# Cryptic poems and poetic ramblings etc. General ponderings.



## dc38 (Jan 9, 2014)

Chauncey Gardiner started a thread a WHILE back known as "Words to live by". With all this living by going on, I have decided to start this thread with the spirit of making observations or complaining about life. *HOWEVER, *it should done in such a way that leads people to ponder the mystery of life. This is not a thread to troll, this is not a thread to promote flaming. My personal favorites are riddles, to each his own.

In the spirit of the thread, I'll start with a rather innocuous one that I'm SURE many people can relate to.

*The Money Tree*
*Lo, what blossoms here in this city of glass and stone, *
*So cold, serene, majestic, bold,but it is not alone; *

*for every ten, no-twelve, no-fifteen feet, there stands another one,*
*Its nourishment confounds me, for, It comes not from the sun.*

*Rooted firmly in the false earth, its bulb is one to see;*
*The ground from which its trunk extends is bleak and dead, to me*

*The trunk itself is but a tube, it has been crafted in a forge,*
*On the face of the tree itself is a mouth by which to gorge. *

*Suddenly, it's clear to me that this tree does not grow,*
*It flaunts time upon it's face, trees of nature have their rings to show.*

*This tree is evil, filled with greed and pain,*
*its water is not water, it drinks from a different kind of rain.*

*In a shower of stamped discs, this evil tree flourishes. *
*It holds its own amidst the sea of many trampling tourists. *

*Money tree, money tree, why do you torment us.*
*Had I known you would be here, I would have ridden the bus!*


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## StarHalo (Jan 9, 2014)

*Sentimental Education* by Tony Hoagland

And when we were eight, or nine,
our father took us back into the Alabama woods,
found a rotten log, and with his hunting knife

pried off a slab of bark
to show the hundred kinds of bugs and grubs
that we would have to eat in a time of war.

"The ones who will survive," he told us,
looking at us hard,
"are the ones who are willing to do anything."
Then he popped one of those pale slugs
into his mouth and started chewing.

And that was Lesson Number 4
in The Green Beret Book of Childrearing.

I looked at my pale, scrawny, knock-kneed, bug-eyed brother,
who was identical to me,
and saw that, in a world that ate the weak,
we didn't have a prayer,

and next thing I remember, I'm working for a living
at a boring job
that I'm afraid of losing,

with a wife whose lack of love for me
is like a lack of oxygen,
and this dead thing in my chest
that used to be my heart.

Oh, if he were alive, I would tell him, "Dad,
you were right! I ate a lot of stuff
far worse than bugs."

And I was eaten, I was eaten,
I was picked up
and chewed
and swallowed

down into the belly of the world.


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## Capolini (Jan 11, 2014)

*VERY INTERESTING!

*I have written hundreds of quotes and dozens of Poems of which a few are published and in Poetry books.

My best one is a heartfelt and sensitive side of me! It is called MY SPIRIT LIVES,,written in memory of a friend!

I do not think it would qualify for this thread but I may start one or search for one where it may fit better.

Anyway,,,thanks for your creativity and inspiring me!


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## StarHalo (Jan 19, 2014)

*A Resounding Zero* by Nicanor Parra

It all came down to nothing
& of the nothing, there is very little left


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## dc38 (Jan 30, 2014)

*The Cleaver
Cleave ye, flesh unto flesh
The Lord Almighty said to us.

And cleave we did, so deep and true,
and watched as the seed of our love grew,

A fine young man he did become, treading straight and light,
though very soon we came to find, he was walking into night.

He slowly wandered away from us, towards a wily siren;
her song was long and sad indeed, the burden of a mountain.

We pleaded and begged, we raged and sobbed,
but of our counsel he was robbed,

The siren's words and promises would soon be found,
filling his heart and senses abound.

They fell like the execution'rs axe and cleft him from our eyes...
we heard his confused utterances and grieved at his mangled cries...

Each fell stroke of perverted moans slowly cleft my heart in two...
As he quickly cleft his life away, to an early tomb.

I ask but this, ask of yourself, to whom or what you believe?
Watch what you say and do, to those ideas you'll cleave!
*


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## StarHalo (Feb 3, 2014)

*Oh Yes* by Charles Bukowski

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often 
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than 
too late.


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## StarHalo (Apr 22, 2014)

*When they die we change our minds about them* by Jennifer Michael Hecht

When they die we change our minds
about them. While they live we see
the plenty hard they’re trying,
to be a star, or nice, or wise,
and so we do not quite believe them.

When they die, suddenly they are
what they claimed. Turns out,
that’s what one of those looks like.

The cold war over manner of manly
or mission is over. Same person,
same facts and acts, just now
a quiet brain stem. We no longer
begrudge his or her stupid luck.

When they die we change our minds
about them. I will try to believe
while you yet breathe.


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## TEEJ (Apr 22, 2014)

Are you guys all about to commit suicide or something?

There's a theme going here that's really depressing.


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## Chauncey Gardiner (Apr 22, 2014)

StarHalo said:


> *Oh Yes* by Charles Bukowski
> 
> there are worse things than
> being alone
> ...



When end I was a young man, early 20's, I wasn't wise enough to realize it's far better to be lonely than miserable.

Fortunately, I met the lovely, soon to be Mrs. "Gardiner" and had the good sense to ask her to marry me. During the last 29 years I've never [email protected]@Ked back,, or sideways for that matter. An old friend I hadn't seen for a very long time, asked me how I'd been able to stay married for so long. I answered, "I married-up, and have never forgotten that I did. If you don't believe me, just ask my mother-in-law." :laughing:

That's my story, and no TEEJ, I'm not about to comit suicide. 

~ Chance


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## TEEJ (Apr 22, 2014)

Chauncey Gardiner said:


> When end I was a young man, early 20's, I wasn't wise enough to realise it's far better to be lonely than miserable.
> 
> Fortunately, I met the lovely, soon to be Mrs. "Gardiner" and had the good sense to ask her to marry me. During the last 29 years I've never [email protected]@Ked back,, or sideways for that matter. An old friend I hadn't seen for a very long time, asked me how I'd been able to stay married for so long. I answered, "I married-up, and have never forgotten that I did. If you don't believe me, just ask my mother-in-law." :laughing:
> 
> ...



LOL

Of course, ironically, you're the one WITHOUT the depressing poem...


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## dc38 (Apr 22, 2014)

TEEJ said:


> LOL
> 
> Of course, ironically, you're the one WITHOUT the depressing poem...



For the record, the first poem is about a parking meter, lol...


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## Chauncey Gardiner (Apr 22, 2014)

TEEJ said:


> LOL
> 
> Of course, ironically, you're the one WITHOUT the depressing poem...



I could write one about my mother-in-law......

~ Chance


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## TEEJ (Apr 22, 2014)

Chauncey Gardiner said:


> I could write one about my mother-in-law......
> 
> ~ Chance



LOL

A friend once described "Conflicted" as "How I'd feel watching my mother in law drive off a cliff in my brand new car"


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## Chauncey Gardiner (Apr 22, 2014)

Why conflicted? Didn't he have insurance?

Now, on the other hand, my wife and mother are the very best of friends. At the rehearsal dinner, mom stood, raised her glass and said, "If I had gone out to find a wife for my son, I would have brought back Debbie." I've always known that if push came to shove, it would be mom & wife, with me, the odd man out. Way out.....in the doghouse. 

Truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way. Two of the finest women I've ever met. 

~ C.G.


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## orbital (Apr 22, 2014)

^

TEEJ, you average over 202 posts a month. 


_*CPF owes you a beer *_


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## TEEJ (Apr 22, 2014)

orbital said:


> ^
> 
> TEEJ, you average over 202 posts a month.
> 
> ...


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## StarHalo (May 4, 2014)

Alright, here's a happy one:

*Meeting at Night* by Robert Browning

The gray sea and the long black land; 
And the yellow half-moon large and low: 
And the startled little waves that leap 
In fiery ringlets from their sleep, 
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand. 

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach; 
Three fields to cross till a farm appears; 
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch 
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through joys and fears, 
Than the two hearts beating each to each!


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## StarHalo (Jun 10, 2014)

*Labor as a Tulip* by Karen Volkman

Labor as a tulip
arrays its flame, nu
form, as the bulb-star,
interred, divines its ore

surging the gulf
rooting it into
appalled memento
pulsing will.

Leaf-blades score the heap.
Other wounds—penetralia—
other worlds, cries, far.
Filaments, simples

emblazoning the rei,
rebus of grief.
Unslumbering terra
premising her kill.


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## StarHalo (Jun 23, 2014)

*A Sense of Proportion* by William Stobb

On 20th between Madison and Ferry
a line of municipal maples binds the community
to an orderly, serviceable beauty. Platforms
from which our sparrows and starlings
might decorate our domestic sedans,
perhaps these trees serve most to stimulate
the car wash economy. Today, they remind me:

unsatisfied with workaday species, my parents
nailed oranges to a post to attract the exotic Oriole.
When the birds arrived, I wondered if they’d flown
all the way from Baltimore, which in turn
evoked a hotel, gables lined
with black and tangerine, posh clientele
spackled by the vagaries of Maryland living.

By nine I could sigh, climb our single
red maple, which I imagined a national landmark.
Child of movies, I could see the tree even at night
as a kind of beacon, a singularity. White
sheen on the leaves’ pitchy gloss, bodily.
And I too would learn to feel glazed
as any creature accumulating light

cast from stars, hidden in a federation
of equivalent times, distant trains
carrying sugar, coal, whole families beyond
deserts, imposing ranges, shimmering coastlines
said to define the spirit of a people.
Far from the station, the pinpoint aurora,
a line of municipal maples bears its charge.


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## StarHalo (Jul 8, 2014)

*The Dream of a Common Language* by Leigh Stein

On Wednesdays I take the train past Yankee Stadium,
to a place where it is never a given that I speak the language,
to a place where graffiti covers the mural they painted to hide
the graffiti, to a place where the children call me _Miss Miss_
_Miss Miss Miss_ and I find in one of their poems, a self-portrait,
the line _I wish I was rish_. The dream of a common language

is the language of one million dollars, of basketball, of plátanos.
_Are the kids black?_ my boyfriend wants to know. Dominican.
It’s different. When asked to write down a question
they wish they could ask their mom or dad, one boy writes,
_Paper or plastic?_ A girl in the back of the class wants to know
_Why don't I have lycene_, translating the sound of the color

of my skin into her own language. The best poet
in sixth grade is the girl who is this year repeating
sixth grade. When I tell her teacher of her talent
she says, _At least now we know she’s good_
_at something_. To speak their language, I study
the attendance list, practice the cadence of their names.

Yesterday I presented a black and white portrait of a black man,
his bald head turned away from us, a spotted moth resting
on one shoulder. I told them this is a man serving a life
sentence in Louisiana. Is this art? Without hesitation,
one girl said no, why would anybody
want to take a picture
of that.


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## StarHalo (Aug 19, 2014)

*Ode to Country Music* by Sandra Simonds

If I wasn’t such a deadbeat, I’d learn Greek.
I wouldn’t write sonnets; I’d write epics
and odes. I’d love a man who was
acceptable and conformed to every code.
I’d put together my desk and write my epic or ode
at sunset over my suburb. How I would love my shrubs!
But all I do is listen to country (and the occasional Joni)
and smoke. Judge me judge me
judge me. Oh I’ve been through the shallows.
I shallow. I hope. I hole. I know
I wrote you the most brutal love poem that knows.


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## StarHalo (Aug 31, 2014)

*Landscape With a Blur of Conquerors* by Richard Siken

To have a thought, there must be an object—
the field is empty, sloshed with gold, a hayfield thick
with sunshine. There must be an object so land
a man there, solid on his feet, on solid ground, in
a field fully flooded, enough light to see him clearly,

the light on his skin and bouncing off his skin.
He’s easy to desire since there’s not much to him,
vague and smeary in his ochers, in his umbers,
burning in the open field. Forget about his insides,
his plumbing and his furnaces, put a thing in his hand

and be done with it. No one wants to know what’s
in his head. It should be enough. To make something
beautiful should be enough. It isn’t. It should be.
The smear of his head—I paint it out, I paint it in
again. I ask it what it wants. I want to be a cornerstone,

says the head. Let’s kill something. Land a man in a
landscape and he’ll try to conquer it. Make him
handsome and you’re a fascist, make him ugly and
you’re saying nothing new. The conqueror suits up
and takes the field, his horse already painted in

beneath him. What do you do with a man like that?
While you are deciding, more men ride in. The hand
sings weapon. The mind says tool. The body swerves
in the service of the mind, which is evidence of
the mind but not actual proof. More conquerors.

They swarm the field and their painted flags unfurl.
Crown yourself with leaves and stake your claim
before something smears up the paint. I turned away
from darkness to see daylight, to see what would
happen. What happened? What does a man want?

Power. The men spread, the thought extends. I paint
them out, I paint them in again. A blur of forces.
Why take more than we need? Because we can.
Deep footprint, it leaves a hole. You’d break your
heart to make it bigger, so why not crack your skull

when the mind swells. A thought bigger than your
own head. Try it. Seriously. Cover more ground.
I thought of myself as a city and I licked my lips.
I thought of myself as a nation and I wrung my hands,
I put a thing in your hand. Will you defend yourself?

From me, I mean. Let’s kill something. The mind
moves forward, the paint layers up: glop glop and
shellac. I shovel the color into our faces, I shovel our
faces into our faces. They look like me. I move them
around. I prefer to blame others, it’s easier. King me.


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## StarHalo (Sep 2, 2014)

*Miracle* by Charles Bukowski

I have just listened to this
symphony which Mozart dashed off
in one day
and it had enough wild and crazy
joy to last
forever,
whatever forever
is
Mozart came as close as
possible to
that.


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## dc38 (Jan 13, 2015)

The advent of increasing conventional knowledge heralds the decline of unconventional wisdom. 

Strength that is ignorant of weakness is a weakness. The forces that drive people may very well become their stumbling block. Greed trips the greedy, wealth marks the wealthy, power corrupts the powerful, etc.


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## dc38 (Feb 26, 2015)

I have seen beyond the farthest reaches of our universe. I have seen past the great void and beyond. Beyond the edge of our universe lies nothing...less than the nothing of space itself. Space stretches further than any created eye can see, and wider than any created mind can comprehend. It is lonely here, a plane where no gravity other than from myself pulls...where I am the center of my own little universe. And ultimately in my own existence where my will be done, the only ponderance that comes to mind is that living only for myself is the single stupidest, ignorant, unfulfillingly most illogical travesty I could ever commit.


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## Chauncey Gardiner (Feb 26, 2015)

I've… seen things you people wouldn't believe… Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those… moments… will be lost in time, like [_small cough] tears… in… rain. Time… to die…

Roy Batty_


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## dc38 (May 22, 2016)

Linguistical language is the greatest lie ever committed. It is chaotic, untamed, and changes with the course of human culture. It breeds arrogance, condescension, and has been quoted as being "a double edged sword". It is easily used to manipulate, and is easily corruptible. It is the Devil's favorite weapon. It is, in fact, the language of the devil.

Mathematical language is beautiful, a series of logical definitions. It is clear to those who understand it, and provides proofs and evidence or lack thereof to lead one to many truths. Is builds upon our understanding rather than our comprehension. It is quite literally the language of creation, and can therefore be inferred to be the proverbial language of God.


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## Chauncey Gardiner (May 22, 2016)

There was a time the whole world had one language - one common speech for all people. The people of the earth became skilled in construction and decided to build a city with a tower that would reach to heaven. By building the tower they wanted to make a name for themselves and also prevent their city from being scattered.
God came to see their city and the tower they were building. He perceived their intentions, and in His infinite wisdom, He knew this "stairway to heaven" would only lead the people away from God. He noted the powerful force within their unity of purpose. As a result, God confused their language, causing them to speak different languages so they would not understand each other.
By doing this, God thwarted their plans. He also scattered the people of the city all over the face of the earth.


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## Ladd (May 22, 2016)

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of ANNABEL LEE; 
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea; 
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee; 
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee; 
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea) 
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea. 


Edgar Allan Poe


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## StarHalo (May 23, 2016)

_Ultimately the air
Is bare sunlight where must be found
The lyric valuables_

- George Oppen


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## dc38 (Jun 11, 2016)

What am I?

My blood, my sweat, my tears, my breath and fears...of all these things I've none...
And yet I toil all through my life until my days are done.
I'm sharp as a blade yet mightier still,
By my blood many others' have been spilled;
By my sweat which leaves sweet stains as trails under the light,
And by the breath of the one who wields me into the darkness of the night;
And by my tears which fall to earth will dry and blow away, 
Speak louder than words spoken, whose meaning will not fade;
I've crowned peasants and felled Kings, brought peace to the multitude and wars for bards to sing;
A humble little instrument I am, no music do I play;
But from my mouth comes spewing forth, a symphony displayed.

What Am I?


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## StarHalo (May 21, 2017)

*Pomegranate* by Kevin Pilkington

A woman walks by the bench I’m sitting on
with her dog that looks part Lab, part Buick,
stops and asks if I would like to dance.
I smile, tell her of course I do. We decide
on a waltz that she begins to hum.

We spin and sway across the street in between
parked cars and I can tell she realizes
she chose a man who understands the rhythm
of sand, the boundaries of thought. We glide
and Fred and Ginger might come to mind or
a breeze filled with the scent of flowers of your choice.
Coffee stops flowing as a waitress stares out the window
of a diner while I lead my partner back across the street.

When we come to the end of our dance,
we compliment each other and to repay the favor
I tell her to be careful since the world comes to an end
three blocks to the east of where we stand. Then
I remind her as long as there is a ’59 Cadillac parked
somewhere in a backyard between here and Boise
she will dance again.

As she leaves content with her dog, its tail wagging
like gossip, I am convinced now more than ever
that I once held hundreds of roses in my hands
the first time I cut open a pomegranate.


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## StarHalo (Jun 26, 2017)

Do I contradict myself? Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes.)
And your very flesh shall be a great poem.
Be curious, not judgmental.
Re-examine all that you have been told... dismiss that which insults your soul.
I exist as I am, that is enough.
Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you.
I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
I have learned that to be with those I like is enough.
Behold I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.
I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.
- Walt Whitman


_[FONT=q_serif][/FONT]_


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## StarHalo (Jul 19, 2017)

Vaguely related for the generally artful: The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art is like most other museums in that their collection is significantly larger than what they have room to display; they've come up with a new idea to share the archived pieces - just text them something you'd like to see. Text 572-51 with "send me _____", fill in the blank with any keyword that comes to mind, or emoji, and they'll text back a relevant work. All free, no advertising or anything to buy.


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## StarHalo (Aug 15, 2017)

The hail-stones
Glance off the rocks
Of the Stony Mountain.
- Basho


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## Ozythemandias (Aug 15, 2017)

StarHalo said:


> Vaguely related for the generally artful: The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art is like most other museums in that their collection is significantly larger than what they have room to display; they've come up with a new idea to share the archived pieces - just text them something you'd like to see. Text 572-51 with "send me _____", fill in the blank with any keyword that comes to mind, or emoji, and they'll text back a relevant work. All free, no advertising or anything to buy.



That's really awesome, thanks!


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## RBR (Aug 16, 2017)

......


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## StarHalo (May 5, 2019)

*Trees* by Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.


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## aginthelaw (May 6, 2019)

StarHalo said:


> *Trees* by Joyce Kilmer
> 
> I think that I shall never see
> A poem lovely as a tree.
> ...



Go Rutgers! My photography studio used to be on Joyce kilmer ave


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## TerryLewis (Dec 26, 2019)

I really enjoyed The Poet's Education and was generally inspired by Jenny Boully's illusive linguistic temporalities in her first essay in the collection Betwixt and Between: Essays on the Writing Life . I guess it motivated me to write even more often:


_I need to hide my secrets in wardrobes,
I'm lacking sleep on the pillow of worries,
I'm learning from perceptions, not the stories, 
My fears became my deamons._


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## StarHalo (Apr 18, 2020)

*Never Got to Love You* by Leonard Cohen

The parking lot is empty
They killed the neon sign
It's dark from here to St. Jovite
It's dark all down the line
The ought to hand the night a ticket
For speeding: it's a crime
I had so much to tell you
But now it's closing time

I never got to love you
Like I heard it can be done
Where the differences are many
But the heart is always one

The memories come back empty
Like their batteries are low
It feels like you just left me
Tho' it happened years ago
They're stacking up the chairs
Wiping down the bar
I never got to tell you
How beautiful you are

I never got to love you
Like I heard it can be done
Where the differences are many
But the heart is always one

Don't know how it happened
But I missed the exit sign
It's dark from here to St. Jovite
It's dark all down the line


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## dc38 (Dec 25, 2021)

I woke up in the doorway of a long, dark corridor, and started walking towards a bright doorway. As I reached the doorway, I hit my head on the exit sign and passed out as I fell through the doorway.


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## desert.snake (Dec 25, 2021)

Howard Lovecraft
ASTROPHOBOS

In the Midnight heaven's burning
Through the ethereal deeps afar
Once I watch'd with restless yearning
An alluring aureate star;
Ev'ry eve aloft returning
Gleaming nigh the Arctic Car.

Mystic waves of beauty blended
With the gorgeous golden rays
Phantasies of bliss descended
In a myrrh'd Elysian haze.
In the lyre-born chords extended
Harmonies of Lydian lays.

And (thought I) lies scenes of pleasure,
Where the free and blessed dwell,
And each moment bears a treasure,
Freighted with the lotos-spell,
And there floats a liquid measure
From the lute of Israfel.

There (I told myself) were shining
Worlds of happiness unknown,
Peace and Innocence entwining
By the Crowned Virtue's throne;
Men of light, their thoughts refining
Purer, fairer, than my own.

Thus I mus'd when o'er the vision
Crept a red delirious change;
Hope dissolving to derision,
Beauty to distortion strange;
Hymnic chords in weird collision,
Spectral sights in endless range....

Crimson burn'd the star of madness
As behind the beams I peer'd;
All was woe that seem'd but gladness
Ere my gaze with Truth was sear'd;
Cacodaemons, mir'd with madness,
Through the fever'd flick'ring leer'd....

Now I know the fiendish fable
The the golden glitter bore;
Now I shun the spangled sable
That I watch'd and lov'd before;
But the horror, set and stable,
Haunts my soul forevermore!


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