OK - YES, it is TRUE.

Believe it or not ...

World Poetry Day is on March 21, and was declared by UNESCO (the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) in 1999. The purpose of the day is to promote the reading, writing, publishing and teaching of poetry throughout the world and, as the UNESCO session declaring the day says, to "give fresh recognition and impetus to national, regional and international poetry movements."

It doesn't matter whether you feel :mad: or :cool: feel free to post your own poem here today!

R

"poetry cuts quick and clean as a knife
now and again, you'll hear the scream"
- michael mayo

Little Bo Peep lost her sheep, because poetry put her to f**kin' sleep.

Is that good enough?

Pish posh, MIB- loosen up

Bah, Bah, black sheep, have you M I B?

No sir, No sir, he's too bland for me.

You look at me
With burning glance
Preparing for our lovers dance.
Kiss me like you mean it
Let me feel your heat
No matter how intense
I will never retreat.
Let the waves of passion,
Shake me to my soul
Let the ultimate satisfaction
Be our only goal.
Two different beings
Like fire and ice
Yet passion is our mutual vice.

EAC aka Eddiecat

[ March 20, 2006, 05:44 PM: Message edited by: eddiecat ]

There once was a boy from Nantucket...

oops!

[ March 21, 2006, 04:47 AM: Message edited by: eddiecat ]

Now that is what I call minimalist poetry.

R

Reminds me of one of my favorite Carole King tunes...you're the poetry man, and you make me feel alright! Happy Poetry Day! Poem on, y'all!

Well,I'd like to say I'm a man of few words but we know better.

...who when told by some IT guy about poetry said, Aw, f**k it!"

Minor correction. "Poetry Man" is by Phoebe Snow, not Carole King. Maybe you're thinking of King's song "Jazzman," which could also be appropriate for poetry day if the jazzman wrote lyrics.

~Adam

So nobody liked my poem! It took me a whole 10 minutes to write that! :mad:

I am me.

We met when he was young and I were younger,

He have helped through my hunger,

We have had laughs, tears and joys

But it is time to let go of this toy.

What I feel now...is nothing but depression

And you my dear bring this aggression.

You do what you want and I look away,

But I do what I want and you do nothing but say

You are a tramp a slut and a whore

I make more more money, so go out of the door

Now this would be sad if it would be true

But really it is...because it has happened more

You say I am a drunk...and I say I wonder why..

It is because I have let you be who you are...and I??

I have been nothing ever but me

I don't see why you can't seem to set me free.

I cry at night....wondering..WHAT IF

WHAT IF I let you be yourself...

Well, I have and what has become of me??

Someone who is not himself or free.

What do I say when he says I ruined his life?

But to think...my wrist and what if a knife.

Should I stay or should I go?

What is the answer...would someone let me know!

Does his happiness matter me?

I would say yes, does anyone agree?

Why does my life feel like this?

Was it that very...that very first kiss?

We are both are good financly...

But should I give that away for free?

Is all that matters is all I want?

Or should I consider he has hunt?

What I want to know about me...

Am I wasting time to be free?

Thank you for reading....RICK :confused:

Thanks, Adam. As I heard that song in my head for about the 18th time, I realized it wasn't Ms. King, indeed it was Ms. Snow. Both good songs, if I may add.

As this is a forum for sports fans, here's my website of running poems.

You've walked life's path for many a year.

You've conquered love and escaped fear.

To many of us you are so dear.

Now that you're 21 we shed a tear...

forget the crying and buy us some beer.

okay Gadsy,so how is 21 "many a year" You've just aged us all tremendously! wink

Not to sound nationalistic, but April is NATIONAL POETRY MONTH. So get ready, Outsporters, it'll be 30 days of poetizing. Here are four examples of beautiful poems by famous LGBT poets:

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) from Leaves of Grass

"Are you the new person, drawn to me?"

ARE you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with, take warning--I am surely far different from what you
suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?
Do you see no further than this façade--this smooth and tolerant
manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic
man?
Have you no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion?

...

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1976), from The Complete Poems 1927-1979

"One Art"

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

© Elizabeth Bishop

...

Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)

"My Heart"

I'm not going to cry all the time
nor shall I laugh all the time,
I don't prefer one "strain" to another.
I'd have the immediacy of a bad movie,
not just a sleeper, but also the big,
overproduced first-run kind. I want to be
at least as alive as the vulgar. And if
some aficionado of my mess says "That's
not like Frank!", all to the good! I
don't wear brown and grey suits all the time,
do I? No. I wear workshirts to the opera,
often. I want my feet to be bare,
I want my face to be shaven, and my heart--
you can't plan on the heart, but
the better part of it, my poetry, is open.

© Frank O'Hara

...

Timothy Liu (1965-)

"Hard Evidence"

A room walled-in by books where the hours withdraw.

At the foot of an unmade bed a bird of paradise.

Motel carpet melted where an iron had been.

His attention anchored to a late night glory hole.

Of janitorial carts no heaviness like theirs.

Desire seen cavorting with the yes inside the no.

A soul kiss swimming solo in an open wound.

The self as church where the whores now gather in.


© Timothy Liu

[ March 26, 2006, 09:56 AM: Message edited by: fantomas ]

I love Lunch Poems by Frank O'Hara.

The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there is devastation.
Birds make great sky-circles

of their freedom.
How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling,
they're given wings.

(Rumi)

Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town
-e.e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain


One of my absolute favorite pieces of writing ever.

dasher, I read and enjoyed your poems.

I LOVE LOVE LOVE Limericks. And since we've had plenty of touchy-feely poems, I'll give you 3 of my favortite limericks just to balance things out a bit. (Maybe not my top 3 but there are dozens I know that I couldn't possibly write in a public forum...lol)

An Argentine Gaucho named Bruno,
Said sex is one thing that I do know,
Women are fine,
and sheep are divine,
But llamas are numero uno!

In the Garden of Eden sat Adam,
Complacently stroking his 'madam',
And great was his mirth,
for on all of the earth,
There were only two balls and he had 'em!

There once was a girl named Ann Heiser,
Who said no man could surprise her,
So Pabst took a chance,
at the Schlitz in her pants,
And now she is sadder Budweiser!

I'm sorry...

[ March 27, 2006, 03:52 PM: Message edited by: Maddog ]

There once was a boy from Nantucket...

...who when told by some IT guy about poetry said, Aw, f**k it!"

... when I pick up a bro
I don't need the down low
on Whitman or Wordsworth, just suck it.

eek! wink

Sorry, couldn't resist, it was just served up so nicely by Joe and set up by MIB.

Bad dog
Maddog
You nasty boy
Even though your limericks
gave me much joy.
I've already got
A very dirty mind
It's preoccupied all of the time!
Smooches!