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Poetry Slam: Share your most inspiring and moving piece here
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sat, Dec 26 2009, 5:26 pm
Here I go, to annoint this slam with my contribution: This one brought tears to my eyes:
-------------------------------------------------------
A Little Tooth by Thomas Lux (b. 1966)

Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. Its all,

over: she'll learn some words, she'll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,

your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.
---------------------------------------------------

Ah, the beauty inherent in the sheer helplessness of it all. We can only do what we can, and so much is out of our control....
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pobody's nerfect




 
 
    
 

Post Sat, Dec 26 2009, 6:23 pm
AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS
by Portia Nelson

Chapter I
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes me forever to find a way out.

Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in
the same place but, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit.
My eyes are open. I know where I am. It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V
I walk down another street.
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marina




 
 
    
 

Post Sat, Dec 26 2009, 7:11 pm
Colors- Shel Silverstein

My skin is kind of sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white.
My eyes are greyish blueish green,
But I'm told they look orange in the night.
My hair is reddish blondish brown,
But it's silver when it's wet.
And all the colors I am inside
Have not been invented yet.
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 11:17 am
Jelaluddin Rumi:

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
There is a field,
I"ll meet you there.
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PinkFridge




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 2:19 pm
Since this is supposed to be serious, I won't suggest any contributions from the late lamented Gavin Gunhold.
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 2:25 pm
PinkFridge wrote:
Since this is supposed to be serious, I won't suggest any contributions from the late lamented Gavin Gunhold.

Pinkfridge you got me curious, so I googled him and found this little gem here:
Group Therapy
by Gavin Gunhold

When my psychiatrist went insane,
Only six of my multiple personalities
Were cured.
The rest of us want our money back.

serious enough for me, LOL
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mimivan




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 2:45 pm
Every morning I forget how it is.
I watch the smoke rise in great strides above the city
I belong to no one.
Then I remember my shoes.
How I have to put them on.
How, bending to tie them up
I will look into the Earth.
-Charles Simic
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 3:45 pm
thants beautiful mimivan, what is your commentary on that please?
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greenfire




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 3:55 pm
I Am by John Clare

Iam: yet what I am none cares or knows
My friends forsake me like a memory lost,
I am the self-consumer of my woes
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shadows in love's frenzied stifled throes
And yet I am, and live - like vapors tossed

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life or joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
Even the dearest, that I love the best,
And strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod,
A place where woman never smiled or wept -
There to abide with my creator - G-D,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie,
The grass below - above the vaulted sky.
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 4:00 pm
Thank you so much greenfire, I am moved.
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mimivan




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 4:06 pm
cookiemilk wrote:
thants beautiful mimivan, what is your commentary on that please?


Quote:
Every morning I forget how it is.
I watch the smoke rise in great strides above the city
I belong to no one.
Then I remember my shoes.
How I have to put them on.
How, bending to tie them up
I will look into the Earth.
-Charles Simic


okay...the short answer to that...
I instinctively loved this poem...many years ago..without knowing why.
Well, after becoming frum and learning chassidus, this poem seem to demonstrate the two spiritual states which depend on each other.
the feeling with the narrator wakes up in the morning and sees the smoke rising and he belongs to no one...that is ratzo, the soul rising and rising to greater heights and forgetting the physical world and commitments and responsibilities...just the desire to leave it all and be immersed in G-dly light.
(this is one explanation for the death of Aaron's sons. They were so holy, they rose to great heights spiritually but didn't want to return, and their souls left their bodies)..
but that isn't really what G-d wants from us. Our souls need to rise and then return to the world. This is Shov. Then the narrator says "then I remember my shoes." He has worldly responsibilities to take care of.

So the soul comes back to earth and focuses on what needs to be done. But this descent isn't into the shallowness of everyday life, but the soul, because of its previous ascent, sees the world, even in mundane activities on a deeper level. "how bending to tie them up, I will look into the Earth" The soul then has the ability to perceive the true essence of things.

I had no idea why I liked this poem years ago, but now I see it as a mushal for learning Torah, especially chassidus, and living in this world. We learn and our neshamas rise to great heights. But G-d really wants us to live our physical existence...but because of the Torah we learn, we can transform the mundane and see what is hidden in the material world.
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PinkFridge




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 5:24 pm
My apologies for injecting a sweet thread with leitzanus. Gavin Gunhold is a name Gordon Korman's used in a few of his books, but he figures significantly in "A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag," about a pair of kids who have to do a poetry assignment. They find this poem (the one quoted) and get authorized to do the bio of the poet, only to find that this was the only poem he wrote. So they make up the official Gavin Gunhold ouvre. I won't ruin it for anyone who wants to read vintage (YA from his early years) Korman.

I'm not keen on poetry, though I appreciate the craftsmanship, and I appreciate that people can appreciate it. So I'll bli neder lurk till I come up with one of my own.
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sequoia




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 5:33 pm
Quickness

False life ! a foil and no more, when
Wilt thou be gone ?
Thou foul deception of all men,
That would not have the true come on !

Thou art a moon-like toil ; a blind
Self-posing state ;
A dark contest of waves and wind ;
A mere tempestuous debate.

Life is a fix'd, discerning light,
A knowing joy ;
No chance, or fit : but ever bright,
And calm, and full, yet doth not cloy.

'Tis such a blissful thing, that still
Doth vivify,
And shine and smile, and hath the skill
To please without eternity.

Thou art a toilsome mole, or less,
A moving mist.
But life is, what none can express,
A quickness, which my G-d hath kiss'd.

-- Henry Vaughan
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 5:59 pm
wow! sequoia that was heavenly. and thank you mimivan.
I dont know who wrote this next ditty but it seems so relevant to imamother:
A Prayer:
Some people say prayers, others pray
Some talk and others have something to say
Some take, others receive
Some grasp, others give.
Lord, let me more than exist;
Let me live!
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Ima'la




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 6:19 pm
PinkFridge wrote:
My apologies for injecting a sweet thread with leitzanus. Gavin Gunhold is a name Gordon Korman's used in a few of his books, but he figures significantly in "A Semester in the Life of a Garbage Bag," about a pair of kids who have to do a poetry assignment. They find this poem (the one quoted) and get authorized to do the bio of the poet, only to find that this was the only poem he wrote. So they make up the official Gavin Gunhold ouvre. I won't ruin it for anyone who wants to read vintage (YA from his early years) Korman.

I'm not keen on poetry, though I appreciate the craftsmanship, and I appreciate that people can appreciate it. So I'll bli neder lurk till I come up with one of my own.

I am laughing! I can't believe it! The name "Gavin Gunhold" did not ring a bell at all, but when I read his poem, I decided that I had to post the poem it reminded me of:
Due to the tragically short life span of the average fruit fly
College is not really an option.
Caps and gowns don't come in that size anyway.

And:

What the gasoline companies don't want you to know
Is that your car could run on consomme
If you could figure out a way to get the parsley out of the carburetor.

So I had to laugh when I realized that it reminded me of the other poems because they were all written by the same person!

Sorry to add to the leitzanus; my appreciation for poetry is much like PinkFridge's. But it's pretty impressive that I can quote those poems by heart (though I'm sure the wording's slightly off) - I read the book close to 20 years ago!
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greenfire




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 6:24 pm
cookiemilk wrote:
Thank you so much greenfire, I am moved.


no problemo Mr. Green
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shanie5




 
 
    
 

Post Sun, Dec 27 2009, 6:35 pm
Not overly serious, but I've always loved the message


The Enchanted Shirt
By John Hay
10/8/1838-7/1/1905


The King was sick. His cheek was red
And his eye was clear and bright;
He ate and drank with a kingly zest,
And peacefully snored at night.

But he said he was sick, and a king should know,
And doctors came by the score.
They did not cure him. He cut off their heads
And sent to the schools for more.

At last two famous doctors came,
And one was as poor as a rat,
He had passed his life in studious toil,
And never found time to grow fat.

The other had never looked in a book;
His patients gave him no trouble,
If they recovered they paid him well,
If they died their heirs paid double.

Together they looked at the royal tongue,
As the King on his couch reclined;
In succession they thumped his august chest,
But no trace of disease could find.

The old sage said, "You're as sound as a nut."
"Hang him up," roared the King in a gale,
In a ten-knot gale of royal rage;
The other leech grew a shade pale;

But he pensively rubbed his sagacious nose,
And thus his prescription ran,
The King will be well, if he sleeps one night
In the Shirt of a Happy Man.


Wide o'er the realm the couriers rode,
And fast their horses ran,
And many they saw, and to many they spoke,
But they found no Happy Man.

They found poor men who would fain be rich,
And rich who thought they were poor;
And men who twisted their waists in stays,
And women that shorthose wore.

They saw two men by the roadside sit,
And both bemoaned their lot;
For one had buried his wife, he said,
And the other one had not.

At last as they came to a village gate,
A beggar lay whistling there;
He whistled and sang and laughed and rolled
On the grass in the soft June air.

The weary couriers paused and looked
At the scamp so blithe and gay;
And one of them said, "Heaven save you, friend!
You seem to be happy to-day."

"Oh, yes, fair sirs," the rascal laughed,
And his voice rang free and glad,
"An idle man has so much to do
That he never has time to be sad."

"This is our man," the courier said;
"Our luck has led us aright.
I will give you a hundred ducats, friend,
For the loan of your shirt to-night."

The merry blackguard lay back on the grass,
And laughed till his face was black;
"I would do it, God wot," and he roared with the fun,
"But I haven't a shirt to my back."


Each day to the King the reports came in
Of his unsuccessful spies,
And the sad panorama of human woes
Passed daily under his eyes.

And he grew ashamed of his useless life,
And his maladies hatched in gloom;
He opened his windows and let the air
Of the free heaven into his room.

And out he went in the world and toiled
In his own appointed way;
And the people blessed him, the land was glad,
And the King was well and gay.
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PinkFridge




 
 
    
 

Post Mon, Dec 28 2009, 7:49 am
shanie5 wrote:
Not overly serious, but I've always loved the message


The Enchanted Shirt
By John Hay
10/8/1838-7/1/1905
.


This sounds like it fits the thread. It's a matter of what moves you or inspires.
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cookiemilk




 
 
    
 

Post Mon, Dec 28 2009, 7:50 am
LOL LOL LOL LOL
thank you, so who said we have to be serious? Bring on the ditties and lets have some fun.
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PinkFridge




 
 
    
 

Post Mon, Dec 28 2009, 8:02 am
cookiemilk wrote:
LOL LOL LOL LOL
thank you, so who said we have to be serious? Bring on the ditties and lets have some fun.


Well, if we're going for ditties:
I have these albums I call my Norman Cousins files, mostly filled with cartoons, jokes, some meaningful articles I've saved. Precious little poetry. Not updated much since I stopped buying newspapers, and started with the computer.

From a letter to Parents magazine, some 15+ years ago:
G-d grant the graceful dignity,
The cool reserved integrity,
The sense of sweet serenity
Of Meryl Streep portraying me.


To redeem myself, because I think most of the followers of this thread won't mind upbeat and cheerful, but are looking for some level of profundity I'll convert to prose a tidbit I saved from Hamodia's Shabbos Chanuka issue of 5750:

Reb Nachum of Shtefinesht used to say
that he does not have a clear understanding
of the term
"publicly pious."

"Perhaps," he would say,
"it is an outer garment
of arrogance
with a lining of
resentment
that has been sewn
with a thread of
depression."
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