A Poem a Day Keeps the Writer's Block Away

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lady Sabine, May 26, 2014.

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  1. Hello, Iwaku. ^^ I can't help but notice a sad lack of poetry being shared and discussed on the general chat at the moment, and I think it's a shame. So, without further ado, let's share some of our favorite poems and how they inspire us to write. :D My personal favorite is The Mower's Song by Andrew Marvell. For some reason, it always makes me feel like writing... something beautiful and dark and strangely un-romantic.

    My mind was once the true survey
    Of all these meadows fresh and gay,
    And in the greenness of the grass
    Did see its hopes as in a glass;
    When Juliana came, and she
    What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    But these, while I with sorrow pine,
    Grew more luxuriant still and fine,
    That not one blade of grass you spy’d
    But had a flower on either side;
    When Juliana came, and she
    What I do to the grass, does to me thoughts and me.

    Unthankful meadows, could you so
    A fellowship so true forgo?
    And in your gaudy May-games meet
    While I lay trodden under feet?
    When Juliana came, and she
    What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    But what you in compassion ought,
    Shall now by my revenge be wrought;
    And flow’rs, and grass, and I and all,
    Will in one common ruin fall.
    For Juliana comes, and she
    What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.

    And thus, ye meadows, which have been
    Companions of my thoughts more green,
    Shall now the heraldry become
    With which I shall adorn my tomb;
    For Juliana comes, and she
    What I do to the grass, does to my thoughts and me.
  2. One fine day in the middle of the night,
    Two dead boys got up to fight,
    Back to back they faced each other,
    Drew their swords and shot each other,

    One was blind and the other couldn't, see
    So they chose a dummy for a referee.
    A blind man went to see fair play,
    A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"

    A paralyzed donkey passing by,
    Kicked the blind man in the eye,
    Knocked him through a nine inch wall,
    Into a dry ditch and drowned them all,

    A deaf policeman heard the noise,
    And came to arrest the two dead boys,
    If you don't believe this story’s true,
    Ask the blind man he saw it too!

    This upbeat poem full of paradoxes really gets me in the mood to write. Can't put my finger on why, but it's definitely on the top list of poetry in general and writing inspiration.
  3. Nighttime winds lament
    The child sleeps
  4. The Mower's Song was in my AP test. What a fun coincidence.

    A Noiseless Patient Spider
    By Walt Whitman

    A noiseless patient spider,
    I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
    Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
    It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
    Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

    And you O my soul where you stand,
    Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
    Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
    Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
    Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
    • Love Love x 1
  5. Class of 2014 (I presume) FTW! I was so fucking happy to see that poem appear. I know I aced that section, at least. XD First time I've ever recognized anything (aside from the ubiquitous stuff) on an AP test.
  6. Yes, indeed. I can't say I was so fortunate, but at least it is a fairly straightforward poem, once you actually get it.
  7. Remember guys, the AP-certified corporate assassins are waiting to eliminate anyone who discusses test material.
  8. Oh no, not the corporate assassins!
  9. Remember, all test booklets must be bound and shut to be burned at a later date, or stored in the archives, never to be seen again....

    I could really write a whole corporate dystopia from the viewpoint of the AP foundation.
  10. Please do.
  11. Getting back on topic...


      • There be none of Beauty's daughters
        With a magic like Thee;
        And like music on the waters
        Is thy sweet voice to me:
        When, as if its sound were causing
        The charméd ocean's pausing,
        The waves lie still and gleaming,
        And the lull'd winds seem dreaming:
        And the midnight moon is weaving
        Her bright chain o'er the deep,
        Whose breast is gently heaving
        As an infant's asleep:
        So the spirit bows before thee
        To listen and adore thee;
        With a full but soft emotion,
        Like the swell of Summer's ocean.
    • Love Love x 2
  12. Lord Byron, granting the world the cynical asshole Byronic hero.
  13. Lord Byron: so much of a man-ho, he couldn't be buried in the church graveyard next to the other poets.

    I can do this all day. My thesis paper this year was on him. XD
  14. Oh, I know. Need I point to my title?
  15. The Hollow Men

    Mistah Kurtz-he dead
    A penny for the Old Guy


    We are the hollow men
    We are the stuffed men
    Leaning together
    Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
    Our dried voices, when
    We whisper together
    Are quiet and meaningless
    As wind in dry grass
    Or rats' feet over broken glass
    In our dry cellar

    Shape without form, shade without colour,
    Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

    Those who have crossed
    With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
    Remember us-if at all-not as lost
    Violent souls, but only
    As the hollow men
    The stuffed men.


    Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
    In death's dream kingdom
    These do not appear:
    There, the eyes are
    Sunlight on a broken column
    There, is a tree swinging
    And voices are
    In the wind's singing
    More distant and more solemn
    Than a fading star.

    Let me be no nearer
    In death's dream kingdom
    Let me also wear
    Such deliberate disguises
    Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
    In a field
    Behaving as the wind behaves
    No nearer-

    Not that final meeting
    In the twilight kingdom


    This is the dead land
    This is cactus land
    Here the stone images
    Are raised, here they receive
    The supplication of a dead man's hand
    Under the twinkle of a fading star.

    Is it like this
    In death's other kingdom
    Waking alone
    At the hour when we are
    Trembling with tenderness
    Lips that would kiss
    Form prayers to broken stone.


    The eyes are not here
    There are no eyes here
    In this valley of dying stars
    In this hollow valley
    This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

    In this last of meeting places
    We grope together
    And avoid speech
    Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

    Sightless, unless
    The eyes reappear
    As the perpetual star
    Multifoliate rose
    Of death's twilight kingdom
    The hope only
    Of empty men.


    Here we go round the prickly pear
    Prickly pear prickly pear
    Here we go round the prickly pear
    At five o'clock in the morning.

    Between the idea
    And the reality
    Between the motion
    And the act
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    Between the conception
    And the creation
    Between the emotion
    And the response
    Falls the Shadow
    Life is very long

    Between the desire
    And the spasm
    Between the potency
    And the existence
    Between the essence
    And the descent
    Falls the Shadow
    For Thine is the Kingdom

    For Thine is
    Life is
    For Thine is the

    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    This is the way the world ends
    Not with a bang but a whimper.
    • Love Love x 2
    • Like Like x 1
  16. The Jabberwocky by Lewis Carol

    '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 a while 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 hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
    Oh 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.
    • Love Love x 1
  17. The Jaberwocky is one of my favorites.
    The movie is also hilarious, though not at all the same.
    • Thank Thank x 1
  18. My great grandmother read to me when I was little and it was from this rather strange book of poems and it was a collection of strange and horrific poetry. I'll be sure to share a poem everyday. :)
  19. A poem thread is not complete without Shel Silverstein. In this case, The Boa Constrictor Song.

    I'm being swallered by a Boa Constrictor
    a Boa Constrictor, a Boa Constrictor
    I'm being swallered by a Boa Constrictor
    and I don't - like snakes - one bit!
    Oh no, he swallered my toe.
    Oh gee, he swallered my knee.
    Oh fiddle, he swallered my middle.
    Oh what a pest, he swallered my chest.
    Oh heck, he swallered my neck.
    Oh, dread, he swallered my - (BURP)
  20. "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd"by Sir Walter Raleigh

    {td}If all the world and love were young,
    And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
    These pretty pleasures might me move
    To live with thee and be thy love.
    Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
    When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
    And Philomel becometh dumb;
    The rest complains of cares to come.
    The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
    To wayward winter reckoning yields:
    A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
    Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.
    The gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
    Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
    Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, --
    In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
    Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
    Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
    All these in me no means can move
    To come to thee and be thy love.
    But could youth last and love still breed,
    Had joys no date nor age no need,
    Then these delights my mind might move
    To live with thee and be thy love.

    ((In the TOP 5 of Fijo's favorite poems)){/td}
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