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62131, Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by Phenomenality, Tue Nov-28-06 04:29 PM
ive been gone for a long time, so hopefully this hasn't been done too terribly recently..
this is one of my all time favorite pieces..
..: instructions for a body :..
praise the miracle body: the odd and undeniable mechanics of hand, hundred-boned foot, perfect stretch of tendon
tell me there are no gods then, no master plans for this anatomy with its mobile and evident spark
someone says “children of light” and another, “goddessfragment” and another, “chosen” / a dozen makers, myriad paths, one goal:
some scalpel, some chisel, some crazed sentimental engineer giving rib, giving eyelash, giving gut and thumb --
all mattering. all set down in a going world, vulnerable and divine
in the beginning was the word.
or before time there was a void until a voice said “I” and was
or there was star and dust, explosion and animal, mineral, us::
praise the veins that river these wrists praise the prolapsed valve in a heart praise the scars marking a gall bladder absent praise the rasp and rattle of functioning lungs praise the pre-arthritic ache of elbows and ankles praise the lifeline sectioning a palm praise the photographic pads of fingertips praise the vulnerable dip at the base of a throat praise the muscles surfacing on an abdomen praise these arms that carry babies and anthologies praise the leg hairs that sprout and are shaved praise the ass that refuses to shrink or be hidden praise the cunt that bleeds and accepts, bleeds and accepts praise the prominent ridge of nose praise the strange convexity of ribcage praise the single hair that insists on growing from a right areola praise the dent where the mole was clipped from the back of a neck praise these inner thighs brushing praise these eyelashes that sometimes turn inward praise these hips preparing to spread into a grandmother’s skirt praise the beauty of the freckle on the first knuckle of a left little finger
we're gone / in a blizzard of seconds love the body human while we're here, a gift of minutes on an evolving planet, a country in flux / give thanks
what we take for granted, bone and dirt and the million things that will kill us someday, motion and the pursuit of happiness / no guarantees / give thanks
for chaos theory, ecology, common sense that says we are web. a planet in balance or out, the butterfly in tokyo setting off thunderstorms in iowa, tell me you don't matter to a universe that conspired to give you such a tongue, such rhythm or rhythmless hips, such opposable thumbs – give thanks or go home a waste of spark
speak or let the maker take back your throat march or let the creator rescind your feet dream or let your god destroy your good and fertile mind
this is your warning / this your birthright / do not let this universe regret you.
-marty mcconnell
share yours!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...
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62133, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by PhotoSynthesis, Tue Nov-28-06 04:41 PM
AN INSPIRATIONAL POEM
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit- Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
Life is queer with its twists and turns, As every one of us sometimes learns, And many a fellow turns about When he might have won had he stuck it out. Don't give up though the pace seems slow - You may succeed with another blow.
Often the goal is nearer than It seems to a faint and faltering man; Often the struggler has given up Whe he might have captured the victor's cup; And he learned too late when the night came down, How close he was to the golden crown.
Success is failure turned inside out - The silver tint in the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It might be near when it seems afar; So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit - It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.
~By Helen Stiener Rice~
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62135, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by delrica, Tue Nov-28-06 04:54 PM
Hookers
They were high rent White corsets and panties and stockings and polished high heels The kinds of clothes you'd freeze to death in outdoors at night if it wasn't August And we Packed a car like sardines Scumbag teens Driving from North Jersey to New York City To go gawk at the sex objects I failed to catch irony falling from my mouth Telling my cousin "You never see women like this Just walking down the street"
They were impossible Frustration crushing us from a distance Limousines circled their block Like prey That didn't know how to get away And they Clicked a bone weary rhythm march that begged for interruption Made pictures of themselves with stage makeup And fluorescent house lights spaced into city block segments
Priestesses of all things undeniably male Killing common sense in exchange For giving all those men exactly what they wanted What they didn't have the courage to find Without sacrificing money as an offering Too weak to be the kinds of men That could have the kind of women they craved So they caved Kept their heads down until odd Fridays Did the calculator dance on their paychecks And set out to find controllable vice
But some of us were just there to watch The silverback alpha males with drivers With money to burn, with limp dicks that required Two servants at a time to be reinflated Who need to see a woman their daughter's age Face down and faking with eager reaching hands Catching nosebleeds from eroding addiction Working to keep her pimp's blade sheathed
We Never saw her ugliness She was idealized All potential and no damage Perfect at the range outside the reach Of our meager pocket cash We circled The block Like vultures Scouring the sights for hours Scouting for slaughter Wondering what sex and slow death Smelled like After it was cooking In the sun All day
by Mike O'Hara
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62164, ^^ wow... powerful for sure. Posted by Phenomenality, Wed Nov-29-06 02:07 PM
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...
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62159, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by southqueens, Wed Nov-29-06 12:48 PM
hush
if there were no night sky i would cut a few strands of your hair and pin them to each side of the universe
if the gentle breeze was absent i would utter one of an infinite number of praises so that you would become shy and touch my hand
if there happened to be no sign of the stars i would ask to take future tears from your eyes and hurl them into space
if the moon became absent i would take your delicate smile and hang it with care
if the night ceased to exist i'd have no fear as long as you were at my side.
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62163, ^^LOVE this.. Posted by Phenomenality, Wed Nov-29-06 02:05 PM
very ethereal language.. this is a style i pattern my own writing to. ;)
> >hush > >if there were no night sky >i would cut a few strands of your hair >and pin them to each side of the universe > >if the gentle breeze was absent >i would utter one of an infinite number of praises >so that you would become shy and touch my hand > >if there happened to be no sign of the stars >i would ask to take future tears from your eyes >and hurl them into space > >if the moon became absent >i would take your delicate smile >and hang it with care > >if the night ceased to exist >i'd have no fear >as long as you were at my side.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ To change, we must face the dragon of our appetites with another dragon... the life-energy of our Soul...
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62166, Desire Posted by Morehouse, Wed Nov-29-06 03:31 PM
A woman in my class wrote that she is sick of men wanting her body and when she reads her poem out loud the other women all nod and even some of the men lower their eyes
and look abashed as if ready to unscrew their cocks and pound down their own dumb heads with these innocent sausages of flesh, and none would think of confessing his hunger
or admit how desire can ring like a constant low note in the brain or grant how the sight of a beautiful woman can make him groan on those first spring days when the parkas
have been packed away and the bodies are staring at the bodies and the eyes stare at the ground; and there was a man I knew who even at ninety swore that his desire had never diminished.
Is this simply the wish to procreate, the world telling the cock to eat faster, while the cock yearns for that moment when it forgets its loneliness and the world flares up in an explosion of light?
Why have men been taught to feel ashamed of their desire, as if each were a criminal out on parole, a desperado with a long record of muggings, rapes, such conduct as excludes
each one from all but the worst company, and never to be trusted, no never to be trusted? Why must men pretend to be indifferent as if each were a happy eunuch engaged in spiritual thoughts?
But it's the glances that I like, the quick ones, the unguarded ones, like a hand snatching a pie from a window ledge and the feet pounding away; eyes fastening on a leg, a breast, the curve
of a buttock, as the pulse takes an extra thunk and the cock, that toothless worm, stirs in its sleep, and fat possibility swaggers into the world like a big spender entering a bar. And sometimes
the woman glances back. Oh, to disappear in a tangle of fabric and flesh as the cock sniffs out its little cave, and the body hungers for closure, for the completion of the circle,
as if each of us were born only half a body and we spend our lives searching for the rest. What good does it do to deny desire, to chain the cock to the leg and scrawl a black X
across its bald head, to hold out a hand for each passing woman to slap? Better to be bad and unrepentant, better to celebrate each difference, not to be cruel or gluttonous
or overbearing, but full of hope and self-forgiving. The flesh yearns to converse with other flesh. Each pore loves to linger over its particular story. Let these seconds not be full of self-recrimination
and apology. What is desire but the wish for some relief from the self, the prisoner let out into a small square of sunlight with a single red flower and a bird crossing the sky, to lean back
against the bricks with the legs outstretched, to feel the sun warming the brow, before returning to one's mortal cage, steel doors slamming in the cell block, steel bolts sliding shut?
-Stephen Dobyns
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62434, loved it Posted by rgv, Fri Dec-08-06 10:54 PM
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62171, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by Nowachaoticthing, Wed Nov-29-06 08:16 PM
Lullaby (the Divorce Song)
Hush little girl Sweet baby don't cry Tonight Daddy is here and he'll sing you a soft lullaby Tonight Why can't it all be like it was before? How can I explain why mommy's not here anymore?
'Cuz daddy likes porno and ten dollar whores Daddy gets wasted and robs liquor stores Daddy likes rubbing against little boys on the bus I think that's why mommy left us Mommy left us
Hush little girl There is no reason to fret Tonight Don't mind the smoke Daddy just wants to forget Tonight Soon it will all be like it was before Any minute she will walk through that front door
But daddy plays poker and drinks lots of beer Then he wants sex that involves mommy's rear Daddy has sores on his naughty parts oozing with puss I think that's why your mommy left us
Please don't cry I swear I'll try To be here by your side
Right after daddy gets home from the bar Visits his bookie And steals a new car He'll drive to the strip club And if daddy plays cards right He'll bring home your new mommy tonight
~by Stephen Lynch, Singer, songwriter, comedian-actor
"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession." - Robert Frost
My crappy blog: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eyes_of_mine/
Blind Eye Turning: My book http://www.lulu.com/content/187759
My other crappy blog: http://inevitabletruth.blogspot.com/
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62178, The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes Posted by ms mimi diva, Wed Nov-29-06 08:48 PM
The Negro Speaks of Rivers by Langston Hughes
I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.
I've known rivers: Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
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62177, A Song in the Front Yard Posted by SepiaSylph, Wed Nov-29-06 08:44 PM
I've stayed in the front yard all my life. I want a peek at the back Where it's rough and untended and hungry weed grows. A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now And maybe down the alley, To where the charity children play. I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things. The have some wonderful fun. My mother sneers, but I say it's fine How they don't have to go in at quarter to nine. My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae Will grow up to be a bad woman. That George'll be taken to Jail soon or late (On account of last winter he sold our back gate).
--Gwendolyn Brooks
But I say it's fine Honest, I do And I'd like to be a bad woman, too, And wear the brave stocking of night-black lace And strut down the streets with paint on my face.
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62433, yes Posted by rgv, Fri Dec-08-06 10:53 PM
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62397, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by UncleClimax, Fri Dec-08-06 04:09 AM
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries, rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
-- e. e. cummings
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62422, ahh, E.E. Cummings... Posted by Morehouse, Fri Dec-08-06 05:17 PM
one of the first poems I read.
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62427, i think it has to be Posted by UncleClimax, Fri Dec-08-06 07:40 PM
my favorite poem written originally in english.
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62435, the last stanza Posted by rgv, Fri Dec-08-06 10:58 PM
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62415, RE: Post one of your favorite poems... Posted by WILDOUT, Fri Dec-08-06 02:25 PM
We are godfood under ill-advised farmer's roofs We are afraid of the one thing which makes us justifiable We seek what we already have We speak when we should listen We listen when we should speak but there is no should only future would's would patterns We speak when we would speak We listen when we would listen We are all choices all movements We are the wave that is the tide We are life and this body is what makes us sheppards Our faces leave footprints in the snow The walls and all we have put here We are the things that we do We are the things that have happened the bridge between before you We are awake in a new world each new moment we live God is miraculous in presence you should give thanks to be it and join the Earth's rejoicing and live your true heaven see the inner movement be one with the dancing
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62468, i have always loved this poem Posted by mindful, Sat Dec-09-06 04:45 PM
Phenomenal Woman Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman
Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me.
Maya Angelou
--------------------------------------- the book http://www.lulu.com/content/132318 http://msmind.wordpress.com|this boring life
juste habiter.
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