Random Poetry Thread.
 

One from the master, Han Shan. :)


The path to Han-shan's place is laughable,

A path, but no sign of cart or horse.

Converging gorges - hard to trace their twists

Jumbled cliffs - unbelievably rugged.

A thousand grasses bend with dew,

A hill of pines hums in the wind.

And now I've lost the shortcut home,

Body asking shadow, how do you keep up?

There once was a man from Nantucket...

My thought exactly.

In the days of old
when knights were bold
and toilets weren't invented
You dropped your load
by the side of the road
and went along
contented

If y'all are gonna get all mushy on here, I'm gonna have to reconsider my membership. Poetry? Really?

:D

Just kidding... carry on, you bunch of sensitive guys.

I wanted to see if I could be the first to post the "Nantucket" poem but the opportunity didn't last past the second post.
Here is my contribution.
Here I sit broken hearted
Came to s it but only farted.

Yes, poetry is not my strong suit. My wife can quote some Shakespeare for minutes on end.

I am the man from Nantucket.

We spend the season very happy
Though we don’t have much food and clothes
What is important is we have no problem that could cause pain to us
And we are all together, safe.

Tinkle, Tinkle little car
How I wonder what you are.

Leaking oil every day
Having it your own way.

Going up hills real slow
I don't want you any mo'.

Attack of the Crab Monsters

Even from the beach I could sense it---
lack of welcome, lack of abiding life,
like something in the air, a certain
lack of sound. Yesterday
there was a mountain out there.
Now it's gone. And look

at this radio, each tube neatly
sliced in half. Blow the place up!
That was my advice.
But after the storm and the earthquake,
after the tactic of the exploding plane
and the strategy of the sinking boat, it looked

like fate and I wanted to say, "Don't you see?
So what if you're a famous biochemist!
Lost with all hands is an old story."
Sure, we're on the edge
of an important breakthrough, everyone
hearing voices, everyone falling

into caves, and you're out
wandering through the jungle
in the middle of the night in your negligée.
Yes, we're way out there
on the edge of science, while the rest
of the island continues to disappear until

nothing's left except this
cliff in the middle of the ocean,
and you, in your bathing suit,
crouched behind the scuba tanks.
I'd like to tell you
not to be afraid, but I've lost

my voice. I'm not used to all these
legs, these claws, these feelers.
It's the old story, predictable
as fallout---the re-arrangement of molecules.
And everyone is surprised
and no one understands

why each man tries to kill
the thing he loves, when the change
comes over him. So now you know
what I never found the time to say.
Sweetheart, put down your flamethrower.
You know I always loved you.

-Lawrence Rabb

Nice, Shaun.
Real nice. :)

Think pink.

I feel horrible.
She doesn't love me and I wander around
like a sewing machine
that's just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.

-Richard Brautigan

Richard Brautigan, the Trout Fisherman. You are cultured man, my man.

Nevermore.

Thank you.:)

The Beowulf poem is a favorite of mine, but too long to post here. I also like the many poems told by the skalds of Norway and Iceland in the Heimskringla (Chronicle of the Kings of Norway). Lots of blood and guts and making fun of their enemies. :D

I still remember the Kool-Aid wino chapter.
Jim

Many years ago, I read Trout Fishing in America and The Hawkline Monster: A Gothic Western. Brautigan was quite an interesting author.

Post away, Jim. :)