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Just read a poem through morbid curiosity on another website. Basically because someone created a thread to appeal for people to read it, the only reply by someone labelling it "powerful".
The poem goes as follows (apologies to the author, as I'm using this without bothering to ask for permission):
I do not doubt my hands.
They’re slower now and sure
To find a way
On icy skin.
They melt a path.
My breath is not shy now.
It comes in low soft gasps
Or silent heat
Against her ear.
If I want that.
My new eyes won’t betray me.
Drawn to me by mossy calm
And promise of
A hidden depth,
She’ll be cheated.
I’ve mastered my hands.
Firmly now they’ll tread her
Back and breasts
And thigh and waist and cheek.
She won’t doubt them.
It was followed by a couple of comments nothing how amazing they think it is, and all the imagery it summons up for them. Me? I read it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of random words stuck together with reckless abandon. Why do you morons do this? Were you abused as children, and thusly have difficulty making sense? Do you talk in a similar manner? Every word a metaphor for silky flower clad faires, or some other equally vacuous nonsense? I sincerely hope not, because otherwise you'd deserve nothing better than to be publicly flogged and fed to starved mules.
Bloodly poetic faggotry.
The poem goes as follows (apologies to the author, as I'm using this without bothering to ask for permission):
I do not doubt my hands.
They’re slower now and sure
To find a way
On icy skin.
They melt a path.
My breath is not shy now.
It comes in low soft gasps
Or silent heat
Against her ear.
If I want that.
My new eyes won’t betray me.
Drawn to me by mossy calm
And promise of
A hidden depth,
She’ll be cheated.
I’ve mastered my hands.
Firmly now they’ll tread her
Back and breasts
And thigh and waist and cheek.
She won’t doubt them.
It was followed by a couple of comments nothing how amazing they think it is, and all the imagery it summons up for them. Me? I read it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of random words stuck together with reckless abandon. Why do you morons do this? Were you abused as children, and thusly have difficulty making sense? Do you talk in a similar manner? Every word a metaphor for silky flower clad faires, or some other equally vacuous nonsense? I sincerely hope not, because otherwise you'd deserve nothing better than to be publicly flogged and fed to starved mules.
Bloodly poetic faggotry.
Page:
Poems start to suck when they get too pretentious. For example, "mossy calm". However, apart from that and a few other bits where it was up its own hole, I quite liked it. Boring ending, though.
If poetry is gay,
in every single way,
then why is it that is rimes
and shakespeare couldn't spell
Dumb Roman!
in every single way,
then why is it that is rimes
and shakespeare couldn't spell
Dumb Roman!
I only like peculiar poetry: when it conjures bizarre images.
Poems (like the one quoted) which are just little thoughts about fairly mundane things expressed in an abstract way I find tedious.
Poems (like the one quoted) which are just little thoughts about fairly mundane things expressed in an abstract way I find tedious.
Reading it slowly is nothing short of painful.
Insane Bartender wrote:
> Me? I read
> it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur
> anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of
> random words stuck together with reckless abandon.
I don't usually like poetry, but I thought this one was quite good. Try reading it slowly, with a little more attention, and it might all come together and you'll understand it. (Maybe that's what I don't usually do while reading stuff either).
To me it made sense, came across as astute and intellignet, and just a bit dark. Whoever wrote it definitely has some talent.
No, it wasn't me :^p
> Me? I read
> it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur
> anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of
> random words stuck together with reckless abandon.
I don't usually like poetry, but I thought this one was quite good. Try reading it slowly, with a little more attention, and it might all come together and you'll understand it. (Maybe that's what I don't usually do while reading stuff either).
To me it made sense, came across as astute and intellignet, and just a bit dark. Whoever wrote it definitely has some talent.
No, it wasn't me :^p
Yea thats true.
Each to their own I guess. It would be a bloody boring world if everyone enjoyed the same things.
Just read a poem through morbid curiosity on another website. Basically because someone created a thread to appeal for people to read it, the only reply by someone labelling it "powerful".
The poem goes as follows (apologies to the author, as I'm using this without bothering to ask for permission):
I do not doubt my hands.
They’re slower now and sure
To find a way
On icy skin.
They melt a path.
My breath is not shy now.
It comes in low soft gasps
Or silent heat
Against her ear.
If I want that.
My new eyes won’t betray me.
Drawn to me by mossy calm
And promise of
A hidden depth,
She’ll be cheated.
I’ve mastered my hands.
Firmly now they’ll tread her
Back and breasts
And thigh and waist and cheek.
She won’t doubt them.
It was followed by a couple of comments nothing how amazing they think it is, and all the imagery it summons up for them. Me? I read it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of random words stuck together with reckless abandon. Why do you morons do this? Were you abused as children, and thusly have difficulty making sense? Do you talk in a similar manner? Every word a metaphor for silky flower clad faires, or some other equally vacuous nonsense? I sincerely hope not, because otherwise you'd deserve nothing better than to be publicly flogged and fed to starved mules.
Bloodly poetic faggotry.
The poem goes as follows (apologies to the author, as I'm using this without bothering to ask for permission):
I do not doubt my hands.
They’re slower now and sure
To find a way
On icy skin.
They melt a path.
My breath is not shy now.
It comes in low soft gasps
Or silent heat
Against her ear.
If I want that.
My new eyes won’t betray me.
Drawn to me by mossy calm
And promise of
A hidden depth,
She’ll be cheated.
I’ve mastered my hands.
Firmly now they’ll tread her
Back and breasts
And thigh and waist and cheek.
She won’t doubt them.
It was followed by a couple of comments nothing how amazing they think it is, and all the imagery it summons up for them. Me? I read it and thought 'what a load of toss'. It doesn't say anything, conjur anything, suggest anything or even make any sense. It's a load of random words stuck together with reckless abandon. Why do you morons do this? Were you abused as children, and thusly have difficulty making sense? Do you talk in a similar manner? Every word a metaphor for silky flower clad faires, or some other equally vacuous nonsense? I sincerely hope not, because otherwise you'd deserve nothing better than to be publicly flogged and fed to starved mules.
Bloodly poetic faggotry.
Page: