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comment by tacocat
tacocat  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·    ·  parent  ·  post: Pubski: September 20, 2017

Hidden within eight letters,

A history of pain, rejection and disappointment,

And an overt message of joy and appreciation,

And a tacit hope, a prospective optimism and an absolution of self,

Three sounds combined,

Deliver all of this in a commonly understood sentence,

Quietly, simply implying more,

Between two people,

Than any text can convey,

To any remote audience.

The perfect distillation,

A momentarily forgotten yesterday,

A beautiful now,

And the prospect that what was once poison,

Can also be panacea.

lil  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

thx tac

    I told you I don't like poetry.
I know. My argument for poetry is that it's a good place to hide feelings. They'll be safe there.

Unlike us, art of all sorts is patient. It will wait at the station as long as it takes.

tacocat  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

I don't like it as a rule but I like it as an exercise to express myself. I don't claim to understand it but I think I understand its constraints and I sometimes like working within them

I probably like it a lot. There's just so much bad poetry

lil  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

Of course there is.

There's so much bad everything.

And they teach you to hate poetry in high school.

Or love it. It depends on so much.

I wonder what poem mk is memorizing this week.

mk  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

It was supposed to be one per month, but I have Poe's Alone down pat, and started itching for the next.

mike and I had somewhat of a poetry slam in steve's minivan last weekend.

lil  ·  448 days ago  ·  link  ·  

Here's a poem by William Butler Yeats that's full of Celtic imagery. I memorized it long ago, and find it useful on hikes through the woods. It might be a little too lyrical for your tastes, but easy to memorize.

  I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

  When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

  Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.


but there are many...

steve  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

Minivans bring out the poet in all of us

tacocat  ·  450 days ago  ·  link  ·  

There's so much bad everything. There's so much to hate about the world.

Then Morgan Freeman comes and gives you advise..


I'm a douche bag