Poets' Corner
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20-01-2013, 02:56 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
Always warms my cockles when I see you back here old man. Smile

Happy to see you're still among us.

(20-01-2013 07:09 AM)Zat Wrote:  In principle

In principle they all agree:

"Hurting people is so bad,
hungry children are too sad,
injustice does make me mad,
violence is deplorable,
crime, theft, lies all horrible,
homelessness is terrible,
ignorance, illness preventable".

But, then they say:

"My guns to you I'll never trust,
our wars are always good and just,
the poor richly deserve their lot,
my money is all I've got,
can't afford to fund that rot,
get out of my face
you communist snot!"

And in the end
it's all for naught
but not before
they eat my snot.

#sigh
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20-01-2013, 04:07 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 02:56 PM)GirlyMan Wrote:  Always warms my cockles when I see you back here old man. Smile

Happy to see you're still among us.
Among the living, you mean?

Hello GirlyMan -- long time no read.
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20-01-2013, 04:43 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
I don't consider myself a poet but I've had a few things spill out of me while fighting tooth and claw out of a lifetime of severe depression.

Living in the shadows
in the day and in the night
never being seen
always in the background
wanting to be seen
but hiding from the pain
hiding from the old
shielding from the new
fearing that the shadows will grow darker
not wanting to go back
to that place that's deep and dark
a place full of pain and sadness
I have no desire to return
but the desire for the sun
and the desire to be loved
seems to flicker like a flame
A flame that gets dimmer
by the day by the night
A flame that I don't want to go out
but have no hope that it will stay lit
no hope for love
no hope for life outside the shadows

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20-01-2013, 04:59 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 04:43 PM)smidgen Wrote:  I don't consider myself a poet
...

What would be the criteria for considering yourself a poet other than the ability to write a poem?

Thumbsup

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20-01-2013, 05:13 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 04:59 PM)DLJ Wrote:  
(20-01-2013 04:43 PM)smidgen Wrote:  I don't consider myself a poet
...

What would be the criteria for considering yourself a poet other than the ability to write a poem?

Thumbsup
I'm clueless. duh.... lol

How bout I just say that writing is not my strong suit. I'd rather have a camera in my hand than a pen.

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20-01-2013, 05:20 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 05:13 PM)smidgen Wrote:  
(20-01-2013 04:59 PM)DLJ Wrote:  What would be the criteria for considering yourself a poet other than the ability to write a poem?

Thumbsup

I'm clueless. duh.... lol

Q.E.D.

(20-01-2013 05:13 PM)smidgen Wrote:  How bout I just say that writing is not my strong suit. I'd rather have a camera in my hand than a pen.

The camera is, in this communication age, as mighty as the pen... perhaps mightier.

Yes

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20-01-2013, 06:16 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 05:20 PM)DLJ Wrote:  
(20-01-2013 05:13 PM)smidgen Wrote:  I'm clueless. duh.... lol

Q.E.D.

(20-01-2013 05:13 PM)smidgen Wrote:  How bout I just say that writing is not my strong suit. I'd rather have a camera in my hand than a pen.

The camera is, in this communication age, as mighty as the pen... perhaps mightier.
agreed

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20-01-2013, 07:23 PM (This post was last modified: 20-01-2013 07:29 PM by bemore.)
RE: Poets' Corner
The because is the answer to the question why.
But life goes on without demanding a why.
Its just the air and the earth, the clouds and the sky.
We give ourselves our answers as we define "life"

One day we dreamed, unknowing to what lay beyond the sky.
Now we see things that are beyond the eye.
We fiddle and we meddle with very creation.
Unjudged and unabashed, creatfull yet hatefull.

We etch microscopic stories on infinite sized walls.
We justify our lifes with evanescent rules.
We torment.. we love.. we rescue.. we slaughter.
In long lasting life, as it gets older seeming ever shorter.

You live from your past and give your future its meaning.
Justifying life to yourself, happy and greaving.
A sieve leaking innocence to emotions and feelings
Laughing and crying, cruising and screaming.
Stuck in the now...Never seeing the reason yet never fading in revealing.

It is hard to comprehend, a universe without you.
That it existed before and will exist without you.
Caus only your life and existence are your "truth"
Maybe the ending and death, is the last chance of any personal "proof"

I feel so much, and yet I feel nothing.
I am a rock, I am the sky, the birds and the trees and everything beyond.
I am the wind, in the fields in which I roar. I am the water, in which I drown.
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20-01-2013, 07:39 PM (This post was last modified: 21-01-2013 07:42 AM by Zat.)
RE: Poets' Corner
(20-01-2013 07:23 PM)bemore Wrote:  .....................
It is hard to comprehend, a universe without you.
That it existed before and will exist without you.
Caus only your life and existence are your "truth"
Maybe the ending and death, is the last chance of any personal "proof"

Profound truths, beautifully said, bemore.

I may have posted this before, but it is quite appropriate here, following your lovely poem:

Existence

Existence is such a tenuous thing:
a knife-edge splitting off
future from the past:
the not-yet from the not-any-more,
it doesn't last at all,
just tumbles through our minds
from plans to memories
carrying with it
who we think we are:
a collection of hopes and fears -
one never asks:
if there is a grave
for our everlasting soul?
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23-01-2013, 07:50 PM
RE: Poets' Corner
Give me this last request,
as one who would know me best.
I am fallen and can't return home.

The night bears it's dire intent,
And darkness with no relent.
Will you stay with me til the hour I am gone?

This life is a fearful game,
Move on and forget my name.
Bid me farewell, I cannot stay.

Give me this last request,
And swear that you'll not confess,.
This our burden, is ours to the grave.

We get no rest upon this this road
Until the final chapter's told.

But now I have come to believe that the whole world is an enigma, a harmless enigma that is made terrible by our own mad attempt to interpret it as though it had an underlying truth.

~ Umberto Eco
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