Tuesday: I have written a poem about the last couple days... now I must write one about Tuesday! LOL I will get to that later tonight when I am bored and have nothing else to do! :-) Stay tuned for a Tuesday poem!

DAFFY DEALS

Or

My Love Ignores Me

(With due apologies to Willie Wordsworth)

I wondered madly as a clown
That turns cartwheels in crazy guise,
When all at once I saw a frown
On her forehead, above her eyes;
The more I try to primp and please,
The more we get like chalk and cheese.

Continuous as the tap that drips
Through sleepless night till rooster crows,
I keep trying to come to grips
With lyrical rhyme and candid prose;
Ten thousand words I bring to taste,
Yet my fervour goes to waste!

The others smile, but she, alas,
Looks uninterested, like Chappell Sir,
I fret, I worry, I beg and curse,
(I'll probably get peptic ulcer);
And there she sits like Buddha Jade,
Quite oblivious of my serenade.

Later, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood
It flashes on my inward eye
That my chances are completely screwed;
And my heart goes roun' and roun';
I'll end my days a lonely clown.

I really enjoyed The Usurper's short poems. And your's, rednaz23. This gives me the courage to post a short poem of my own which I wrote a few years back - I hope it doesn't offend anyone - I was only trying to express my tremendous liking for the poetry of Ogden Nash:

UPPERS & DOWNERS

Every time I have some booze,
The main-screw in my brain turns loose;
But when I have some pot or hashish
I feel distinctly Ogden Nashish.

oh, these Monday's are the same.
All I do is sit in rage!
Hope I see an awaiting game.
Time to click on the main page!

ΜīήďSрŷ: Thanks MindSpy! I didn't think I was the only one who liked that poem! Wow... it is really dead on BK on Sunday nights... Inspiration for a new poem!

On Sunday nights
our site gets bored
This really bites
a licorice cord?

I am real tired
Maybe time to sleep
I could get wired
or just scream BLEEP!

LOL. That was a quickly written poem... time to work on some more homework and look at my main page for a game to play!

If you think you're gonna lose
Choose booze & drink shots in twos

I once killed a snake
With a rake
By the lake
But did the snake have the rake?
Or did it just fake?

To jump
Over a stump
Without getting a bump
On your rump

Spring: nature wakes.
Trees again grow leaves.
Birds, migrating, return.
We fill leaves of a return!

DITTY ON D.T.

There was this guy, Samuel L Clemens,
Whom you may perhaps know as Mark Twain,
He suffered (I suppose) from delirium tremens,
For he gave up smoking time and time again.

When asked how he could do it so often,
He'd smile benignly, and cop a subtle feel,
His eyes would twinkle, his voice would soften,
He'd say, "Giving up ain't such a big deal!"

"When your throat burns, and your eyes hurt,
And your stomach feels disgustingly queasy,
And you heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart,
Then giving up becomes remarkably easy.”

“Of course, as the new day dawns
You feel refreshed, rejuvenated, without regret,
You stretch like a cat and stifle your yawns
And reach a lazy arm for another cigret.”

“You have to do it, you know, to start again,
So another chance to give up comes along.”
Thus spake Zarathustra … err … ummm … Mark Twain,
Or so I’m told, though I may have heard wrong.

**Post removed as it doesn't pertain to poetry and seems that would be more appropriate on a different board.

Haridaspal: Astute, concise, lucid. Which is why I smoke.

harley:

Rita Mary Schilke Korzan, author of 'When You Thought I wasn't Looking'

THE TIMES THEY’RE A CHANGED

Every time I venture out for a rock concert these days,
I find each band’s going through a fancy ‘hip-hop’ phase,
I get sorely disappointed by the numbers that they choose,
They seem to prefer soulful rap to good old rhythm and blues,
I get to hear some ‘MNM’ when I crave for Jethro Tull;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

Then, when I take the family out for a routine evening meal,
I look down at the menu card and it surely does reveal
No Tandoori, no Moghlai food, no Thai, nor English Raj,
It’s ‘fusion food’ that fill the card, from Flury’s to the Taj,
That simple, wholesome Chinese fare is all but void and null;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

Then, when we go out for a movie, we’re seldom in a hall,
Instead we find our forlorn selves in a glitzy shopping mall,
And after spending useless cash on designer corn flakes
We climb the escalator to a place called ‘multi-plex’,
Jostling for our places, like that storm before the lull;
Well, life’s like that these modern times, nary a moment dull!

Easter bunny
Hiding foil-wrapped eggs;
Giving kids a challenge.
Can rabbits really do that?

Nick,

I don’t tell you often enough
But you are special to me.
In my heart I hold you near
A friendship both have we.

A strong and guiding hand you give
encouraging strength and care.
Unbiased friendship for either
choice however I should fair.

You mean the world to me my friend,
to which you may not know.
And through your care and concern to me
My self was let to grow.

Cathryn Higgs
Feb. 14, 2006©

VANITY FARE

One day, without trying too hard
I wrote some verses on humanity;
I thought, oho! I’m now a bard!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One morning as I sat on the potty
I composed a ditty on insanity;
As a musician I could be a hottie!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One afternoon, in a seminar in Silchar
I held forth on fertilisers and organity!
I’m now a Guru of agriculture!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

One evening, while chatting with my wife,
I analysed the virtues of monogamity;
Oi, oi! I’m an expert on life!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

The other day I met some lady friends
And discussed Pierre Cardin’s urbanity;
I do indeed keep up with the trends!
..... It’s a strange thing, vanity.

On line with an Al Qaida fanatist
I thrashed out Kashmir’s Pakistanity;
So I’m a great political analyst!
..... It’s a rum thing, vanity.

rednaz23: that's the best poem i've read in a long time. it's fast and to the point. i like it. :0)

I wrote this (short) poem way back in 8th grade (9 years ago), and I just recently wrote it down and sent it in to be copywrited. I wanted to share it with people and see what they think. It is about running... and you will understand if you have ever watched the best marathoners in the world finish a race... Here goes!

I like to run
In the real hot sun
I think it's fun
cuz I almost won!

Through the trees
and by the rock
I lost my shoes
I lost one sock!

One more bend
I run so hard
Here comes the end
I just shot a tard!

(c) me... now you can figure out my name...

What do you think? Bad? I think it is funny! but sadly, still dumb... lol

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

My Lost Youth

Poem lyrics of My Lost Youth by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING
Written by a former child

A message every adult should read, because children
are watching you and doing as you do, not as you say.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my
first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately
wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a
stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind
to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my
favorite cake for me and I learned that the little
things can be the special things in life.

When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a
prayer, and I knew there is a God I could always talk
to and I learned to trust in God.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make a
meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I
learned that we all have to help take ! care of each other.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of
your time and money to help people who had nothing
and I learned that those who have something should
give to those who don't.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you take
care of our house and everyone in it and I learned
we have to take care of what we are given.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw how you
handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't
feel good and I learned that I would have to be
responsible when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come
from your eyes and I learned that sometimes things
hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you
cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I learned most of
life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and
productive person when I grow up.

When you ! thought I wasn't looking, I looked at you and
wanted to say, "Thanks for all the things I saw when
you thought I wasn't looking."



Each of us (parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, teacher
or friend) influence the life of a child.

How will you touch the life of someone today?
Just by sending this to someone else, you will
probably make them at least think about their
influence on others.


Author Unknown

ScarletRose: hello, how are you/ :0)

The unfortunate pain, the unfortunate sorrow. it takes control of my life, then it is gone . yet another day of sorrow, will sorrow some again tomorrow? now searching answers to questions in hope for a situation to go from dark to bright. to lie here with eyes closed still awake; to wonder how much more of this misery i will be able to take. so sad were the dreams i once had; dreams that kept me me alive when things went bad, -falling flat when trying to achieve those dreams. never would you become mad . Lord can you tell me why dreams can be so sad.

So tomorrow is another day,
pain and sorrow has went away, and this is how i sing myself to sleep? this is very sad ? what happened to the dreams that i had? my dreams went away/ will they come again another day? why is it i have to go away? unsatisfied minds want it that way. what is it you have say? whatever it is don't expect it to brighten another day.

and this is how i sing myself to sleep/

ΜīήďSрŷ: Welcome to Brainking.. everywhere I turn I am seeing you.. I figured I might as well say hello.. so.. Hello!

ΜīήďSрŷ: See, I told you. lol

ΜīήďSрŷ: (gulp)

The Usurper: it's okay, have backbone,
not lackbone. :0)

ΜīήďSрŷ: Thanks for compliment but you've opened me up now to attacks from all sides. lol The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of those must-reads I haven't read yet. Will make a note to get it soon.

The Usurper: the quote comes from the picture of dorian gray. you're still the smartest one on this page.

رضا: I'll ask Harley.

ΜīήďSрŷ: You got me. Now that proves I'm not a genius. LOL

رضا: i've know people that read farsi, and tried to explain to me, but couldn't.
didn't sound very good to my ears. but i'll get off this subject. i enjoy the music, and calligraphy, more than the poetry.

The Usurper: Just to make it easy for yourself, you can ask Harley to send the song to you. I've already sent it to her. The singer does 'READ' the poem for you! and you can look at the English trascription an dfollow it, that's if you like to, of course!

No Push.

ΜīήďSрŷ: Quite the reverse. I exactly know what I'm talking about. In Farsi we have poems, which have their own specifications, and we have very beautifully written words, that do rhyme, but are not called poems. I guess things are different in our cultures!

Yes, Farsi is beautiful only when you understand the original text. The translation almost never works. Farsi is indeed a poetic language. Because of its certain qualities - for example many sentences can be written in many forms, all meaning the same, or some sentences that look just like one another, but you read them differently and they thus mean differently, etc. - it can perfectly be used to make poems and other literal masterpieces.

The Usurper: don't know, just made it up. sorry. :0)

ΜīήďSрŷ: I'm no genius. lol Would like to know.

The Usurper: do you know who are the most beautiful people in the world are?
this was asked to a certain person in one of my fav. books. if you can name the book and the characters you're a genius.

All of my poetry rhymes & none of it is any good. lol

رضا: after re-reading the poem, i have to say, it was badly written, but it has a good point. was drinking gin last night :0) but! on regards to your saying beautifully written words, are not poetry; for the reason they don't rhyme; i don't think you know what you're talking about. sorry, take no offence. :0) farsi poetry from what i heard is the best of all languages. only when it's kept in true text. english doesn't translate it well, simply because we don't have the right words to describe what's going on. i'll admit that. some say poetry came from iraq, others persia, etc... they were the teachers, and inventors of our wonderful myths we have today! so, i'll agree of the great beauty of what you were writing of. :0)

رضا: Trying to follow the pronunciation is probably more than I can handle. lol I'm certain it's very beautiful & the poem is profound, speaking of a deep connection to the land...something so many of us have lost.

The Usurper: Ah, thank you. Pitty you cannot read the Strange Farsi poem written in my profile. Look at its 'looks' and see if you get anything interesting.

The words correspond to one another regarding the written form, and the pronounciation and meaning. A strong bound that cannot be cut so easily.

I have posted a long farsi poem n this board, look below and you'll see it. Try reading the pronounciation part, Yes I know it's very hard to read something from it's pronounciation!, and you'll get the beauty of it.

Harly has agreed to send people the song if they wish to hear it. So feel free to ask her about it.

ΜīήďSрŷ: I wouldn't agree, no. Maybe that's because the poems in farsi, my own language, are more than just beautifully written words. There are many features in each of them that are beyond my abilities to explain them. I have read many so-called poems in english, but none are even close to the Farsi poems I have read. I am almost certain poetry and literature can never be any more beautiful than what we have in Farsi.

But your words were quite nice. I don't mind if you call them a poem. I am accustomed to poems that differ from ours.

رضا: You are right, Reza, it's beautifully written. BTW...just checked out your profile & I really like it.

ΜīήďSрŷ: Well written. Thanks for sharing

ΜīήďSрŷ: Agreed.

رضا: any words that are beautifully written,
can be a poem. am i right?