The poetry thread
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An original 5-minute doggerel knock together...
In an obscure corner of the net
Resided the battling bastards
Screeching, arguing, but yet
Sometimes they quit flinging wordsStrangely, they really did care
What happened to one and all
Trampling the growing tares,
To lay down their mace and ballFare thee well, my electronic friend
I wish you no lasting sorrow
And that you be made whole again
That I may kick your ass on the morrow@Jolly said in The poetry thread:
An original 5-minute doggerel knock together...
In an obscure corner of the net
Resided the battling bastards
Screeching, arguing, but yet
Sometimes they quit flinging wordsStrangely, they really did care
What happened to one and all
Trampling the growing tares,
To lay down their mace and ballFare thee well, my electronic friend
I wish you no lasting sorrow
And that you be made whole again
That I may kick your ass on the morrowAn ode to pwning libtards.
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An original 5-minute doggerel knock together...
In an obscure corner of the net
Resided the battling bastards
Screeching, arguing, but yet
Sometimes they quit flinging wordsStrangely, they really did care
What happened to one and all
Trampling the growing tares,
To lay down their mace and ballFare thee well, my electronic friend
I wish you no lasting sorrow
And that you be made whole again
That I may kick your ass on the morrow@Jolly said in The poetry thread:
An original 5-minute doggerel knock together...
In an obscure corner of the net
Resided the battling bastards
Screeching, arguing, but yet
Sometimes they quit flinging wordsStrangely, they really did care
What happened to one and all
Trampling the growing tares,
To lay down their mace and ballFare thee well, my electronic friend
I wish you no lasting sorrow
And that you be made whole again
That I may kick your ass on the morrow
Nice one! Fun turn at the end there.
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Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
Please love yourself.
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Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.
I'm like, "Okay, that's pretty good; maybe a little labored . . .
Oh wait, Browning??? I take it back, it's way good. Perfect.
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@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.
I'm like, "Okay, that's pretty good; maybe a little labored . . .
Oh wait, Browning??? I take it back, it's way good. Perfect.
@Catseye3 said in The poetry thread:
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.
I'm like, "Good one; maybe a little labored . . .
Oh wait, Browning??? I take it back, it's way good. Perfect.
I'd say this is probably his densest poem. So it's challenging, even for Browning.
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Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
So Aqua, what's wrong with me?
I read the same poem.
I read it again. And again.
And I think I kind of get a sense of what it's about.
But I'm probably wrong.
So, that's frustrating.
How is it that you love it, and I find it completely frustrating.
Not enjoyable. -
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
So Aqua, what's wrong with me?
I read the same poem.
I read it again. And again.
And I think I kind of get a sense of what it's about.
But I'm probably wrong.
So, that's frustrating.
How is it that you love it, and I find it completely frustrating.
Not enjoyable.Here I sit
Broken hearted
Spent a penny
And only farted -
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
So Aqua, what's wrong with me?
I read the same poem.
I read it again. And again.
And I think I kind of get a sense of what it's about.
But I'm probably wrong.
So, that's frustrating.
How is it that you love it, and I find it completely frustrating.
Not enjoyable.@Rainman said in The poetry thread:
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Traveling for the Easter holiday and for some weird and crazy reason, this poem got in my head instead of thoughts of spring flowers.
So, on I went. I think I never saw
Such starv’d ignoble nature; nothing throve:
For flowers—as well expect a cedar grove!
But cockle, spurge, according to their law
Might propagate their kind, with none to awe,
You ’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove.—Robert Browning, Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came
So Aqua, what's wrong with me?
I read the same poem.
I read it again. And again.
And I think I kind of get a sense of what it's about.
But I'm probably wrong.
So, that's frustrating.
How is it that you love it, and I find it completely frustrating.
Not enjoyable.There's nothing wrong with you.
- Most people consume art for a distraction or entertainment. When those people come across work that isn't that, they don't like it. Could be that.
- Poetry might not be your thing. Not everyone's into beekeeping, either. Totally fine.
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@Mik said in The poetry thread:
Algebra. My mind refuses to entertain the notion.
Musicals.
Just. Not. My. Thing.
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@Mik said in The poetry thread:
Algebra. My mind refuses to entertain the notion.
Musicals.
Just. Not. My. Thing.
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
@Mik said in The poetry thread:
Algebra. My mind refuses to entertain the notion.
Musicals.
Just. Not. My. Thing.
Silence! I keel you!
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That reminds me vaguely of one of Spike Milligan's creations:
Granny
Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up her nose as well, I fear)All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!I was only joking
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Excellent.
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Excellent.
I thought so too. It elevated itself above the subject matter.
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@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Excellent.
I thought so too. It elevated itself above the subject matter.
@Mik said in The poetry thread:
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Excellent.
I thought so too. It elevated itself above the subject matter.
Inside baseball:
A most curious medley,
A fart can be harmless,
Or silent and deadly.You're writing a poem about farts—absolutely guaranteed you're going to mention SBDs. But it's not fun to just mention them, it's far more satisfying for the known cliché to complete a couplet. So what's the lead-in?
This kind of initial setup and resolution is common in poetry—poems are rarely written linearly—but a lot of folks who dabble don't think to do it.
This was written by someone who on some level knew what they were doing.
(I'd have removed "strange" but that's me.)
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That reminds me vaguely of one of Spike Milligan's creations:
Granny
Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up her nose as well, I fear)All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!@Doctor-Phibes said in The poetry thread:
That reminds me vaguely of one of Spike Milligan's creations:
Granny
Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up her nose as well, I fear)All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!Spike's the man.
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@Doctor-Phibes said in The poetry thread:
That reminds me vaguely of one of Spike Milligan's creations:
Granny
Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up her nose as well, I fear)All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!Spike's the man.
@Aqua-Letifer said in The poetry thread:
Spike's the man.
He really is. Probably one of the most influential people of the 20th century, if we but knew it.
