Y'know how most poetry sucks?

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Jorick

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Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.
This is an exception. Watch it.



Feel free to share other examples of not-shitty poetry if you want. Depression-inducing subject matter optional.
 
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Childish Grumpino

"...before turning the gun on himself."
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Most poetry sucks cos all the best poets went into Hip Hop.









Just realised I forgot to include any Busdriver on that list. SHAMEFRU DISPRAY.


 
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Jorick

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Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.

Icystorm

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This is my favorite stanza from any poem, and the poem itself was inspiration for one of the greatest series of all time.

There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met
To view the last of me, a living frame
For one more picture! In a sheet of flame
I saw them and I knew them all. And yet
Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set,
And blew. ’Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.’
 

Jorick

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Fantasy is my #1; I will give almost anything a chance if it has strong fantasy elements. Post apocalyptic, superhero, alternate history, science fantasy, some supernatural, romance, and a few fandoms (especially Game of Thrones) are also likely to catch my eye.
Unless those epic poems are from a guy called Milton. None of that.
Psh, nah, Milton is fine, get out of here you uncultured swine.
 
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Soulless

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Psh, nah, Milton is fine, get out of here you uncultured swine.
Never could stand any of his poetry, especially the epic. I had to take a class exclusively dedicated to him, but his style was just... eh. The disdain for Eve near the end was pretty shoddy. Even the angels dissed her.
 

Dervish

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Can we all agree that slam poetry is still lame as shit?
 
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unanun

Child is born with a heart of gold
So I "know" how to read classic poems. But how am I supposed to pause my speech
when a poem does things like this,
instead of using a comma the writer just
cuts off their sentence. What do I do?
 

Minerva

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Hwæt we Gardena in Geardagum
Peodcyniga pream gefrunon
Hu ta æpelingas Ellen fremedon
Oft Scyld Scyfing scaepena preatum
 

foodforpigs

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never have I heard a poem that is so life-complete.



HEAR the sledges with the bells, Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! 5 While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, 10
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding bells, 15 Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, 20 And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, 25
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels 30 To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 35 Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! 40 Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, 45 Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor Now—now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. 50 Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of Despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour 55
On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear it fully knows, By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; 60 Yet the ear distinctly tells, In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells,—
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, 65 Of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells, 70 Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! 75 For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people—ah, the people, They that dwell up in the steeple, 80 All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone— 85
They are neither man nor woman,
They are neither brute nor human, They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 90 Rolls A pæan from the bells; And his merry bosom swells With the pæan of the bells, And he dances, and he yells: 95
Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the pæan of the bells, Of the bells: Keeping time, time, time, 100
In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the throbbing of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells— To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, 105 As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Runic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells, Of the bells, bells, bells: To the tolling of the bells, 110
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells—
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.
 
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