Favourite Poem? - Page 11 - the Fashion Spot
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electricladyland's Avatar
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: The red hot center of my beating heart.
Gender: femme
Posts: 8,980
^^ makes sense to me too... love it

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*~stix~*'s Avatar
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: London
Gender: femme
Posts: 4,776
^^^ awww, you're sweet so you can have karma!

EDIT: but I have to spread a little reputation first

Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around

Last edited by *~stix~*; 02-02-2006 at 06:08 PM.
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elin_a's Avatar
Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: finland
Gender: femme
Posts: 69
My favourite poet Edith Södergran.
Her poem called "Love"

My soul was a light blue dress the color of the sky;
I left it on a rock by the sea
and naked I came to you, looking like a woman.
And like a woman I sat at your table
and drank a toast in wine, inhaling the scent of
some roses.
You found me beautiful, like something you saw in
a dream,
I forgot everything, I forgot my childhood and my
I only knew that your caresses held me captive.
And smiling you held up a mirror and asked me
to look.
I saw that my shoulders were made of dust and
crumbled away,
I saw that my beauty was sick and wished only to –
Oh, hold me tight in your arms so close that
I need nothing

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Join Date: Feb 2005
Location: Canada
Gender: femme
Posts: 57
^^^ Love that one

"Time well spent seems lonelier than ever" -Blindside
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lemeray's Avatar
Join Date: Oct 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 13,889
I hate poems.

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electricladyland's Avatar
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: The red hot center of my beating heart.
Gender: femme
Posts: 8,980

Dos amantes dichosos hacen un solo pan,
una sola gota de luna en la hierba,
dejan andando dos sombras que se reúnen,
dejan un solo sol vacío en una cama.
De todas las verdades escogieron el día:
no se ataron con hilos sino con un aroma,
y no despedazaron la paz ni las palabras.
La dicha es una torre transparente.
El aire, el vino van con los dos amantes,
la noche les regala sus pétalos dichosos,
tienen derecho a todos los claveles.
Dos amantes dichosos no tienen fin ni muerte,
nacen y mueren muchas veces mientras viven,
tienen la eternidad de la naturaleza.

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Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Tehran
Gender: homme
Posts: 8,312
Originally Posted by KatjaR
From whom is this poem??
Sara Teasdale ^

I've got an arrow here.
Loving the hand that sent it
I the dart revere.

Fell, they will say, in "skirmish"!
Vanquished, my soul will know
By but a simple arrow
Sped by an archer's bow.

- Emily Dickinson

no fun
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northernsky's Avatar
Join Date: Jul 2005
Posts: 1,419
La fin de la journée

Sous une lumière blafarde
Court, danse et se tord sans raison
La Vie, impudente et criarde.
Aussi, sitôt qu'à l'horizon

La nuit voluptueuse monte,
Apaisant tout, même la faim,
Effaçant tout, même la honte,
Le Poète se dit : " Enfin !

Mon esprit, comme mes vertèbres,
Invoque ardemment le repos ;
Le cœur plein de songes funèbres,

Je vais me coucher sur le dos
Et me rouler dans vos rideaux,
Ô rafraîchissantes ténèbres ! "
The End of the Day

Under the pale sunlight,
Life runs, dances, and twists
Without reason, impudent and noisy.
Likewise, as soon as

The voluptuous night rises on the horizon,
Appeasing everything, even hunger,
Wiping away everything, even shame,
The Poet says to himself: "Finally!

My spirit, like my vertebrae,
Ardently invokes rest;
With my heart full of funereal thoughts,

I will go to sleep on my back
And roll myself in your curtains,
Oh refreshing shadows!"

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travis_nw8's Avatar
Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: anywhere but nw8...
Gender: homme
Posts: 2,519
its cheesy but im a fan of marlowe's the passionate shepherd to his love- the classic fun love poem

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

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front row
taismith82's Avatar
Join Date: Dec 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 297
Stopping by Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely,dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

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Of a bastard line.
Multitudes's Avatar
Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: London(& Copenhagen)
Gender: homme
Posts: 9,329
How To Become A Great Writer by Charles Bukowski(From "Love Is A Dog From Hell" 1974-77)

"you've got to f*ck a great many women
beautiful women
and write a few decent love poems.

and don't worry about age
and/or freshly-arrived talents.

just drink more beer
more and more beer

and attend the racetrack at least once a

and win
if possible.

learning to win is hard-
any slob can be a good loser.

and don't forget your Brahms
and your Bach and your

don't overexcercise.

sleep until noon.

avoid credit cards
or paying for anything on

remember that there isn't a piece of ***
in this world worth more than $50
(in 1977).

and if you have the ability to love
love yourself first
but always be aware of the possibility of
total defeat

whether the reason for that defeat
seems right or wrong--

an early taste of death is not necessarily
a bad thing.

stay out of churches and bars and museums,
and like the spider be
time is everybody's cross,

all that dross.

stay with the beer.

beer is continuous blood.

a continuous lover.

get a large typewriter
and as the footsteps go up and down
outside your window

hit that thing
hit it hard

make it a heavyweight fight

make it the bull when he first charges in

and remember the old dogs
who fought so well:
Hemingway, Celine, Dostojevski, Hamsun.

If you don't think they didn't go crazy

in tiny rooms
just like you're doing now

without women
without food
without hope

then you're not ready.

drink more beer.
there's time.
and if there's not
that's all right

Note: had to do a little bit of censoring, hope I did enough...

We say too much in front of paintings ...

Last edited by Multitudes; 08-03-2006 at 02:45 PM.
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front row
uberchic's Avatar
Join Date: Dec 2004
Location: music city
Gender: femme
Posts: 412
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

(someone's already posted it...on the first page.)

let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together.
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Of a bastard line.
Multitudes's Avatar
Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: London(& Copenhagen)
Gender: homme
Posts: 9,329
I love by Jacques-Bernard Brunius (1944)

"I love sliding I love upsetting everything
I love coming in I love sighing
I love taming the furtive manes of hair
I love hot I love tenuous
I love supple I love infernal
I love sugared but elastic the curtain of springs turning to glass
I love pearl I love skin
I love tempest I love pupil
I love benevolent seal long-distance swimmer
I love oval I love struggling
I love shining I love breaking
I love the smoking spark silk vanilla mouth to mouth
I love blue I love known—knowing
I love lazy I love spherical
I love liquid beating drum sun if it wavers
I love to the left I love in the fire
I love because I love at the edges
I love forever many times Just one
I love freely I love especially
I love separately I love scandalously
I love similarly obscurely uniquely
I love I shall love"

We say too much in front of paintings ...
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Join Date: Aug 2004
Location: Tehran
Gender: homme
Posts: 8,312
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendoes,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

- Wallace Stevens

no fun
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Of a bastard line.
Multitudes's Avatar
Join Date: Nov 2005
Location: London(& Copenhagen)
Gender: homme
Posts: 9,329
La Mort des Amants by Charles Baudelaire(From "Les Fleur Du Mal" 1857)

"Nous aurons des lits pleins d'odeurs légères,
Des divans profonds comme des tombeaux,
Et d'étranges fleurs sur des étagères,
Ecloses pour nous sous des cieux plus beaux.
Usant à l'envi leurs chaleurs dernières,
Nos deux coeurs seront deux vastes flambeaux,
Qui réfléchiront leurs doubles lumières
Dans nos deux esprits, ces miroirs jumeaux.
Un soir fait de rose et de bleu mystique,
Nous échangerons un éclair unique,
Comme un long sanglot, tout chargé d'adieux;
Et plus tard un Ange, entr'ouvrant les portes,
Viendra ranimer, fidèle et joyeux,
Les miroirs ternis et les flammes mortes."

(The Death of Lovers

"We shall have beds full of subtle perfumes,
Divans as deep as graves, and on the shelves
Will be strange flowers that blossomed for us
Under more beautiful heavens.
Using their dying flames emulously,
Our two hearts will be two immense torches
Which will reflect their double light
In our two souls, those twin mirrors.
Some evening made of rose and of mystical blue
A single flash will pass between us
Like a long sob, charged with farewells;
And later an Angel, setting the doors ajar,
Faithful and joyous, will come to revive
The tarnished mirrors, the extinguished flames.")

We say too much in front of paintings ...

Last edited by Multitudes; 18-03-2006 at 11:13 AM.
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