/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.565553]

ITT post your favorite poetry.

[Anonymous No.565557]

No. I think not.

[Anonymous No.565567]

My favorite poem is "Lines Written for Gene Kelly to Dance To” by Carl Sandburg but I can't find the whole thing online. I remember once typing it up so that I could post it online somewhere--I might still have that file, I'll look for it.

[Anonymous No.565573]

Lawn.

Lawnmower.

Mow the walls of oppression with your 1 inch blades of steel.

Steel heart. Steal my heart.

Heart pumps blood into my penis. Pumping blood. Pumping hands. Hands pumping over my shaft.

Fapping.

Fap. Fap. Fap.

[Anonymous No.565578]

>>565573
I'm getting tired of it already :/

[Anonymous No.565579]

Who are you
Who do you think you are
To come in here
With your scalpels and your razors
Slicing those cadavers up

Who do you think you are?
You think you're my father?
I knew my father
And you're not him
There's something about you that-

"I'm Doctor Kashmir"
said Doctor Kashmir
and in that instant I knew
My father had returned

[Anonymous No.565601]

Can't find that Sandburg poem, so I'll post some Wendy Cope.

A Nursery Rhyme
as it might have been written
by William Wordsworth

The skylark and the jay sang loud and long,
The sun was calm and bright, the air was sweet,
When all at once I heard above the throng
Of jocund birds a single plaintive bleat.

And, turning, saw, as one sees in a dream,
It was a Sheep had broken the moorland peace
With his sad cry, a creature who did seem
The blackest thing that ever wore a fleece.

I walked towards him on the stony track
And, pausing for a while between two crags,
I asked him, 'Have you wool upon your back?'
Thus he bespake, 'Enough to fill three bags.'

Most courteously, in measured tones, he told
Who would receive each bag and where they dwelt;
And oft, now years have passed and I am old,
I recollect with joy that inky pelt.

A Nursery Rhyme
as it might have been written
by T.S. Eliot

Because time will not run backwards
Because time
Because time will not run
Hickory dickory

In the last minute of the first hour
I saw the mouse ascend the ancient timepiece,
Claws whispering like wind in dry hyacinths.

One o'clock
The street lamp said,
'Remark the mouse that races towards the carpet.'

And the unstilled wheel still turning
Hickory dickory
Hickory dickory
dock

[Anonymous No.565603]

Also, is she wearing an overcoat? I have a very similar one ^ ^

[Anonymous No.565608]

>>565573
Overexposure. Such a shame.

To compensate here is some Frost

Blood has been harder to dam back than water.
Just when we think we have it impounded safe
Behind new barrier walls (and let it chafe!),
It breaks away in some new kind of slaughter.
We choose to say it is let loose by the devil;
But power of blood itself releases blood.

It goes by might of being such a flood
Held high at so unnatural a level.
It will have outlet, brave and not so brave.
Weapons of war and implements of peace
Are but the points at which it finds release.
And now it is once more the tidal wave
That when it has swept by, leaves summits stained.
Oh, blood will out. It cannot be contained.

[Anonymous No.565629]

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.

[Anonymous No.565657]

I'll lend you for a little time a child of mine."He said.
"For you to love while he lives,
And mourn for when he is dead.
It may be six or seven years, or twenty two or three.
But will you, till I call him back,
Take care of him for Me?
He'll bring his charms to gladden you,
And shall his stay be brief,
You'll have his lovely memories as solace for your grief.

I cannot promise he will stay,
since all from earth return,
But there are lessons taught down there,
I want this child to learn.
I've looked the wide world over,
In search for teachers true,
And from the throngs that crowd life's lane,
I have selected you.
Now you will give him all your love,
Nor think the labor vain,
Nor hate me when I come to call, to take him back again?

I fancied that I heard them say:
"Dear Lord, Thy will be done."
For all the joy thy child shall bring,
The risk of grief we'll run.
We'll shelter him with tenderness,
we'll love him while we may,
And for happiness we've known,
Forever grateful stay;
We'll brave the bitter grief that comes,
And try to understand.

[Anonymous No.565723]

The shame of the cane with the gain of no fame

[Anonymous No.565755]

Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away...

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door... (slam!)

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away

[Anonymous No.565760]

Try harder, whore!

[Anonymous No.565785]

(Obligatory) Excerpt from "Howl" by Ginsberg

I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma by our
own souls' airplanes roaring over the roof they've come
to drop angelic bombs the hospital illuminates itself
imaginary walls collapse O skinny legions run outside
O starry spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're free

I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey
on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night

[Anonymous No.565792]

>>565785
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix;
Angel-headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection
to the starry dynamo in the machinery of nigh
>Hipsters
Hey guise, he's talking about us!

[Anonymous No.565835]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

[Anonymous No.565857]

Wake up in the mornin' feelin' like P. Diddy.
Got my glasses, I'm out the door, I'm gonna hit this city.
'Fore I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle o' Jack,
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't comin' back.

[Anonymous No.565858]

Greater Love

Red lips are not so red
As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
Kindness of wooed and wooer
Seems shame to their love pure.
O Love, your eyes lose lure
When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

Your slender attitude
Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
Rolling and rolling there
Where God seems not to care:
Till the fierce love they bear
Cramps them in death’s extreme decrepitude.

Your voice sings not so soft,—
Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,—
Your dear voice is not dear,
Gentle, and evening clear,
As theirs whom none now hear,
Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

Heart, you were never hot
Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
And though your hand be pale,
Paler are all which trail
Your cross through flame and hail:
Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

Wilfred Owen

[Anonymous No.565862]

violets are red
roses are blue
and something more

[Anonymous No.565866]

“&I. Us. Honey. Darling. Sweetheart, was I talking war in my sleep again? Come closer. Yes, place your head against my chest. The moon on a windowsill. I want to stitch up all your wounds with kisses, but I also know that sometimes the seed is hurting for red in the soil. Sometimes. Sometimes I hold you like Achilles’ shield, your mouth on mine, my trembling inside your heart & sex.”

[Anonymous No.565900]

"Love is a door we shall open together."
So they said to each other under the moon
One evening when the smell of leaf mould
And the beginnings of potatoes and roses
Came on a wind.

Late in the hours of that evening
They looked long at the moon and called it
A silver button, a copper coin, a bronze wafer,
A plaque of gold, a vanished diadem,
A brass hat dripping from deep waters.

"People like us,
Us two,
We own the moon."

Moon Rondeau by Carl Sandburg, no clue why I like it but dammit I do.

[Anonymous No.565903]

>>565857

[@0 No.565907]

Nobody knows this little Rose-
It might a pilgrim be
Did I not take it from the ways
And lift it up to thee.
Only a Bee will miss it-
Only a Butterfly,
Hastening from far journey-
On its breast to lie-
Only a Bird will wonder-
Only a Breeze will sigh-
Ah Little Rose-how easy
For such as thee to die!

[Anonymous No.565908]

>>565900
Because Carl Sandburg is an awesome poet, maybe that's why?

[Anonymous No.565910]

I lie listening to the black hour
before dawn and you are
still asleep beside me while
around us the trees full of night lean
hushed up in their dream that bears
us up asleep and awake then I hear
drops falling one by one into
the sightless leaves.

[Anonymous No.566003]

"When the world grew too stark to see,
I drew myself within.
Curled away from reality,
and freed myself from sin."

My birthday 2003 while at a teen lockdown facility in utah.

[Anonymous No.566011]

anything by this guy

[Anonymous No.566013]

>>565553

pic sauce.

[Anonymous No.566015]

>>566011
fuck yes!

[Anonymous No.566017]

[Anonymous No.566022]

>>566013

Trap.

[Anonymous No.566037]

>>566022

Still want sauce >_>

[Anonymous No.566042]

When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.

He laughed himself to the centre of himself

And attacked.

At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.

But the sun brightened—
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.

He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.

"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."