Poets Corner

Here is one from Allen Ginsburg. It is probably his most famous poem and is far too long to post here. I will post the first portion. It is entitled Howl

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull...
As I said it is very very lengthy. You can read the whole poem here:
http://www.wussu.com/poems/agh.htm
Enjoy and MTFBWY

Brother In Blue

It was another quiet night
In that sleepy little town
8 hours of boredom
Broken by 30 seconds of hell

Shots rang out
Breaking that silent night
A brother in Blue
Fell in the night

Just a guardian angel
Tryin to protect and serve
Guarding his flock
Like a shepherd and his herd

He wore that Badge with honor
He wore the badge with pride
A brother in Blue
Fallen in the night

They laid him to rest
Under the color of flag
Those pipes rang out
Playin that Taps

His bothers salute
As they mourn is fall
Another Brother in blue
They signal his last call

To this day
They speak of him with pride
They honor his badge
And his sacrifice

They laugh when they tell his stories
They cry when they talk of that night
Their brother in blue
Their brother for all time

\"Dedicated to Chris Sampson, my brother, my friend\"

Clockwork Demise


Kissing the roses and throwing them down
eating the tar and fruit of the people
for eternity on the snowy grounds.
Someone is hanging from the church steeple.

Smeling the bitter and tasting demise
feeling all black sin and painful red thorns
The black cloaked one will some to reap his prize
Ramming them all with a great golden horn

And everyone's blood will floe forth tonight
Through all of time and space and the whole world
no one can scream because you're in the right
You will let the markings in blodd be swirled

For only people can sicken time.
A blackened place.
A plauge in it's prime.

Internal Epiphany

Sometimes I feel like
a storm-chaser, following
an anger long resigned.
Having issues without reason,
Causing stirs
To Justify my mind.
I change - I change,
I stay the same...
Crashing thunder where I go.

Let go your righteous indignations,
Try for once to just be free.
Remove your expectations -
Let yourself simply be.

The Path Less Traveled

The heart drew me here when all had been lost
Those words burned my soul - faith failed my life's cause.
Self-concept now gone - rage came at what cost?
Broken, I wept 'til my tears gave me pause -
Not dark, nor light, I won't live in a cast.
Searching and scouring through all that was naught
Was \"I\" who was then now part of the past?
The shadow will beckon to what it has wrought...
What can I say? My soul found a new life -
All had been vague - it is now what I know.
Out of the ash, I've emerged from the strife.
I am who I am - who I was, she did go.
You may not know why I feel I must stay,
But then again, that's the way of the grey.

Believe This

Believe this.
Believe that every second spent following this code is a second not spent leading your own life.
Believe that every second spent contemplating this code is a minute not spent acting.
Believe that you cannot dismiss every conceivable situation with a convenient quotation from this code.
Believe that every situation deserves individual calculation and contemplation, and
Believe that this code cannot help you.
Believe that that this code is indecipherable.
Believe that living by this code is conforming with this code.
Believe that every dogmatic word of this code is a chain around your neck.
Believe that this code says you should do what I think is right, not what you think is right.
Believe that to challenge this code will mark you out as a dissident and your prospects for advancement will be automatically reassessed.
Believe that once you accept this code, you will be just like all the other people who accept this code.
Believe that learning this by heart means that you can recite it without thinking of its damaging implications.
Believe that there is nothing to believe here.
Believe that there is nothing to see here.
Move along.

Another one of my favorite poets but I didn't discover this poem until Yesterday while I was sifting through his books looking for a quote to use in an article.

so you want to be a writer?
by Charles Bukowski


if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.


if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

this is one of my personal poems I have more the I will post at a latter time.


Nothing, No One


Soon I will have nothing, no one.
Soon I leave,
And come back to nothing, no one.
No home,
No family,
No friends.
Everything I hold dear,
Soon will be nothing, no one.
When I go they all leave.
The reason I Fight.
The reason I Die.
Is now all for nothing, no one.
All gone forever,
Everything, everyone.
So I go on in my life,
Now meaningless because I have nothing, no one.
My family forsakes me.
My friends all leave.
My love, to her I no longer exist.
So I go away and leave it all,
To Fight and Die for nothing, no one.

here is another one of my orriginals. I know they are all dark and what not but it is how I let out my heartbreak.

Falling

Why do I always fall so far?
Every time I run to her.
I swear everything to her,
And I always fall,
I fall so far,
It always hurts.
I lose my love,
She no longer cares.
But I can’t help but love her.
So now I have nothing,
Nothing but War and Death to live for.
Pain, Suffering, Death.
That is now my future,
The one good thing I had, gone.
So to War I go.
And probably to die.
But all of this I will hide,
Hide it and drive on.
Drive on to Suffering and Death,
So I can fall one last time.

A Song for St. Cecilia's Day - John Henry Dryden


FROM harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
When nature underneath a heap
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
The tuneful voice was heard from high,
'Arise, ye more than dead!'
Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry,
In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony,
This universal frame began:
From harmony to harmony
Through all the compass of the notes it ran,
The diapason closing full in Man.

What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
His listening brethren stood around,
And, wondering, on their faces fell
To worship that celestial sound:
Less than a God they thought there could not dwell
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly, and so well.
What passion cannot Music raise and quell?

The trumpet's loud clangour
Excites us to arms,
With shrill notes of anger,
And mortal alarms.
The double double double beat
Of the thundering drum
Cries Hark! the foes come;
Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!

The soft complaining flute,
In dying notes, discovers
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute.

Sharp violins proclaim
Their jealous pangs and desperation,
Fury, frantic indignation,
Depth of pains, and height of passion,
For the fair, disdainful dame.

But O, what art can teach,
What human voice can reach,
The sacred organ's praise?
Notes inspiring holy love,
Notes that wing their heavenly ways
To mend the choirs above.

Orpheus could lead the savage race;
And trees unrooted left their place,
Sequacious of the lyre;
But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher:
When to her organ vocal breath was given,
An angel heard, and straight appear'd
Mistaking Earth for Heaven.

GRAND CHORUS.

As from the power of sacred lays
The spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the Blest above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The dead shall live, the living die,
And Music shall untune the sky!

this one is by the great Gen George S Patton Jr. it is by far one one of my favotie poems.

THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY
by Gen. George S. Patton, Jr.

Through the travail of the ages,
Midst the pomp and toil of war,
Have I fought and strove and perished
Countless times upon this star.

In the form of many people
In all panoplies of time
Have I seen the luring vision
Of the Victory Maid, sublime.

I have battled for fresh mammoth,
I have warred for pastures new,
I have listed to the whispers
When the race trek instinct grew.

I have known the call to battle
In each changeless changing shape
From the high souled voice of conscience
To the beastly lust for rape.

I have sinned and I have suffered,
Played the hero and the knave;
Fought for belly, shame, or country,
And for each have found a grave.

I cannot name my battles
For the visions are not clear,
Yet, I see the twisted faces
And I feel the rending spear.

Perhaps I stabbed our Savior
In His sacred helpless side.
Yet, I've called His name in blessing
When after times I died.

In the dimness of the shadows
Where we hairy heathens warred,
I can taste in thought the lifeblood;
We used teeth before the sword.

While in later clearer vision
I can sense the coppery sweat,
Feel the pikes grow wet and slippery
When our Phalanx, Cyrus met.

Hear the rattle of the harness
Where the Persian darts bounced clear,
See their chariots wheel in panic
From the Hoplite's leveled spear.

See the goal grow monthly longer,
Reaching for the walls of Tyre.
Hear the crash of tons of granite,
Smell the quenchless eastern fire.

Still more clearly as a Roman,
Can I see the Legion close,
As our third rank moved in forward
And the short sword found our foes.

Once again I feel the anguish
Of that blistering treeless plain
When the Parthian showered death bolts,
And our discipline was in vain.

I remember all the suffering
Of those arrows in my neck.
Yet, I stabbed a grinning savage
As I died upon my back.

Once again I smell the heat sparks
When my Flemish plate gave way
And the lance ripped through my entrails
As on Crecy's field I lay.

In the windless, blinding stillness
Of the glittering tropic sea
I can see the bubbles rising
Where we set the captives free.

Midst the spume of half a tempest
I have heard the bulwarks go
When the crashing, point blank round shot
Sent destruction to our foe.

I have fought with gun and cutlass
On the red and slippery deck
With all Hell aflame within me
And a rope around my neck.

And still later as a General
Have I galloped with Murat
When we laughed at death and numbers
Trusting in the Emperor's Star.

Till at last our star faded,
And we shouted to our doom
Where the sunken road of Ohein
Closed us in it's quivering gloom.

So but now with Tanks a'clatter
Have I waddled on the foe
Belching death at twenty paces,
By the star shell's ghastly glow.

So as through a glass, and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names, but always me.

And I see not in my blindness
What the objects were I wrought,
But as God rules o'er our bickerings
It was through His will I fought.

So forever in the future,
Shall I battle as of yore,
Dying to be born a fighter,
But to die again, once more.

This is a poem I just wrote today about my recent trip into depression and why I think I feel this way.


I’m afraid
I’m afraid of what’s to come
I’m afraid of what I’m leaving
I’m afraid of my loss of control
I’m just not me any more
I want it to end
The pain I feel
I know what I want
But I don’t want it
I want to move on
To become better than I am
But I’m just too afraid
I’m afraid to lose my friends
Afraid to leave my home
I don’t know how to deal with it
I no longer control my emotions
I want to be happy
I should be happy, but I’m not
I’m just too afraid to be happy
I’m afraid