+1 if you like poetry.

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Messy Room by Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

by Shel Silverstein

This sounds alot like my room at the moment. ^_^

Not my room, but similar!! ^_^
Word of the day:


\ BIV-wak, BIV-uh-wak \  , noun;
An encampment for the night, usually under little or no shelter.


Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Life Is Fine by Langston Hughes

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.

I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.

But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!

I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.

I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.

But it was High up there! It was high!

So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born

Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.

Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!

by Langston Hughes

I have been here a few times.. The pain of a lost love is ever so consuming, almost consuming enough to be an-Hero. Like Langston Hughes said, life is fine, fine as fine wine, so why not just drink the day away until the pain fades. Become an epicureanist. EAT DRINK BE MERRY!!! Because Space will partially mend wounds eventually. We will all die eventually, so why let love kill us, even though love is more internally devastating then air strikes in Libya. Tho im not sure if Gaddafi feels the same way ^_^.

We - Die - For - Love
More Poetry by Langston Huges:
  1. The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes
  2. The Ways of White Folks: Stories
  3. The Mule-Bone: A Comedy of Negro Life in Three Acts
  4. Not Without Laughter (Thrift Edition)
  5. Poetry for Young People: Langston Hughes


Sunday, March 27, 2011

There is another sky by Emily Dickinson

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

by Emily Dickinson

I read this a few times, and every time i read this poem, the poem seems creepier and creepier. Come into my garden brother?!

Word of the day:


  ih-KWIV-uh-kayt  , intransitive verb;
To be deliberately ambiguous or unclear in order to mislead or to avoid committing oneself to anythingdefinite.


Thursday, March 24, 2011

Houdini by Kay Ryan

Each escape

involved some art,

some hokum, and

at least a brief


exchange between

the man and metal

during which the

chains were not

so much broken

as he and they

blended. At the

end of each such

mix he had to

extract himself. It

Was the hardest

part to get right

routinely: breaking

back into the

same Houdini.

by Kay Ryan

Harry Houdini Showing tits


Wednesday, March 23, 2011

If you forget me by Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

 by Pablo Neruda

moving on and a related article
I feel like the ideas presented in this poem are kind of sophomoric, as if true love has a choice. If you dont love me then i wont love you na-nah-naaa-naaa-na. I understand the feeling though, but i have only ever felt that feeling while in a mediocre time killing kind of relationship. This poem is a good read though, even if i dont agree with the subject portrayed.

  1. The Essential Neruda: Selected Poems (Bilingual Edition) (English and Spanish Edition)
  2. Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair: Dual-Language Edition (Penguin Classics) (Spanish and English Edition)
  3. Love Poems (New Directions Paperbook)
  4. The Poetry of Pablo Neruda
  5. Neruda and Vallejo: Selected Poems

Word of the day:


\ es-CHOO \  , transitive verb;

To shun; to avoid (as something wrong or distasteful).


Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Where the sidewalk ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

by Shel Silverstein

  1. Where the Sidewalk Ends 30th Anniversary Edition: Poems and Drawings 
  2. Falling Up 
  3. A Light in the Attic Special Edition 
  4. Runny Babbit: A Billy Sook 

i love this kind of sidewalk art. i think im going to learn how to do it


\ fyoo-GAY-shuhs \  , adjective;

Lasting but a short time; fleeting.


Monday, March 21, 2011

Barry Bonds Indicted by Tom J. Mariani

OJ and Barry what else can I say
Court TV has been waiting for this day
Their ratings in 2008 will soar
I can see the crowd hear the roar

Both just trying to get their 'stuff' back
And if you believe that 'Jack'
Do you think Bond's value won't drop
Even if his friends to a plea never cop

Giants picked a good time to let him go
He was no longer the national show
Put on hold the Hall of Fame
Indicted what a shame

by Tom J. Mariani

click the pic for his trial info


Friday, March 18, 2011

Spring! by Alex Fischer

Spring! How beautiful is the
Spring! How wonderful is the
Spring! How majestic is the
Spring! How fantastic is the
Spring! How tantalizing is the
Spring! How glorious is the
Spring! How melodious is the
Spring! How joyful is the
Spring! How breathtaking is the
Spring! How uplifting the
Spring! How happy is the
Spring! How magnificent is the
Spring! How colorful is the
Spring! How tasteful is the
Spring! How memorable was the
Spring! How flavorful is the
Spring! How aromic is the
Spring! How sweet is
Spring! How beautiful is the

Alex Fischer

Alex Fischer started writing in the 8th Grade with short stories on a comical character called Agent 009 Handgun. Mostly using these for stories that had to be written for class, he never once thought that writing would be something he was interested in. By the 10th Grade he entered the world of poetry, and realized how much he adored it. Now in the 12th grade, Alex continues to write poetry and short stories, and even is working on a book and a play. In his seemingly long two years of writing he has written well over 80 poems and over a dozen short stories. Even though he does not believe himself to be a very good poet, many of his friends and family say otherwise.

a flower that i recently planted ^_^

Poetry REVIEW:
well... SPRINNNNNNNNG. My favorite time of the year <3


Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Dirge by William Shakespeare

COME away, come away, death,
And in sad cypres let me be laid;
Fly away, fly away, breath;
I am slain by a fair cruel maid.
My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,
On my black coffin let there be strown;
Not a friend, not a friend greet
My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown:
A thousand thousand sighs to save,
Lay me, O, where
Sad true lover never find my grave
To weep there!

by William Shakespeare

ff7: DIRGE of Cerberus Wallpaper ^_^

More Shakespear Sonnets
Other Shakespear Poetry

    Word of the day:


    \ AP-uh-zit \  , adjective;

    Being of striking appropriateness and relevance; very applicable; apt.

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    Tuesday, March 15, 2011

    To earthquake victims by Nilotpal sarmah

    Captive I am to your unsettling plight
    as you are, of mother’s harshest of truths,
    world’s shocked eyes on these cruel sights,
    pain, even time, is detained to soothe.
    Mother’s uncharted heart, whose dark rhythm,
    caters to death’s dreaded but imminent dance,
    a break on the victimized mortal’s freedom,
    and silent turns life’s hope-tuned cadence.
    Submerged houses and burning industrial structures,
    preceding phase of which have sufficed with living
    to all you humble souls, unfairly now you suffer,
    and to the lost souls we are all grieving.
    Industrial spillage and ensuing alarm,
    a gruesome reminder of a war torn phase,
    may all hands join and keep you unharmed,
    with hopes that this war, may no life have to face.
    Mother’s rage the children has to confront,
    caring minds and helping hands are our power
    to their brother’s woes nations will step forth
    to cleanse it out of this storm-hit bower.

    i wonder if  they can see usa down there.


    \ BLAN-dish-muhnt \  , noun;
    Speech or action that flatters and tends to coax, entice, or persuade; allurement -- often used in the plural.

    BITCOIN Donations are welcome! 1BzSWA5mN7r2ZDn61VTvHzzUePqGrFEMmg

    Monday, March 14, 2011

    Ono no Komachi by Kokin Wakashu

    I recently found this Japanese poem and explanation from searching the inter-webs. Its beautiful, and a testimonial to the mind of the Japanese writer. #prayforjapan
    Though I go to you
    ceaselessly along dream paths,
    the sum of those trysts
    is less than a single glimpse
    granted in the waking world.
    The poem appeares as No. 658 in the Kokin Wakashu, an old anthology of poems from the 12th century. Komachi was a classic even at that time: she lived in the 9th century.


    yumeji ni wa
    ashi mo yasumezu
    utsutsu ni hitome
    mishigoto wa arazu
    A line-by-line translation:
    in [my] dreams / along dream paths
    without resting my legs
    [I] go often [to you]
    in the real world, a single glimpse
    is different.
    kayoedomo is from kayou "to commute", "to come and go". kayoe is the izenkei form; domo is a suffix like keredo, meaning "although...". hitome means "a glimpse". Usually it is written as 一目, but hito also means "a person", so hitome implies by this ambiguity that its a glimpse of a person, and a loved one. Anyway, this is a love poem...
    mishi is the rentaikei of miki, the past tense of miru, "to see". In modern Japanese, it would be mita.
    arazu means "there is no" (arimasen in modern Japanese), and "it is not, it is different" (de wa nai). 

    Actually, somewhere I read another translation of this poem, I cant recall it exactly, but something like this:
    "I go often to you in my dreams, but I never see you in the real world."
    In a way, this is a possible translation too, but then, where is the poesie? 

    BITCOIN Donations are welcome!



    Saturday, March 12, 2011

    Japan by Billy Collins

    Today I pass the time reading

    a favorite haiku,

    saying the few words over and over.

    It feels like eating

    the same small, perfect grape

    again and again.

    I walk through the house reciting it

    and leave its letters falling

    through the air of every room.

    I stand by the big silence of the piano and say it.

    I say it in front of a painting of the sea.

    I tap out its rhythm on an empty shelf.

    I listen to myself saying it,

    then I say it without listening,

    then I hear it without saying it.

    And when the dog looks up at me,

    I kneel down on the floor

    and whisper it into each of his long white ears.

    It's the one about the one-ton temple bell

    with the moth sleeping on its surface,

    and every time I say it, I feel the excruciating

    pressure of the moth

    on the surface of the iron bell.

    When I say it at the window,

    the bell is the world

    and I am the moth resting there.

    When I say it at the mirror,

    I am the heavy bell

    and the moth is life with its papery wings.

    And later, when I say it to you in the dark,

    you are the bell,

    and I am the tongue of the bell, ringing you,

    and the moth has flown

    from its line

    and moves like a hinge in the air above our bed.

    by Billy Collins

    Regards to the Japanese people effected by the tsunami and earthquake. I hope everything turns out amazing. Which i expect it will. The Japanese people are a resilient population. I hope good things come your way.

    BITCOIN Donations are welcome! 1BzSWA5mN7r2ZDn61VTvHzzUePqGrFEMmg

    Thursday, March 10, 2011

    The Little-Neck Clam by Henry Van Dyke

    A modern verse-sequence, showing how a native American subject, strictly realistic, may be treated in various manners adapted to the requirements of different magazines, thus combining Art-for-Art's-Sake with Writing-for-the-Market. Read at the First Dinner of the American Periodical Publishers' Association, in Washington, April, 1904.

    For _McClure's Magazine_
    The clam that once, on Jersey's banks,
    Was like the man who dug it, free,
    Now slave-like thro' the market clanks
    In chains of corporate tyranny.
    The Standard Fish-Trust of New York
    Holds every clam-bank in control;
    And like base Beef and menial Pork,
    The free-born Clam has lost its soul.
    No more the bivalve treads the sands
    In freedom's rapture, free from guilt:
    It follows now the harsh commands
    Of Morgiman and Rockabilt.
    Rise, freemen, rise! Your wrath is just!
    Call on the Sherman Act to dam
    The floods of this devouring Trust,
    And liberate the fettered Clam.

    For the _Bookman_
    Not Dante when he wandered by the river Arno,
    Not Burns who plowed the banks and braes of bonnie Ayr,
    Not even Shakspere on the shores of Avon,--ah, no!
    Not one of those great bards did taste true Poet's Fare.
    But Whitman, loafing in Long Island and New Jersey,
    Found there the sustenance of mighty ode and psalm,
    And while his rude emotions swam around in verse, he
    Fed chiefly on the wild, impassioned, sea-born clam.
    Thus in his work we feel the waves' bewildering motion,
    And winds from mighty mud-flats, weird and wild:
    His clam-filled bosom answered to the voice of ocean,
    And rose and fell responsively with every tide.

    For the _Century Magazine_
    "Clam O! Fres' Clam!" How strange it sounds and sweet,
    The Dago's cry along the New York street!
    "Dago" we call him, like the thoughtless crowd;
    And yet this humble man may well be proud
    To hail from Petrarch's land, Boccaccio's home,--
    Firenze, Gubbio, Venezia, Rome,--
    From fair Italia, whose enchanted soil
    Transforms the lowly cotton-seed to olive-oil.
    To me his chant, with alien accent sung,
    Brings back an echo of great Virgil's tongue:
    It seems to cry against the city's woe,
    In liquid Latin syllables,--_Clamo_!
    As thro' the crowded street his cart he jams
    And cries aloud, ah, think of more than clams!
    Receive his secret plaint with pity warm,
    And grant Italia's plea for Tenement-House Reform!

    For the _Smart Set_
    Fair Phyllis is another's bride:
    Therefore I like to sit beside
    Her at a very smart set dinner,
    And whisper love, and try to win her.
    The little-necks,--in number six,--
    That from their pearly shells she picks
    And swallows whole,--ah, is it selfish
    To wish my heart among those shell-fish?
    "But Phyllis is another's wife;
    And if she should absorb thy life
    'Twould leave thy bosom vacant."--Well,
    I'd keep at least the empty shell!

    For the _Outlook_
    Low dost thou lie amid the languid ooze,
    Because thy slothful spirit doth refuse
    The bliss of battle and the strain of strife.
    Rise, craven clam, and lead the strenuous life!

    BY Henry Van Dyke

    More by Henry Van Dyke
    1. The Story of Other Wise Man
    2. The Mansion
    3. Talk to the Snail
    4. The Poems of Henry Van Dyke


    \ AIR-sahts; UR-sats \  , adjective;
    Being a substitute or imitation, usually an inferior one.

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    Tuesday, March 8, 2011

    PERFECT WOMAN by William Wordsworth

    HE was a phantom of delight
    When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
    A lovely apparition, sent
    To be a moment's ornament;
    Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
    Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
    But all things else about her drawn
    From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
    A dancing shape, an image gay,
    To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
    I saw her upon nearer view,
    A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
    Her household motions light and free,
    And steps of virgin liberty;
    A countenance in which did meet
    Sweet records, promises as sweet;
    A creature not too bright or good
    For human nature's daily food;
    For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
    Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
    And now I see with eye serene
    The very pulse of the machine;
    A being breathing thoughtful breath,
    A traveller between life and death;
    The reason firm, the temperate will,
    Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
    A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light. 
    by William Wordsworth
    Poetry of the day Review:
    William wordsworth, aka, Bill Wordsmith. Is one of my favorite writers. This poem represents what its like for a man to be in love with a woman. I wonder if he recited this poem to the woman who inspired the poem.

    Word of the Day:


    \ PUHK-ish \  , adjective;

    Whimsical; mischievous; impish.

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    Saturday, March 5, 2011

    Partying, it's what lifes all about. by Beonca Hobson


    It's what life's all about.

    If you agree,

    Scream and shout.

    You know what I'm saying,

    It's what lifes all about.

    You got a job it's paying,

    It's 3 a.m. and your sneaking out.

    Money's going towards booze,

    It's what lifes all about.

    It's noon and your rolling over and hitting snooze,

    It's 3 a.m. again and your sneaking out.

    You never see daylight,

    The curtains in your room are black.

    Your stoned and taking flight,

    But for all you care you could live in a shack.

    It's what lifes all about,

    Spending money on booze.

    It's 3 a.m. again and your sneaking out,

    It's noon all over again and your rolling over and hitting snooze.

    Partying, it's what lifes all about.
    girls partying
    Poetry of the day review:
    i love partying... ive been partying for 3 days now. y? Y, not.

    The word of the day:


       kuhn-FYOOT  , transitive verb;
    To overwhelm by argument; to refute conclusively; to prove or show to be false.

    1. College and the Art of Partying
    2. The Fun & Exciting World Of Singles Travel, And How To Start Partying In The Worlds Hottest Destinations With Beautiful Singles!
    3. The Art of Partying

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    Friday, March 4, 2011

    Dont Quit by Unknown

    When things go wrong as they sometimes will,
    When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
    When funds are low and the debts are high,
    And you want to smile, but you have to sigh.
    When care is pressing you down a bit.
    Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.
    Life is queer with its twists and turns
    As every one of us sometimes learns.
    And many a failure turns about
    When he might have won had he stuck it out:
    Don't give up though the pace seems slow -
    You may succeed with another blow.
    Success is failure turned inside out -
    The silver tint of the clouds of doubt.
    And you never can tell how close you are.
    It may be near when it seems so far:
    So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit
    It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

    IM BI WINNING. hammering 7g ROCKS cause thats how i roll.
    Poetry of the day review:
    If you keep trying your never doing. Nike doesnt say. "just try it" nike says " JUST DO IT".  You too can have tiger blood like charlie sheen. =]



       GAS-truh-nohm  , noun;

    A connoisseur of good food and drink.

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    Thursday, March 3, 2011

    What are Bitcoins

    BITCOINS!!! best thing since GOLD trading: "WHAT IS A BITCOIN?!?! Bitcoin design that I favor!! WIKISAYS: Bitcoin is a digital currency created in 2009 by Satoshi Nakamoto. The nam..."

    A friend of mine at the link above recently told me about BITCOINS. BITCOINS are this wonderful new digital currency that is not owned by a centralized system. What is the benefits of this? Controlled inflation. Value always increasing. The currency is hard to make, And no corrupt entity owns it. This new currency is the future for online purchases that can remain completely anonymous.

    Ty satoshi you are a true hero =]

    Donations are welcome!