It helps if you've read "Anecdote of the Jar" by Wallace Stevens.

I built a City on a Hill,
It’s Steeples stark ‘gainst stormy skies,
And all who lived there knew God’s Will,
And each dank valley did we despise.

For those below knew not of Truth,
Nor Faith, nor Love, nor Evening Tea.
Their men, broad and raucous, their women all loose
Placing vice and the body before God’s High Decree.

But even barbarians bow down to shame,
‘Til far and wide spread our renown,
‘Til each mother’s Morals and Joys were the same,
‘Til not one man danced. No one bellowed. None frowned.

And now in the end we have no regrets.
What foolish misgivings could there possibly be?
Now that every town shimmers and each one is blessed.
Like everything else in Tennessee.


Anonymous
4/25/06
11:41:38 PM

why do they mean so much
its not as if they
have done anything
worth anything
at all
Why does everything they do
matter so much
its not as if its
extra profound
or extra anything
why do we care so much
about they who are...
just there
is that what makes them so
unique
so special
so unequivicably awsome
they bring happiness
through something
that is
somehow super special
how is it that we
each percieve
different ones
as the ones
the thems
that our our
very definition
of super cool awsomeness
that one persons them
could be anothers
those


K'lam
4/26/2006
01:16:36 AM

einstein
or: Poem #1 in the Style of TintedFragipan but not Gertrude Stein

i was i am not a Jew

i am i was not Elijah

i was not did have (have not?) a fiery chariot & ascended exploded to heaven & i am i am not have not genius because genius is heaven & i did not ascend & i had had not faith have faith in god & numbers & elijah inside e=mc^2 & i am i am not have have not ideas exploding now & inside & one day in deserts & one day in heaven with eliahu hanavi

i am did not was there with my brothers at a cramped oven desk writing formulas in ashes i was on a plane ascending exploding floating on e=mc^2 to safety, but not heaven & i was had not ideas exploding in fissures & chain reactions cracking open rocks & one day cities but never heaven & i have gold & i have lead & i have not uranium or the love of god.

Note: It's still much more of an experiment/very rough draft than an actual attempt at art/expression. Criticism is appreciated.


Anonymous
4/23/2006
03:45:42 PM

Perfection

What is perfection?
"No one is perfect"
They all say

In your own head
In your own soul
Everyone is their own perfection

Is one not perfect in the eyes
Of sociaty if
They have flaws?
What if...

It is the flaws
That make us perfect?

Is one not accepted
If they do done conform
To society?
what if...

It is our spirits
Our rebellion against
The giant
Of society
That is perfection?

Is it uncooth to
Break a law
To fight?
What if...

It is our very nature
That causes these
And that in itself
Is perfection?

"No one is perfect"
They all say
What if...

We are all perfect
In our own little way?


K'lam
4/21/2006
12:51:27 AM

Squirrels are often found in parks.
Their tails resemble question marks.
It's just coincidental though.
There's little squirrels care to know.

Post any poem here that you know by heart and no cheating!

Anonymous
4/18/2006
03:53:23 PM

One of my favorite poems ever by my hands-down favorite poet ever:

Memorial to DC.
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

O, loveliest throat of all sweet throats
where now no more the music is,
with hands that wrote you little notes
I write you little elegies!

Epitaph

Heap not on this mound
Roses that she loved so well;
Why bewilder her with roses,
that she cannot see or smell?

She is happy where she lies
with the dust upon her eyes.

Prayer

Be to her, Persephone,
All the things I might not be;
Take her head upon your knee
She that was so proud and wild
flippant, arrogant, and free,
She that had no need of me,
is a little lonely child
lost in Hell,--Persephone
Take her head upon your knee
Say to her "My dear, my dear,
it is not so dreadful here."

Chorus

Give away her gowns
Give away her shoes
She has no more use
for her fragrant gowns
take them all down
blue, green, blue
lilac, pink, blue
from their padded hangers
she will dance no more
in her narrow shoes
sweep her narrow shoes
from the closet floor.

Elegy

Let them bury your big eyes
In the secret earth securely
Your thin fingers and your fair,
soft, indefinite -coloured hair,--
All of these in some way, surely,
From the secret earth shall rise;
Not for these I sit and stare,
broken and bereft completely;
Your young flesh that sat so neatly
on your little bones will sweetly
blossom in the air.

But your voice... never the rushing
of a river underground
not the rising of the wind
in the trees before the rain,
not the woodcock's watery call,
nor the note the white-throat utters,
not the feet of children pushing
yellow leaves along the gutters
in the blue and bitter fall,
shall content my musing mind.
For the beauty of that sound
That in no new way at all
ever will be hear again.

Sweetly through the sappy stalk
of the vigorous weed
Holding all it held before,
Cherished by the faithful sun,
on and on eternally
shall your altered fluid run,
bud, and bloom, and go to seed:
but your singing days are done!
but the music of your talk
never shall the chemistry
of the secret earth restore
all your lovely words are spoken
once the ivory box is broken
Beats the golden bird no more.

Dirge

Boys and girls that held her dear,
Do your weeping now;
All you loved of her lies here.

Brought to earth the arrogant brow,
and the withering tongue
Chastened; do your weeping now.

Sing whatever songs are song
Wind whatever wreath
for a playmate perished young
for a spirit spent in death.

Boys and girls that held her dear
all you loved of her lies here.

While Thinking Of a Soldier in Iraq

People say they joined the army
(and those are the ones who really
joined) for honor, or fun, or what
ever it is that they wanted but I
joined because it was the age of 19

and there I was with the bright decade
before me, the prime of my life, and what
did I have to look foward to but a couple
of years at the community college and a job
at Domino's and a couple of kids (ohyeah, and
a wife) every night and tired, down the street
from the little house my parents always owned.

they sent me a letter

dear/dearest Matthew (or, son.)
we got your last letter and we were
very happy to hear from you because
you know we are so
worried.

I would like to tell you that your
father got a promotion and lane is probably
going to go to Enloe too (even though
you never thought he would, but he will)
your grandmother is doing better she is
using some of her money--we are too
to buy you a new car and I know you cannot
wait to get it because your truck
was in
bad, bad
shape.

we pray to the
LORD
every night to keep you safe
and we know that we will see
you soon. please be safe.

love
Your Mom/Dad (mom and dad?)

I think of this letter as the
bullet enters my face (in goes
the metal and out flies the flesh)

I think of the car I will never drive
because now I am dead.

it doesn't matter anyway.
I had 40, 50, 60 years left.
and then I would be dead.


TintedFragipan
4/15/2006
3:21 PM

I just got my fucking report card
w/ my c in spanish im like dude your a retard
I dont want to show my parents b/c i will get grilled and charred
why the hell does this elective have to be so hard

My teacher makes me so freaking angry
no matter how much i use my creativity
I even try to the best of my ability
I cant help she treats me w/ such atrocity

poems are hard im much better at rapping freestyle
W/ poems you need to sit and ponder a while
I am just a white boy who likes to make people smile
so excuse me if this sux and sounds a bit juvinile

I appriciate the time you give to critique
I thank you for pointing out whats strong and whats weak
even though my poems lack in good technique
I am just trying to expand my horizons and be unique


Anonymous
4/11/2006
09:24:29 PM

Your total is:

I was there.
I was there with the money,
wrapped in an envelope
"for the limo", you said.
$110.06
We ate dinner, all however many of us.
$42.95
Then (there was) a welcome table. My sister was there, she took more money.
$80.00

then we danced to a hip-hop civilization

Photographs by the ornamated tables, Ionic columns, and ivy.
$20.00

The doors opened, anticipating exit.
The limo door opened, anticipating enter.

We cruised a skyline of asphalt.
$23.12 min.

Cigarette stop on Hillsborough.

You brought in two grinning bottles of vodka.
$Prom.

Fuck you and your alcohol.

Maverick
4/10/2006
8:03 PM

The Hungry Poet - a trilogy

A Poem Born of Hunger and Time

I think of:
the bread--with firm, cracked crust
in two parts, a matched pair--
and hidden, pressed between
(but with a hinting flash
of green
or pink
or pale cream
that may slip from out the golden loaves)
the curls of silken ham
and thick, dog-eared pages of cheese
dressed with the sea-waves of crisp lettuce
and all softly concealing the treasure
of two or three gems--
the sweet pickles
whose juice spreads to fill the empty spaces
of the white, white gold bread
--I think of my sandwich
and how many minutes remain until I might eat it.

A Poem Born of Hunger, More Time, and a Taste for Rhyme

I think of:
Bread in two parts
matched; and between
the cracked crust: a heart
of greens, rose, and pale cream
whose colors (how bright!)
slip from out the two loaves
to adorn (such a sight!)
each round edge tinted gold
And within these fair slices,
folds of ham like silk scrolls
and crisp lettuce ices
like the sea as it rolls,
thick, dog-eared pages
of cheese are there pressed
Then--the treasure of ages--
this marvel is dressed
with two gems (or three?
perhaps four?); pickles sweet
at the heart of this medley
--succulent, exsquisite--
whose juice will drip yellow
to fill the dry spaces
within the bread mellow
and blandness erases--
I think of my sandwich
and of the minutes until I might be allowed to eat it.

Reflection on the Eating of a Long-Anticipated Sandwich

The pickles
were old
theire flavor was lost on my tongue
and now...

the cold wind whistles
and stirs the crumbs in my lunchbox.

With Apologies to William Carlos Williams

I have taken
your virginity
on the eve of
your senior prom

and which
you were probably saving
for someone
better-looking

Forgive me
you were delicious
so sweet
and so hot

:)
Dedicated to Hannah for her bravery in speaking her mind this morning, when no one else in the classroom would acknowledge the obvious sexual allegory of "This Is Just to Say."

I notice him and he doesn’t know.
(See the days passing)
I study him and he doesn’t know.
(See the weeks passing)
I admire him and he doesn’t know.
(See the months passing)
I love him and he doesn’t know.
(See the years passing)
I need him and he doesn’t know.
(Life is done)
He never knew.


Anonymous
4/09/2006
03:35:38 PM

In a car is still
in the morning, yet
slowly the trees and earth
creep by (shoemaker’s elves)

behold the silent sentinels!
they pass, equidistant, radial,
like nautilus chambers--gray-
green. and indifferent but
they are the golden ratio

i have seen them standing
they stand, and stand and look
for the bus, their cool impersonal
eyes all turned in one direction
unblinking, unforgiving, they
say to me “I know, oh, I
know what you have done
and you are part of us, and
we are part of you, it is”
(
and here is where I pause
the eruption of my chest
tangible, what is that cotton in
my throat, why do my eyes
burn so,
i am not you, second grade girl
your pink overcoat, it was bought
one day, but not a special day
and look how it is frayed and
how you are longing, yes, i
know your longing and perhaps
i have known more, i have known
the stinging of a plastic lunchbox
the stinging of a plastic mediocrity.
)
“the way things are and the way they were mean to be.”

PC: This poem is unfinished and not very good. It's how I was feeling at the time, but I got interrupted and I had a big catharsis session with a friend. Now I want to fix it, but I'm having a hard time.

you are totally tantilizing, ya!

beeso-besher
4/07/2006

Love Poem #1
or: History Revised

You were painting blues
the color of smooth whale fins and
ocean water
the color of azurite, the Israeli flag,
the calm of the summer sky,
reflected moonlight, prayer books,
and half a million other things
that remind me of you.

I was painting yellows,
the color of rounded submarines
and fluid fins of fishes
the color of lemons, leaves in September,
cowardice like the belly of a snake,
blinding sunlight, post-it notes,
and half a million other things
that detail my days.

And so when we finished and wandered,
blinking,
Into the sunlight to wash off our brushes,
Our fingers mixed into green,
the color of seaweed wrapped around tide pools
or resting in the current
the color of spring and tendrils
of sage and snap peas,
displays of jade in Chinatown windows,
pine needles on mountainsides, and
the color like the mixing
of blue and yellow handprints.


Nanotyrannus
4/07/2006
08:11:43 PM

A maiden wept and, as a comforter,
Came one who cried, "I love thee," and he seized
Her in his arms and kissed her with hot breath,
That dried the tears upon her flaming cheeks.
While evermore his boldly blazing eyeBurned into hers; but she uncomforted
Shrank from his arms and only wept the more.

Then one came and gazed mutely in her face
With wide and wistful eyes; but still aloof
He held himself; as with a reverent fear,
As one who knows some sacred presence nigh.
And as she wept he mingled tear with tear,
That cheered her soul like dew a dusty flower,
-Until she smiled, approached, and touched his hand!
-Dunbar

we like it.


Anonymous
4/05/2006
05:18:27 PM

Deep within
I will plant my law
Not on stone
But in your heart
Follow me
I will bring you back
You will be my own,
and I will be your God

The beauty of these verses brought tears to my eyes in church today.

I Refuse to Write Another Poem for Him


Florida gave me orange blossoms
(I am almost over him)
(but when he tried to speak to me today
I had to end the
conversation quickly
before I started getting throatclogged heartchoked achingeyed)

Florida gave me orange blossoms
And when Summer stole upon-
(I will be over him soon)
(I will be over the way his ear curves unevenly)
(I will be over the way his voice echoes in my own ears)

(Florida gave me orange blossoms)
I don't remember what he said
but it sounded low and soothing
like a smooth bow drawing across the lowest strings
and clear September breezes
(I am almost over him)


I will be over the way
his fingers curve around a pen
I will be over his laugh like June
and his slow August smile
I will be over the the kindness in his eyes
and the way his ear curves unevenly
(Florida gave me orange blossoms).


Anonymous
4/01/2006
03:11:01 PM