness that liquefy into sound under pressure. maybe not the best peice of poetry, but it's deep and i like it. i give props to the person who wrote it. poetry is a way to free a part of yourself. 000402 ... MollyGoLightly Write it about icky things. Disease. Crime. Leave out the message and the platitudes. You're making a contribution to a language and a craft. 000402 ... Brad If your name is langston_hughes, then by all means let me read yours. If not, keep it to yourself. Let the painters paint, the musicians make music, and the writers write. Don't make a mockery of it, please. 000402 ... MollyGoLightly I see what you're getting at, Brad. But do you think that poetry died with langston hughes? One day i'll let you read some Charles Bukowski if i can remember to bring it with me to th boys' side. 000402 ... Brad I didn't mean it quite so literally Molly. I was thinking more along the lines of anyone on the level of Hughes, i just thought it sounded cooler to phrase it like i did. Haha. At any rate i would love to read some of this cat's stuff if you bring it over. 000402 ... MollyGoLIghtly I walked into one of my classes last week and as soon as I shut the door behind me this girl at the chalkboard said "Molly, we're taking a poll. What is a poet?" She was taking the list down on the chalkboard. I said "Mount Rushmore" because the question irritated me and made me nervous and I wanted it over with. The other responses worried me a little, especially number 3: "A tortured soul." UGH! 000404 ... Midnight Bliss sometimes, poetry can be a cry from a tortured soul...a lot of poetry is depressing, on the other hand, there are also those poems out there that are romantic, funny, etc. but don't be disgusted by depressing poetry, or the fact that others think the way #3 did. it's sort of disrespectful because maybe that is beautiful and special to the author and others. 000404 ... Brad I'm sorry, but there's simply very little value in being trite. If it's already been well said before, you're probably not going to say it better. #3 strikes me as trite. Very banal. 000404 ... MollyGoLightly It was a disrespectful thing for me to say. I am a very disrespectful person. Nyah! :P 000413 ... Tank www.eneri.net Go and be amazed... 000621 ... daxle is shit 000628 ... Grendels theory of everything see: not_really_jazz_slang_of_the_day Bradley, Bradley, Bradley... *shaking head, sadly* Banality, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. see also: there_is_no_true_vision There are more things under heaven than are dreamed of in your philosophy, but there is nothing new under the sun. trite, maybe, but try and dispute it. if it can be thought of IT HAS BEEN THOUGHT OF (repeatedly) 000629 ... Zoe poets should be the most respected people on the earth. i have tried to write good poetry and it all turned out shitty. i just don't understand how good poetry is ever produced. 000718 ... daisy311 he comes to me in the faint light his hands, his touch feels so right I inhale his scent and a strong force comes over me The passion I have for him he can see My heart beats a million miles an hour But be careful, for it is as sensitive as a budding flower. 000718 ... Brad Grendel: cf. Charlie Parker: "There is nothing new under the sun, everything is a derivation of something else." One of my favorite quotes from one of the masters. Yardbird = birdmad? 000718 ... guitar_freak The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both, And be one traveler, long I stood, And looked down one as far as I could, To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there, Had worn them really about the same; And both that morning equally lay, In leaves no step had trodden black, Oh, I kept the first for the other day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back; I shall be telling this with a sigh, Somewhere ages and ahes hence, Two roads diverged in a wood, and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. ~Robert Frost~ 001110 ... gigolo aunt yeh, me too 001110 ... splinken that frost poem: i hated it all throughout highschool. thought it was trite. then we studied frost in one of the lit. courses i took this semester, and...KA-POW! i learned that this poem is really about how and why people lie to themselves--the "road less traveled by" is just as worn as the other road, and the speaker is justifying going down this road by creating a little fiction in their head about it. i used to dismiss frost as some fluffy-poo, "do your own thing," vague kind of writer. now i feel stupid. read "Fire and Ice," too. that's my favorite. 001206 ... Dafremen Milky silken soft caress of light cupped breast in wolfen hand Runs the course of gentle curves til caution sighs its reprimand Rounding rounded netherworld does stoke the flame of passions fire To the tune of beating hearts now racing onward to desire Then STOPPED. Accursed conscience pleas, it begs to stop the hot debate. For heartstrings pluck fidelity then open eyes to sleeping mate. ...is a piece of me that I give to you, that you can't take from me. 010216 ... little blond who thinks too much incredible depth of emotion put into words most of wish we'd have thought of first. 010318 ... 13lueee . . . . When I saw you. . . . . I was afraid to talk to you. . . . . When I you talked to I was afraid to hold you. . . . When I Held you...I was afraid to love you. . . .Now that I love you. . .I'm afraid to lose you. . . .Yesterday is a history. . . . Tomorrow is the future. . . .and Today is a gift . . . ..that's why it's called the present. . . . I was born when you kissed me. . . . .and I died when you left me. . . . But I lived for the two months you loved me. . . .. .Until there was you, I cried myself to sleep... while I had you, I fell asleepwith a gentle smile on my face...Before I lost you, I worried myself tosleep... Now that I know you are gone, I sit up at night, waiting for you to come back. . 010326 ... camille http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/2850/mag.html 010408 ... phil I don't like feeling stupid, but I guess I have too. Although it seems to me, I will one day learn this is not true. And I will put a knot in my head from hitting it so hard. I also had not realized the poem's lie to be true, and now I am like you. I wish life would open up to me, from what little I've seen. It would be fun to do. -to splinken 010426 ... m_e no one would care if a prisoner froze to death, but what if he tried to escape? prisoners had escaped, but the never got far. 010519 ... m_e *they* never got far 010519 ... god your reading it. 010522 ... the corrector you're 010522 ... god oops... yep, you're reading poetry 010522 ... m_e i'm not reading poetry. i'm paraphrasing important comments from a novel. 010529 ... burden Blood on pulp. 010529 ... the corrector it's a poem. i'm serious. 010628 ... The Truth a_glimps_of_the_inside of an artists mind. 010723 ... bandaids go to: my_story 011221 ... Avalanched this morning i rose out of rain and questionable intentions honorable perhaps but never clear i painted a smile and erased the sleep all those pictures in your head were false reaenactments of who i am so there. see through the fog and flash light just thinking of you made me stop in the road caught me in your high beamed stare so who i am to suppose anything about what you want. so it’s time for me to go home again. i hate how when i woke up i felt in control and by midnight my life is on the floor at my feet about sadness that feeling in your chest. it’s just a dull pain but it throbs there inside of you, reminding you that it is slowly eating you outside from in. and it’s there, it tears at your heart whenever you let it loose, it’s icy teeth knaw at you, never letting you rest easy with yourself. and when you are actaully alone it swells up and rises into your throat bringing tears and wet pillows and clenched fists. and it makes you realize how unfair the world is. it brings to light how unfortunate you are, how much you have against yourself and how much you loathe other people. it shows you how much your skin doesn’t fit. it wallows in your self-pity until you can’t stand bathing in your own tears. only then, when you are disgusted with sadness are you able to cleanse yourself. free yourself of the ache and then you smile. indifference is the death of all interests. locked in. bordem chases the rosy health from love’s cheeks. blocked in. solitude makes either peace or hunger. caught. feelings i long for are slipping through my fingers and time (escaping my hold on them) is flitting away from me why do i want this and yet run from it as i am looking back? so chain them, capture