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A Little Poetry From The Pros


Theologian in Training

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Theologian in Training

Dylan Thomas

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

W.H. Auden

Funeral Blues

Frank O'Hara

(This guy was amesome. He died tragically, as most poets do) (A member of what came to be known as the New York City Poets, Ashberry was also a part of that as well as a few others--they were very Neo-Beat generation. For the sake of purity, I have refrained from posting the actual beats, since this is, after all, a family site)

The Day Lady Died

(The poem about the death of Billy Holiday, absolutely phenomenal!)

Why I am Not A Painter

(A poem about the creative art)

Lana Turner Has Collapsed

W.S. Merwin (proabably the greatest translator for Pablo Neruda's works)

My Friends

Air

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Theologian in Training

Oh, and I LOVE this one by William Wordsworth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay: 10

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood, 20

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Yes a very good one indeed. I also like his Tintern Abbey

Incidentally, I found this at New Advent about the actual Tintern Abbey

God Bless

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Theologian in Training

Nice, I am really happy that people are enjoying this thread. Keep them coming....this is great!!!!!

God Bless

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A.R Ammons

So I Said I Am Ezra

Rainer Maria Rilke

The Poet

Edgar Allen Poe

All Poems

His tribute to Mary: Hymn

Walt Whitman

made famous by "Dead Poet's Society"

O Captain! My Captain!

Song of Myself (my favorite part about contradiction :)

Song of Myself

I love walt whitman!

and i found that Poe poem to Mary a few months ago. I was really surprised that he wrote that!

My favorite poem to recite when I'm doing a paper:

Homework! Oh Homework! by Jack Prelutsky

Homework, oh homework, I hate you, you stink! :irate:

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Theologian in Training

I love walt whitman!

and i found that Poe poem to Mary a few months ago. I was really surprised that he wrote that!

My favorite poem to recite when I'm doing a paper:

Homework! Oh Homework! by Jack Prelutsky

Homework, oh homework, I hate you, you stink!  :irate:

That Homework poem is amesome! I like that very much...put a smile on my face :)

I did a paper a while back comparing Whitman to Neruda. I don't know why I am so intrigued by his line about contradiction (whitman, that is) but I love it.

As to the Poe poem, I forget how I found it. Oh, that's right, I got a collected works of Poe from Barnes and Noble real cheap, and saw a poem simply entitled, "Hymn." As I was reading this, I thought to myself, wow, he is talking about the Angelus. That was so cool. I am convinced he had to have been near a church when he wrote, since he wrote that poem, and how he speaks about being driven insane by the "bells, bells, bells." I don't know the history, and it would probably not be a bad thing to check out when I get some time, but since he was talking about the bells, especially the different instances in which he refers to them, be it at night, during the day, during a funeral or what appears to even be Mass.

BTW, have you ever read Allen Ginsberg? He wrote very much in the style of Whitman. I have refrained posting some of his poems, because they contain profanity, and some refer to explicity homosexual acts or, at least, infer them.

Also, Thank you Colleen for keeping this thread going

God Bless

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Laudate_Dominum

This one is about the modern world, the loss of self, frustration, failure, disappointment, confusion, struggle, abandonment, self-hatred, personal existence in the face of the appearant absurdity of reality. It's something dark and vaguely post-modern.

fables

transforming children

eating and sleeping

darkness eats alive the deeper thoughts

she vanished like the flowers, underneath the snow

who will wait for such as these?

depart from me

nothing is nothing

evil tar falls from the purple sky

upon our soft young faces

nothing left inside or out

but cold, dead, empty spaces

sockets where those eyes once lived

grinning teeth where lips once sang

I used to love you if you know

I'd love you again if this freakin death would eat me first

spiraling backwards and under sinister wastelands

covering faces, anonymous faces

silent gripping, raging madness

descending forthwith lovely smiles

tearing, gnashing, ripping smashing

terrible, terrible, death black night

eating chips and dealing darkness

falling yet again

falling, falling wishing nothing

who cares anymore

shredded whole and creeping mashing

bashing fleshly torment gashing

shrill and silent unknown dealings

piercing through the hardest hearings

sounding, resounding turning up and down

sideways it goes to mountains and pool halls

throwing stones out windows to the watchmen who drive by

dancing and singing with their purple hair as they wash peppermint

in the cool spring afternoon with eloquent demons telling them what to do

with utmost ease and pleasure, following after the fact to twist apart memories

and dreams as if thats never been done before, because we know the way to the street

we follow silently, effortlessly behind until the derangement is complete and the soft, pale whispers of the night penetrate the dew no more. Follow, follow along and die inside for all and once until the schizo marching band shows up on your doorstep hawking vacuum cleaners and chaos theory with those mints they put on your pillow and interesting young ladies from Africa who meet television stars in the streets of Calcutta because no one really lives there afterall and the people in the whorehouse were wrong about everything, they don't know John the Apostle from that skirt she wore last week when the manager visited with cream coagulated milk and salad, never introducing himself but sitting on top mountains dripping myrrh upon microphones that hum and whistle all night long until the deepest and darkest of them all recedes into faith, never to return again.

Edited by Laudate_Dominum
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Theologian in Training

This one is about the modern world, the loss of self, frustration, failure, disappointment, confusion, struggle, abandonment, self-hatred, personal existence in the face of the appearant absurdity of reality. It's something dark and vaguely post-modern.

fables

transforming children

eating and sleeping

darkness eats alive the deeper thoughts

she vanished like the flowers, underneath the snow

who will wait for such as these?

depart from me

nothing is nothing

evil tar falls from the purple sky

upon our soft young faces

nothing left inside or out

but cold, dead, empty spaces

sockets where those eyes once lived

grinning teeth where lips once sang

I used to love you if you know

I'd love you again if this freakin death would eat me first

spiraling backwards and under sinister wastelands

covering faces, anonymous faces

silent gripping, raging madness

descending forthwith lovely smiles

tearing, gnashing, ripping smashing

terrible, terrible, death black night

eating chips and dealing darkness

falling yet again

falling, falling wishing nothing

who cares anymore

shredded whole and creeping mashing

bashing fleshly torment gashing

shrill and silent unknown dealings

piercing through the hardest hearings

sounding, resounding turning up and down

sideways it goes to mountains and pool halls

throwing stones out windows to the watchmen who drive by

dancing and singing with their purple hair as they wash peppermint

in the cool spring afternoon with eloquent demons telling them what to do

with utmost ease and pleasure, following after the fact to twist apart memories

and dreams as if thats never been done before, because we know the way to the street

we follow silently, effortlessly behind until the derangement is complete and the soft, pale whispers of the night penetrate the dew no more. Follow, follow along and die inside for all and once until the schizo marching band shows up on your doorstep hawking vacuum cleaners and chaos theory with those mints they put on your pillow and interesting young ladies from Africa who meet television stars in the streets of Calcutta because no one really lives there afterall and the people in the whorehouse were wrong about everything, they don't know John the Apostle from that skirt she wore last week when the manager visited with cream coagulated milk and salad, never introducing himself but sitting on top mountains dripping myrrh upon microphones that hum and whistle all night long until the deepest and darkest of them all recedes into faith, never to return again.

Who wrote it?

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Theologian in Training

Colleen,

I shared that poem with a couple of guys here at the seminary and they loved it. I think I found a new poet to learn more about.

Thank You

God Bless

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