Poetics and Poetry Discussion


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  • Rookie - 395 Points Adam M. Snow (10/30/2014 6:01:00 PM) Post reply

    Burning
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Burning;
    I am burning
    on my knees
    - fallen
    - praying.
    Engulfing flame
    burning bright,
    see me now
    in Holy light.

    Burning;
    soothing flame
    embraces me.
    See me now
    tongue of fire,
    burning bright
    on my knees
    - fallen
    - praying
    in utter tongue
    throughout the night;
    burning words
    from my lips.
    Salvation come
    manifest.
    - El Shaddai!
    - El Shaddai!

    I am burning
    engulfing flame,
    in a blaze
    glory-found,
    burning bright
    where darkness found.

    See me now
    engulf in flame,
    Heaven's torch,
    burning bright
    on my knees
    - fallen
    - praying
    - humble
    - burning.
    In a blaze
    burning bright.
    darkness flee
    I ignite
    - blazing.

    Burning;
    I am burning
    on my knees
    - fallen
    - praying.
    - El Shaddai!
    - El Shaddai!

  • Rookie - 894 Points Professor Plum (10/30/2014 11:08:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Right now, at this very moment (well, since it's PoemHunter, it was about 30 minutes ago) there is ONE person from Italy on this site. I wonder who that person is?ONE FREAKING guy in Italy is perusing the pages of PoemHunter at this exact point in time. Relatively speaking, that is. What's his name?Giuseppe?Maybe it's Fredrico Fellini's grandson. That would be cool. " Yo! Giuseppe! Your Grandpa made killer movies! Stop with the garlic already, huh! ?"

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  • Rookie - 203 Points Gexg Lalnuna (10/30/2014 1:11:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Can anyone give me simple explanation of Geoffrey Chaucer poem " A Balade of Complaint" .what kind of poem does it belong?What the fuss is all about?

    Replies for this message:
    • Professor Plum (10/30/2014 10:19:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      Simple?Ha-ha! Nothing is ever " simple" , Gexg. Chaucer was a rhymer and a rhythm-er, and he also complained a lot. Loved his " Balades" and yet constantly complained about them. H ... more

  • Bronze Star - 7,381 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (10/29/2014 3:07:00 AM) Post reply

    A poem about Lonliness written by Trumbull stickney read today in this poemhunter.com. and found it very beautiful . While the biography read it is understood that he was an eminent student and man of great knowledge. I liked the poem.

  • Freshman - 1,756 Points Pranab K Chakraborty (10/29/2014 2:33:00 AM) Post reply

    Puritans are still active in the field of controlling poetic taste. So poet should have to create another poetry-world where free thoughts are always welcomed. The expression of exposing old things in new dimension is modernity. But during a life-time journey through this word-art, a poet really, otherwise have to be habituated with the dictators (puritans) choice of expressional limit. To expose the fire inside a poet burns just to make his/her standard, quiet rare to find the space where he/she could begin!

  • Rookie - 496 Points Frank Ovid (10/28/2014 4:28:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    It's Almost Over


    I caterwauled through skies
    on a roller coaster sparkle
    straddling that front car

    like riding piggy back
    on a pissed off Hulk Hogan
    throwing me down on

    a flimsy collapsible card
    table still smiling traversing
    skies accusing clouds

    screaming at my ending life
    too soon plunging into
    dark earth my feet are

    sopping wet my hair
    is whooshing backwards
    and I know my left hand

    soon
    will be reaching out of
    your mud wanting more.

    Replies for this message:
    • Mandolyn ... (10/28/2014 6:44:00 PM) Post reply

      ...like riding piggy back on a pissed off hulk hogan I WANT THAT LINE! i'll trade you my celtic maps, including the sea for it... this poem is super good 'n crud.

    • Mohammad Skati (10/28/2014 4:54:00 PM) Post reply

      I loved reading all these lines. Thanks.

  • Veteran Poet - 2,694 Points Tony Adah (10/27/2014 4:15:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Just read a poem by Wallace Stevens titled- Of Modern Poetry.
    I love this poem. It touches on the raw materials a poem draws
    On and how a poem works in the mind of the reader Or the listener.
    A poem must be fresh and it must avoid outdated concerned and forms.
    A great tonic for us fledgling scribblers!

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  • Rookie - 16 Points Gaumet Charlotte (10/27/2014 5:16:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    Hello, I have an Essay which is: Is poetry a denial or sublimation of reality?
    Wondered if you have any ideas or poets to help me with this question...
    It's in British literature so I'm allowed to quote any English poets from Shakespeare to nowadays

    Thanks
    CG

    Replies for this message:
    • John Westlake (10/28/2014 5:28:00 PM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

      I would not say that it is a denial of reality as such. While poets can create great works, none can create true reality as that already exists. A poet can create an illusion of reality in a poem, b ... more

  • Bronze Star - 7,381 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (10/27/2014 1:57:00 AM) Post reply

    I have read a poem " simple word 15. Pussy cat speaks" I liked it since it is the pussy cat a domestic one that speaks through the poem and it is really amusing to read such a realistic poem with our own home experience. The poet has done a marvelous job to create such a relevant poem which will be interested to the readers in every stage of life.

  • Rookie - 945 Points Mike Acker (10/27/2014 12:13:00 AM) Post reply | Read 3 replies

    Appropriate for the times?

    The Keepers

    When baby strollers were instant coffins,
    and body parts were stepped upon.
    When gray matter hung on walls
    like wet cotton balls.

    They continued to do what they do.
    Those who ate ate.
    Those who slept slept.
    Those who watched watched.

    When their children were skinned, and their parents
    lost their heads, then their minds.
    When rape and rapine became so commonplace,
    that it was too late for solace.

    They, they couldn't stop what they did.
    Those who laughed laughed.
    Those who looked looked.
    Those who thought forgot.

    Am I my brother's keeper?
    Mike Acker

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