I need some really good poetry
anavic_quaas
But not from known artists. I need some poems email them to me
sleepless
anavic_quaas <anavic...@email.msn.com> wrote in article
<ezN#FOUI#GA.113@upnetnews03>...
> For a project at school i am doing a book of poetry from all over the
world.
> But not from known artists. I need some poems email them to me
>
>
>
Whorehouse
I went down to the whorehouse,
but that night no whores were there--
just young girls with make-up on
who brushed each other's hair
and talked about the TV shows
they watched most of the time.
I gave one money, we had sex,
but she was not... oh nevermind.
I went to be a soldier, and I learned
to shoot a gun. We screamed a lot
and cursed and acted like to kill
was fun. I went to kill the the enemy,
but he wasn't there that day, so
I shot a young man like myself
as he turned to run away.
I went out to the forest where
I tried to talk to God, but
only heard the echo of my voice.
How very odd.
*****************************************
The Puzzle
Every day I take this puzzle from a box
of darkness which will soon hold it forever.
Once it was a struggle, but long practice
made me quite adept at putting it together.
Lately there have been some pieces missing,
but what is left I simply rearrange
into a smaller and less interesting picture
and no one knows or cares that it has changed.
*******************************
Poorer by Half
Half the world they say is poor
meaning that they do not live as
we do, even grow food out of doors
instead of buying it in air-conditioned stores.
Even down your metaphoric street
there may be -- how on earth do they survive?--
a family who has never owned a car.
They walk to places other people drive
and though the concrete covering the earth
makes it impossible to plant their seeds
they nonetheless stretch out the space from birth
to death by finding other ways to fill their needs
if not desires. I suppose they have those, too,
but wood won't satisfy a fire.
******************************
Downtown 9AM
Downtown 9 A.M. He looked like me.
At least, we both wore blue
suits and were about the same
color, age, and sex. I was late
I think and likely he was, too.
So similar we were except I
hurried past the place they leaned
him up against a wall. sitting.
Eyes still open. Mouth, too.
Fly on his face.
Marislpz
Skimming through the posts,
a glimmer caught my eye.
Sifting verbs, adjectives
and nouns,
the brilliant jewel exposed,
it was not so much the words
but the heart of gold
that wrote them.
Versevice
I found your poem, "Whorehouse," to be clever and fairly well-written. It is
clear and funny. It starts with a nine-line stanza with strong rhythm and some
rhyme. Since the narrator admits to paying money to young girls for sex, there
is an element which is, at once, humorous and disturbing. I like how you keep
the slant rhyme the end: >they watched most of the time," meets up with
>nevermind.
The second stanza continues the "joke" about word choices--semantics, right? --
Boy, this is a male poem... Anyway, I like the ending. The forest is a fine
place to hear one's own voice in the voice of god.
I am puzzled about why you haven't just "gone for it" with the rhyme. It is
possible to read your piece aloud as if the rhyming words all fell on the ends
of lines. They don't, though. I could see breaking the lines at a
particularly strong word. Articles and conjunctions aren't very strong. It
kind of pulls the readeralong to stop the lines where you do, but I don't think
that you need todo that. The poem is interesting enough to keep folks reading,
anyway.> I almost forgot to quote the piece.
Whorehouse
>
>
>I went down to the whorehouse,
>but that night no whores were there--
>just young girls with make-up on
>who brushed each other's hair
>and talked about the TV shows
>they watched most of the time.
>I gave one money, we had sex,
>but she was not... oh nevermind.
>
>I went to be a soldier, and I learned
>to shoot a gun. We screamed a lot
>and cursed and acted like to kill
>was fun. I went to kill the the enemy,
>but he wasn't there that day, so
>I shot a young man like myself
>as he turned to run away.
>
>
>I went out to the forest where
>I tried to talk to God, but
>only heard the echo of my voice.
>How very odd.
I hope that these comments are useful to you. Keep writing.
Diana
flyin...@verizon.net
> For a project at school i am doing a book of poetry from all over the world.
> But not from known artists. I need some poems email them to me
boone