fandomsecrets | [ SECRET POST #2377 ]

[ SECRET POST #2377 ]

⌈ Secret Post #2377 ⌋

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Secrets Not Posted: [ 0 - broken links ], [ 0 - not!secrets ], [ 0 - not!fandom ], [ 1 - too big ], [ 0 - repeat ].
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I'm kind loving those threads,so lets have another.Share poems you like,poems you've written etc.I'll go first.

When the snake showed Eve the apple, he spoke
in a voice that resounded
like a silver bell among the leaves.
But it also happened that he whispered
something in her ear
in a low, very low voice,
something left unmentioned in scriptures.

Not even God could hear what exactly he whispered,
although he was listening too.
And Eve didn’t want to tell Adam either.

Since then, the woman has a mystery hidden in eyelids,
and moves her brow as if saying
that she knows something
that we don’t,
that nobody does,
not even God.

Eve-Lucian Blaga

Philip Larkin, An Arundel Tomb: http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/philip-larkin/an-arundel-tomb/

Arthur Rimbaud, The Sleeper in the Valley: http://www.mag4.net/Rimbaud/poesies/Sleeper.html

Victor Hugo, Tomorrow at Dawn: http://allpoetry.com/poem/8523615-Tomorrow__At_Dawn-by-Victor_Marie_Hugo

John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale: http://www.bartleby.com/126/40.html

Also William Wordsworth, The Idiot Boy and The Thorn.

Ehm I've written today a poem.

I don’t exist to please
to attract
to seduce
to heal broken little boys.

I exist to thrive
to learn
to grow
to make my own scars
and then heal them all
with self-love.

I’m not a mystery to deduce
to solve
to crack
to entertain bored men.

I curse at them
then laugh
then crack a joke
about the thoughts of X and Y:
I cannot have a purpose
before I have an use.

I do not pacify;
I am the beauty of Aphrodite
I am the snake of Stheno
I am the wrath of Eve
I'd rather bite the apple
and spit away the seeds.

Ooh, very nice.

The amount of significance this poem places on men- and defining the self in opposition to men specifically, as though they were the only ones that put pressures on women- struck me. The last stanza I understand is supposed to define the self in terms of women, but the self in opposition to men felt like it overpowered the ending a little and left me wondering- but what about all the other women, family, social groups who also expect us to be things who are not only male?

Was that intended? It's a little ironic if not...

Two poems by Li Po (Trans. JP Seaton) (Li Po is so rad) (Italics etc from original translation)

Question and Answer in the Mountains

Ask me how it is I've come to perch in these
blue-green hills,

and I'll smile with no answer; I'm happiest with
heart-and-mind just so, may be...

Peach blossoms float by here, gone into the
quite definite shadows.

There is another world, other than this one we
choose to live in.

Passing at Thorngate

Passing far beyond the Throngate Narrows,
we've come wandering out of Ch'u.
The mountains and the cultivated plains will both end now
as the Great River flows on through the wilderness.

The moon rises like a flying mirror,
and the clouds grow into towers out above the sea...
Yet it's the waters of home that will carry you on now...
and only my thoughts will ride on with you now,
a thousand li.

These are lovely!

I hadn't heard of Li Po before, thank you anon =)

(I wrote this some months ago, I don't usually dabble on poetry).

And so the girl jumps
Runs
She doesn't slow down
She drags her limp foot
Curses the slow passers-by
Curses the fast flying birds
She wishes
She wishes for impossible machines
And magical powders
Passage in a wink
The girl sells what she doesn't have
One, two, three bills for a taxi
Traffic drowns her
She climbs down, climbs up the metro
Count seconds in between stations
She curses the clock
She curses transportation
And she arrives late
Always late
The apology blossoming on her lips
The bowing down, down to the floor
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry
I'm sorry for being late
She doesn't say
"The outside world hurts me"
She doesn't say
"I can only move this way"
She runs
She curses
She arrives late with no exceptions
And she never confesses anybody
That this adrenaline
This authentic agony
The urban marathon
Is her breaking point with inertia
Her antidote against the hours
Quiet and dead
It's, finally, the only moment ever
In which every gripped nerve
Screams, sings, vibrates
"You live, live, live".

There once was a limerick named Steven
whose rhyme scheme was very uneven
it didn't make sense
it wasn't funny
and who'd call a limerick Steven anyway?
-Steven Herrick

A few weeks ago we had a poetry thread and someone posted a limerick that was formed from two haiku. Can someone post it again so I can save it?

There was a young man on whose cock
Most birds of the country might flock:
Twelve tits and a rail
Forty swallows, six quail
Nine warblers, seven storks and an auk.

*"a few light storks on his cock"

"Slug File" by Avis Harley

Home Address:
"Shady Lawn."

Working Hours:
Dusk 'til Dawn.

Hobbies/Sports:
Likes to Climb.

Special Skills:
making slime.

Occupation:
midnight thief

Favorite Food:
Salad leaf

Color Choice:
Veggie Green

Height and Weight:
long and lean

Next of Kin:
Mollusc clan

Appetite:
gargantuan.

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[ SECRET POST #2377 ]

Poetry thread

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Tic

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Inspired by a typo*

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