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| El Rincón Del Poeta Alegre (The Joyous/Cheerful Poet's Corner); A place for all to share their creative inners with the world! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: 15 Jun 2010, 09:07 (314 Views) | |
| The Three Sons | 15 Jun 2010, 09:07 Post #1 |
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"Judge"
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Standing in a slightly dilapidated courtyard - beside a boarded up chateau where vines and weeds reign supreme, shaded from the blaring dry heat of the sun by a wreath of overgrown Linden's - your eyes scan the lattice of tables and chairs, home to a mismatched group of poets and artists. There paces Bukowski, looking a little down and out, and is that T.S. Eliot sitting by the fig tree!? Here at El Rincón Del Poeta Alegre, any and all creativity is welcome. Whether you want to try your hand at a short story, show off that essay you wrote about the Flemish political system of the 16th century or finnish that sorrowful poem about flushing your goldfish down the toilet, the corner is here to help. So go on, share your creativity, you have nothing to lose but your banes! P.S. Please don't post your essay on the Flemish political system of the 16th century, it's not that kind of poet's corner. |
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| NieLika | 16 Jun 2010, 17:10 Post #2 |
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Moderator
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It was a long time since i actually put some effort in writing lyrics, and most of it that i'm content with is in swedish anyway. A proficiency in grammatical english has yet to make its debut i'm afraid. I did manage to dig this out, ignoring any metric whatsoever... which were written as a silly tribute to a drawing so the meaning of the context may be lost. Oh well. Ahem... *clears throat* Down the rabbit hole she go To honour her a hat or two (...Worst. Rhyming. Ever.) Poor march hare mad as hell Got knocked by his feet down and well Pretentious our sweet rabbit is Away she dressed for showbiz |
| Nielika Factbook | |
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| The Three Sons | 17 Jun 2010, 07:23 Post #3 |
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"Judge"
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i love this region.
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| Agaralia | 6 Nov 2010, 17:50 Post #4 |
"Judge"
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*re-opened* |
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Former Secretary-General, for the most part just visiting these-a-days Former Chief Executive - Renegade Islands Alliance [HumanSanity] If you are on IRC, I'm "HS" | |
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| The Three Sons | 11 Nov 2010, 13:00 Post #5 |
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"Judge"
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As long as this thread has been re-animated... I just found this poem, which I must have written some years ago in a dreadful state (yes, I was probably drunk and feeling sorry for myself), and thought of the DSA first to publish (because, yes, it’s terrible, but we need something to keep this corner alive )My Brother Like a violent window-pain, shattered and dust I am outdated, outsourced I ride as a loner, without feelings—without movement Crashing, always, through an invisible barrier And I can’t return, I am in a foreign land, alone. My worth has been over-taken by the young; I am old, forever I play my days through, as though I have some vein triumph of a life At dawn, a new day, I writhe in the glow You, my brother, you sing of fresh freedoms and friendly finds; I challenge you to produce As the darkness, that bitter truth Roles in. I was loved once, by that force It caressed me as an infant, As a child of the womb Naïvely, I told her, love Love is the binder— ‘Love conquers all’; Love did conquer, and crush As it does, Always. And you, the angle of praise and value You rob me, You leave me a beggar; So I beg you— Relieve me; I need comfort I need that darkness, that bitter truth I need that conquering love, Always— What am I without it? |
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| FridaTheBullDog | 18 Dec 2013, 16:28 Post #6 |
Undead nation.
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... Guns dont kill people... i do |
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| Suceavija | 19 Dec 2013, 05:26 Post #7 |
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"House Chairman"
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There once was a man from Nantucket... Just kidding ![]() Here is a poem that I still find stirring today: A Brave and Startling Truth, by Maya Angelou We, this people, on a small and lonely planet Traveling through casual space Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns To a destination where all signs tell us It is possible and imperative that we learn A brave and startling truth And when we come to it To the day of peacemaking When we release our fingers From fists of hostility And allow the pure air to cool our palms When we come to it When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean When battlefields and coliseum No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters Up with the bruised and bloody grass To lie in identical plots in foreign soil When the rapacious storming of the churches The screaming racket in the temples have ceased When the pennants are waving gaily When the banners of the world tremble Stoutly in the good, clean breeze When we come to it When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders And children dress their dolls in flags of truce When land mines of death have been removed And the aged can walk into evenings of peace When religious ritual is not perfumed By the incense of burning flesh And childhood dreams are not kicked awake By nightmares of abuse When we come to it Then we will confess that not the Pyramids With their stones set in mysterious perfection Nor the Gardens of Babylon Hanging as eternal beauty In our collective memory Not the Grand Canyon Kindled into delicious color By Western sunsets Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji Stretching to the Rising Sun Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor, Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores These are not the only wonders of the world When we come to it We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace We, this people on this mote of matter In whose mouths abide cankerous words Which challenge our very existence Yet out of those same mouths Come songs of such exquisite sweetness That the heart falters in its labor And the body is quieted into awe We, this people, on this small and drifting planet Whose hands can strike with such abandon That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness That the haughty neck is happy to bow And the proud back is glad to bend Out of such chaos, of such contradiction We learn that we are neither devils nor divines When we come to it We, this people, on this wayward, floating body Created on this earth, of this earth Have the power to fashion for this earth A climate where every man and every woman Can live freely without sanctimonious piety Without crippling fear When we come to it We must confess that we are the possible We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world That is when, and only when We come to it. |
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The United Socialist States of Suceavija Founding Nation of the Suceavijan Commonwealth of Socialist Nations Resume - & - Factbook Regional Cartographer Eternal Defender and Advocate of the Democratic Socialist Assembly | |
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i love this region.



12:15 AM Jul 11