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14-06-2004
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I wrote lots about this in an exam today, GO ME!

Two Scavengers in a Truck,
--Two Beautiful People in a Mercedes.


-At the stoplight waiting for the light
----------------nine a.m. downtown San Francisco
----a bright yellow garbage truck
------------with two garbagemen in red plastic blazers
-----standing on the back stoop
-----------------one on each side hanging on
---and looking down into
------------------an elegant open Mercedes
-------with an elegant couple in it
-
-The man
-----in a hip three-piece linen suit
---------with shoulder-length blond hair & sunglasses
-The young blond woman so casually coifed
-----------with a short skirt and colored stockings
----on the way to his architect's office
-
-And the two scavengers up since four a.m.
----------------grungy from their route
-----------on the way home
-The older of the two with grey iron hair
--------------------and hunched back
---------looking down like some
--------------gargoyle Quasimodo
-And the younger of the two
-----------also with sunglasses & long hair
------about the same age as the Mercedes driver
-
-And both scavengers gazing down
---------------------as from a great distance
---------------at the cool couple
-------as if they were watching some odorless TV ad
----------in which everything is always possible
-
-And the very red light for an instant
-----------holding all four close together
--------as if anything at all were possible
-----------------------between them
--------across that small gulf
------------------in the high seas
---------------------------of this democracy

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14-06-2004
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As ahhGucci will know they only asked us about how contrast was used in the poem...I was looking forward to writing about the funky line-spacing

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14-06-2004
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saad nader and prince...

thank you for posting...

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14-06-2004
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Quote:
Originally posted by PrinceOfCats@Jun 14th, 2004 - 6:49 pm
As ahhGucci will know they only asked us about how contrast was used in the poem...I was looking forward to writing about the funky line-spacing
Hey prince, yes, I did question one too.
Funky line spacing? awww, there there. I think I strayed from the point in one of my sentances, started talking about the american dream, well, thatwas a big contrast in the poem, the dream and the reality.
ahem, lets not start this now (I also wrote about a living breathing shopping centre )



That poem was one of the few in the anthology that I enjoyed, I am glad it came up (lots to write about it)


Vultures

In the greyness
and drizzle of one despondent
dawn unstirred by harbingers
of sunbreak a vulture
perching high on broken
bone of a dead tree
nestled close to his
mate his smooth
bashed-in head, a pebble
on a stem rooted in
a dump of gross
feathers, inclined affectionately
to hers. Yesterday they picked
the eyes of a swollen
corpse in a water-logged
trench and ate the things in its bowel. Full
gorged they chose their roost
keeping the hollowed remnant
in easy range of cold
telescopic eyes ...
Strange
indeed how love in other
ways so particular
will pick a corner
in that charnel-house
tidy it and coil up there, perhaps
even fall asleep - her face
turned to the wall!
... Thus the Commandant at Belsen
Camp going home for
the day with fumes of
human roast clinging
rebelliously to his hairy
nostrils will stop
at the wayside sweet-shop
and pick up a chocolate
for his tender offspring
waiting at home for Daddy's return ...
Praise bounteous
providence if you will
that grants even an ogre
a tiny glow-worm
tenderness encapsulated
in icy caverns of a cruel
heart or else despair
for in every germ
of that kindred love is
lodged the perpetuity
of evil.

Chinua Achebe

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14-06-2004
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Did this a few years ago and I found it today. I gave up on slam poetry long ago...actually lately all poetry.

Nothing Girl

I may not be the prettiest, I may not be the most athletic,
You may look and think, ďHow pathetic.Ē
I may not be on the social mountaintops,
Which seem to you, the world.
You may look and think, what a nothing girl.

So I tried to fit in,
To be to you a something.
Instead of some type of nothing.
I conformed my mind to be a twit.
Bragged about celebrities I know And see.
Became a diluted, censored me.

I already did and said what makes you twirl.
Now Iím not a nothing, but a liar girl.
You said I donít know who, I donít live there
That now I think Iím better,
Because of the designers I wear.

Itís not my fault.
You were the one who made me
Because you were the one who ignored interior
For what you wanted to see.

Now I know not to care, donít you see that you are blinded.
By being robots, by being trend minded.
You ignore the interior and care about only your outer self.
When youíre old, thatís gone, then you got nothing left.

So if you think Iím nothing, thatís okay with me,
Because I got a heart and a mind
And thatís something to me.

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14-06-2004
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Awww...Sephora It's very nice...

Quote:
Originally posted by ahhGucciicciGahh
Hey prince, yes, I did question one too.
Aiee,

I did that and 'Nothing's Changed' (my favourite poem from the anthology, which isn't saying much...)

I did the thingamajig about describing a holiday destination and went into ecstatic transports about Antoni Gaudi's Modernista architecture in Barcelona...

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14-06-2004
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elementary.
 
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sephora

ummm. my contribution haha.

roses are red
violets are blue
god made me sexy
what happened to you?

ewww. who writes these?!

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Quote:
Originally posted by i_<3_chanel@Jun 14th, 2004 - 2:13 pm
ewww. who writes these?!

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14-06-2004
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elementary.
 
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here. i found a serious poem.

i love this poem.

[B]bleep[B]

I am the unreal voice speaking.
I will not be told I am real.
I care for the inauthentic, the disingenuous.
Deceit makes me shiver with glee.
I fall for false tears, false modesty,
false eyelashes, false teeth.
I enjoy seeing them sitting in a mouth
watching a soap on TV, pearly
as Hollywood can be, big white falsies.
Square, unreadable and slightly odd.
Wigs with synthethic hair, I hold dear.
Plastic hips. Silicone chips.
The wee tuck hear and there.
I adore the plucked eyebrow,
shocked and bare, feigning surprise
at you there. I dote on everything false
from the moment I wake from my faked sleep
for the rest of the fabricated day.
Bleached skin, shrunk arse,
wee tits, tiny hips, nae chin.
There's nothing like women faking it.
See my nose, it used to be a tomato.


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Quote:
Originally posted by i_<3_chanel@Jun 14th, 2004 - 2:47 pm
here. i found a serious poem.

See my nose- it used to be a tomato!
I think I'm going to cry now...

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14-06-2004
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Quote:
Originally posted by Sephora_Socialite@Jun 14th, 2004 - 2:06 pm
Did this a few years ago and I found it today. I gave up on slam poetry long ago...actually lately all poetry.

Nothing Girl

I may not be the prettiest, I may not be the most athletic,
You may look and think, ďHow pathetic.Ē
I may not be on the social mountaintops,
Which seem to you, the world.
You may look and think, what a nothing girl.

So I tried to fit in,
To be to you a something.
Instead of some type of nothing.
I conformed my mind to be a twit.
Bragged about celebrities I know And see.
Became a diluted, censored me.

I already did and said what makes you twirl.
Now Iím not a nothing, but a liar girl.
You said I donít know who, I donít live there
That now I think Iím better,
Because of the designers I wear.

Itís not my fault.
You were the one who made me
Because you were the one who ignored interior
For what you wanted to see.

Now I know not to care, donít you see that you are blinded.
By being robots, by being trend minded.
You ignore the interior and care about only your outer self.
When youíre old, thatís gone, then you got nothing left.

So if you think Iím nothing, thatís okay with me,
Because I got a heart and a mind
And thatís something to me.
darling...a whole different side of the girl we know...

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Courtesy of the public transit system...

Rain, by M. Litovitz
Do you hear the rain?
I want to turn off the computer
and call to tell you
how it is raining
in the green center of the day,
late afternoon
thundering open
like heartbreak
like we imagine
but you are another illusion-
so I keep on typing

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not my words...but i thought appropriate to sephora's post...



the stars have not dealt me the worst they could do
my pleasures are plenty my troubles are two

but oh my two troubles they reave me of rest...
the brain in my head and the heart in my breast...

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That was a mighty strange poem, purple...I'm still thinking about it know...I like it - it's unfussy, it has an almost sponateneous quality...

More stuff courtesy of the fine-folk at AQA...this is one of my favourite poems as well as it happens (shame we don't study it really):

My last duchess

Ferrara

That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. Icall
That piece a wonder, now: Frŗ Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, andthere she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frŗ Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myselfthey turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I) 10
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Frŗ Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough 20
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace--all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech, 30
Or blush, at least. She thanked men,--good! but thanked
Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set 40
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
--E'en then would be some stooping, and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence 50
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

Robert Browning

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I loved that poem, I have so many things to say on it, but alas, I'm no intelectual

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