Own Poetry Showcase

[Gori the Grey]

Hig-ro? Hi-gro? How the hell do I know?
Dude's so cool he'd make the Nile into an ice floe.
Tunes in his sig show his music has a nice flow.
Gretchen says "second best rapper on the site, yo."
Boiling things down till they're simple as a pie dough.
Gotta get accustomed to his California vibe, though:
Seein' how much lingo he can make into a line go . . .

 

[Birdjaguar]

B-I-N-G-O

 

[Thorvald of Lym]

I wish I could write
I wish I was inspired
That would be tight
by alas, I am le tired

OK then
Have a nap
But then fire
The nukes

 

[Kyriakos]

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Thank you, I wrote this. I will probably title it "The Second Coming".

 

[Manfred Belheim]

Ice falls like frozen rain, pitter-pattering on the shingle.
Empty waves of endless ocean wash over the shore like lapping tongues, long since forgotten.
Broken death scatters the rocky crags, lingering and hankering in thankless shackles.
Was I once here? I do not recall.
The endless journey is fleeting, but perhaps not unduly so.
Once more, I rest.
The clouds scatter feverishly, like tokens of an ill-remembered song.
When skies this fervent visit my imagination, I know I am at peace and sanguine. Again.
The seabirds wheel and dance and dart and are no more.
The sun sets inside me, whilst shining bright in the razor arctic air.
Long, long did I seek to avoid this jagged cove. Long did I travel to escape my destination.
Alas.
Rain falls like melted ice. No more.
It ends, as it began.

 

[Birdjaguar]

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Thank you, I wrote this. I will probably title it "The Second Coming".

You and Yeats.