Poetry ...

Discussion in 'Waffle' started by EWOKS, Nov 27, 2011.

  1. EWOKS

    EWOKS POTATOES GONNA POTATE

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    anyone like Poetry ? .. favourite poets ? ...

    mine have to be ted hughes and plath , joyce , byron , blake , coleridge , and the ultimate mans man himself ... bukowski ..

    check it ... and tell me hes shit after ..



    - the screw game

    one of the terrible things is
    really
    being in bed
    night after night
    with a woman you no longer
    want to screwgame

    they get old, they don't look very good
    anymore — they even tend to
    snore, lose
    spirit.

    so, in bed, you turn sometimes,
    your foot touches hers — god, awful! —
    and the night is out there
    beyond the curtains
    sealing you together
    in the
    tomb.

    and in the morning you go to the
    bathroom, pass in the hall, talk,
    say odd things; eggs fry, motors
    start.

    but sitting across
    you have 2 strangers
    jamming toast into mouths
    burning the sullen head and gut with
    coffee.

    in 10 million places in America
    it is the same —
    stale lives propped against each
    other
    and no place to
    go.

    you get in the car
    and you drive to work
    and there are more strangers there, most of them
    wives and husbands of somebody
    else, and besides the guillotine of work, they
    flirt and joke and pinch, sometimes tend to
    work off a quick screw somewhere—
    they can't do it at home—
    and then
    the drive back home
    waiting for Christmas or Labor Day or
    Sunday or
    something.



    The Man With The Beautiful Eyes



    When we were kids
    there was a strange house
    all the shades were
    always
    drawn
    and we never heard voices
    in there
    and the yard was full of
    bamboo
    and we liked to play in
    the bamboo
    pretend we were
    Tarzan
    ( although there was no
    Jane)
    and there was a
    fish pond
    a large one
    full of the
    fattest goldfish
    you ever saw
    and they were
    tame.
    They came to the
    surface of the water
    and took pieces of
    bread
    from our hands.

    Our parents had
    told us:
    " never go near that
    house"
    so, of course,
    we went.

    We wondered if anybody
    lived there.
    Weeks went by and we
    never saw
    anybody.

    Then one day
    we heard
    a voice
    from the house
    " YOU GOD DAMNED
    WHORE!"

    It was a mans
    voice.
    Then the screen
    door
    of the house was
    flung open
    and the man
    walked out.

    He was holding a
    fifth of whiskey
    in his right
    hand.
    He was about
    30.
    He had a cigar
    in his
    mouth,
    needed a
    shave.
    His hair was
    wild and
    uncombed
    and he was
    barefoot.
    In undershirt
    and pants
    but his eyes
    were
    bright
    they BLAZED
    with brightness
    and he said,
    "hey, little
    gentleman,
    having a good
    time, I
    hope?"

    Then he gave a
    little laugh
    and walked
    back into the
    house.

    We left,
    went back to my
    parents yard
    and thought
    about it.

    Our parents,
    we decided
    had wanted us
    to stay away
    from there
    because they
    never wanted us
    to see a man
    like
    that,
    a strong natural
    man
    with
    beautiful
    eyes.

    Our parents
    were ashamed
    that they were
    not
    like that
    man,
    thats why they
    wanted us to stay
    away.

    But
    we went back
    to that house
    and the bamboo
    and the tame
    goldfish.
    We went back
    many times
    for many
    weeks
    but we never
    saw
    or heard
    the man
    again.

    The shades were
    down
    as always
    and it was
    quiet.

    Then one day
    as we came back from
    school
    we saw the
    house.

    It had burned
    down,
    there was nothing
    left,
    just a smoldering
    twisted black
    foundation
    and we went to
    the fish pond
    and there was
    no water
    in it
    and the fat
    orange goldfish
    were dead
    there,
    drying out.

    We went back to
    my parents yard
    and talked about
    it
    and decided that
    our parents had
    burned their
    house down,
    had killed
    them
    had killed the
    goldfish
    because it was
    all too
    beautiful,
    even the bamboo
    forest had
    burned.

    They had been
    afraid of
    the man with the
    beautiful
    eyes.

    And
    we were afraid
    that
    all throughout our lives
    things like that
    would happen,
    that nobody
    wanted
    anybody
    to be
    strong and
    beautiful
    like that,
    that
    others would never
    allow it,
    and that
    many people
    would have to
    die.


    ........




    Alone With Everybody

    the flesh covers the bone
    and they put a mind
    in there and
    sometimes a soul,
    and the women break
    vases against the walls
    and the men drink too
    much
    and nobody finds the
    one
    but keep
    looking
    crawling in and out
    of beds.
    flesh covers
    the bone and the
    flesh searches
    for more than
    flesh.

    there's no chance
    at all:
    we are all trapped
    by a singular
    fate.

    nobody ever finds
    the one.

    the city dumps fill
    the junkyards fill
    the madhouses fill
    the hospitals fill
    the graveyards fill

    nothing else
    fills.


    [​IMG]
     
  2. ThePapa

    ThePapa Suffragette City..

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    Blank verse isn't poetry...








































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    [​IMG]
     
  3. d-low

    d-low I know you got soul

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  4. dirty breaks

    dirty breaks Guest

    tl;dr poverty is bad.
     
  5. DeeGun

    DeeGun Church of Krust

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    logikz, then moskit. JMZ is also good.






































































































    :teeth:
     
  6. herojuana

    herojuana hairy kuala

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    I don't think you have got the hang of using the :teeth: yet
     
  7. Forau

    Forau CONCUSSION RECS

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    Edgar Allan Poe is a boss.
    Got a first edition of one of his books of poetry.


    Did some poetry stuff for english A level too and quite enjoyed it.
     
  8. EWOKS

    EWOKS POTATOES GONNA POTATE

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    you cant test bukowski ..

    just used to sit and drink whiskey all day and fuck hookers and write shit ..

    my idol
     
  9. DeeGun

    DeeGun Church of Krust

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    You never saw my hang, how can you judge? :teeth:
     
  10. ApeCat

    ApeCat Human Dubplate

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    Check out "Last Night on Earth" it's all poetry and shit, but it's not nice like the birds like'em, they're all fucked over and written by some twisted older version of your imaginary self from the past who is also terminally Charles Bukowski.
     
  11. EWOKS

    EWOKS POTATOES GONNA POTATE

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    The last night of the earth poems is my favourite bukowski poetry book man ... good call ... im glad there is someone here that understands poetry is not all flowers and candy floss ... his shit is raw
     
  12. logikz

    logikz I Am Not The King Staff Member

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    two places in the uk:
    1. ballymoney
    2. ballasalla

    AEGHAEHJAEHAEHAE were you drunk when you came up with the names for those places? look you cant have places with 'ball' in the name and in ballasallas case well thats just plain silly. its probably next to the township of dicka dicka globba globba ding dong.
     
  13. Kenneth4Eva

    Kenneth4Eva Let's Breed

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    you mean balamory?



    ---------- Post added at 09:48 ---------- Previous post was at 09:46 ----------

    the place they film balamory is tobamory on the isle of mull
     
    Last edited by a moderator: Mar 12, 2015
  14. ApeCat

    ApeCat Human Dubplate

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    Lol "balla" lolol