So this is probably one of the more stupid things to post here as most of you probably won't lend an open ear or mind and will just flame me but whatever..maybe not.

Here's a shameless self pls to a poetry blog of mine. All of these are mixed and from different times in my life. I have been writing for a long time. I started to try and upload everything digital but I got lazy and I'd rather just transcribe my words and thoughts with a pen or my typewriter but there's still a good amount up there.

All I have to say is poetry has helped me a lot in my life. I love to write and I think that if you all can give an open mind to it at the least you can appreciate it for its realness and honesty.

WELL...here we go!

Http://lookwhosinyourfreezer.blogspot.com

W H Auden

William Blake

just two guys I like

@sn0rkel said:

So this is probably one of the more stupid things to post here as most of you probably won't lend an open ear or mind and will just flame me but whatever..maybe not.

Thanks?

I think you could use some work on your pitch, but this comes at a good time for me. I just started reading some Shel Silverstein to my daughter and realized that I actually missed poetry. Maybe this is the push I needed. Thanks.

I love poetry - here is one of my favorite poems

DAYS LIKE RAZORS, NIGHTS FULL OF RATS

"as a very young man I divided an equal amount of time between
the bars and the libraries; how I managed to provide for
my other ordinary needs is the puzzle; well, I simply didn’t
bother too much with that- if I had a book or a drink then I didn’t think too much of other things-fools create their own
paradise.

in the bars, I thought I was a tough, I broke things, fought other men, etc.

in the libraries it was another matter: I was quiet, went
from room to room, didn’t so much read entire books
as parts of them: medicine, geology, literature and
philosophy. psychology, math, history, other things, put me
off. with music I was more interested in the music and in the
lives of the composers than in the technical aspects …

however, it was with the philosophers that I felt a brotherhood:
Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, even old hard-to-read Kant;
I found Santayana, who was very popular at the time, to be
limp and a bore; Hegel you really had to dig for, especially
with a hangover; there are many I read who I have forgotten,
perhaps properly so, but I remember one fellow who wrote an
entire book in which he proved that the moon was not there
and he did it so well that afterwards you thought, he’s
absolutely right, the moon is not there.

how the hell is a young man going to deign to work an
8 hour day when the moon isn’t even there?
what else
might be missing?

and
I didn’t like literature so much as I did the literary
critics; they were real pricks, those guys; they used
fine language, beautiful in its way, to call other
critics, other writers, assholes. they
perked me up.

but it was the philosophers who satisfied
that need
that lurked somewhere within my confused skull: wading
through their excesses and their
clotted vocabulary
they still often
stunned
leaped out
with a flaming gambling statement that appeared to be
absolute truth or damned near
absolute truth,
and this certainty was what I was searching for in a daily
life that seemed more like a piece of
cardboard.

what great fellows those old dogs were, they got me past
days like razors and nights full of rats; and women
bargaining like auctioneers from hell.

my brothers, the philosophers, they spoke to me unlike
anybody on the streets or anywhere else; they
filled an immense void.
such good boys, ah, such good
boys!

yes, the libraries helped; in my other temple, the
bars, it was another matter, more simplistic, the
language and the way was
different…

library days, bar nights.
the nights were alike,
there’s some fellow sitting nearby, maybe not a
bad sort, but for me he doesn’t shine right,
there’s a gruesome deadness there-I think of my father,
of schoolteachers, of faces on coins and bills, of dreams
about murderers with dull eyes; well,
somehow this fellow and I get to exchanging glances,
a fury slowly begins to gather: we are enemies, cat and
dog, priest and atheist, fire and water; tension builds,
block piled upon block, waiting for the crash; our hands
fold and unfold, we drink, now, finally with a
purpose:

his face turns to me:
”sumpin’ ya don’t like, buddy?”

“yeah. you.”

“wanna do sumpin’ about it?”

“certainly.”

we finish our drinks, rise, move to the back of the
bar, out into the alley; we
turn, face each other

I say to him, “there’s nothing but space between us. you
care to close that
space?”

he rushes toward me and somehow it’s a part of the part of the part."

-charles bukowski

@JayDubya said:

@sn0rkel said:

So this is probably one of the more stupid things to post here as most of you probably won't lend an open ear or mind and will just flame me but whatever..maybe not.

Thanks?

I mean I'm just being honest. it's an Internet forum anytime you make yourself personally vulnerable you are usually gonna get flamed by somebody. Looks like I was wrong though. Love you all!

@JayDubya said:

JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Wow man this is cosmic - this may be the only poem my GF can recite ver batim. Her Uncle taught it to her as a child and now it comes out during drunken holiday moments. Not a holiday has gone by where I dont start laughing when i hear "Twas Brillig"

good stuff - I wrote 2 poems I was proud of 20 years ago. I'll show then to you earlier.

Land of Dreams- William Blake

Awake, awake my little Boy!
Thou wast thy Mother's only joy:
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake! thy Father does thee keep.

"O, what land is the Land of Dreams?
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O Father, I saw my Mother there,
Among the lillies by waters fair.

Among the lambs clothed in white
She walked with her Thomas in sweet delight.
I wept for joy, like a dove I mourn -
O when shall I return again?"

Dear child, I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams;
But though calm and warm the waters wide,
I could not get to the other side.

"Father, O Father, what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The Land of Dreams is better far
Above the light of the Morning Star."

@BernardShakey said:

America, Allen Ginsberg is a favorite of mine. This poem and Dylan's lyrics convinced me I should become a poet and write like that, too. I have a few poems floating around that I'm proud of, I write them all on my Royal typewriter. Maybe I'll rewrite them on a word processor, someday, but they feel so much more authentic on the type-written pages.

I just got a Royal from circa 1948 for Christmas. I love it. I found a bunch of old books from the 20s and took out their cover pages and what not and have been using them for paper. It's great.

Funny or not so Funny Ginsberg Story. Circa 1995
Ions ago I was working for Barnes & Noble - leading the Poetry Group - was really into the whole scene, etc.
Allen Ginsberg was doing a reading @ Georgian Court College
Maybe in a room with 100 people he read some of his poems, laughed, etc.
I remember, Ginsberg that night called Beck the greatest living American poet.

So...to my part. A few folks had books for him to sign. Waiting in line with my book and a collection of my poems, and a very nice Cuban Upman Cigar I stole from my dad's humidour. I get up to Allen - say "hello, love your work, I'd like you to read my work, and here is my address if you want to give me feedback." Blah Blagh Blah and I said.."Oh here is a Cuban Cigar for your pleasure - he said "I don't smoke, but I'll give it to Burroughs - thanks kid."

Shook his hand, never heard from him - both were dead in 2 years

@YorkvilleBeerLover said:

Funny or not so Funny Ginsberg Story. Circa 1995
Ions ago I was working for Barnes & Noble - leading the Poetry Group - was really into the whole scene, etc.
Allen Ginsberg was doing a reading @ Georgian Court College
Maybe in a room with 100 people he read some of his poems, laughed, etc.
I remember, Ginsberg that night called Beck the greatest living American poet.

So...to my part. A few folks had books for him to sign. Waiting in line with my book and a collection of my poems, and a very nice Cuban Upman Cigar I stole from my dad's humidour. I get up to Allen - say "hello, love your work, I'd like you to read my work, and here is my address if you want to give me feedback." Blah Blagh Blah and I said.."Oh here is a Cuban Cigar for your pleasure - he said "I don't smoke, but I'll give it to Burroughs - thanks kid."

Shook his hand, never heard from him - both were dead in 2 years

Clearly, you killed them.