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Ruheen Oct 2019
The world goes round.
So why do we go straight?
A set path we have paved,
Through the blood of Earth.

This is the way of the world.
The way of the world is us.
Drowning our guilt,
In the Earth's innocence.

One's an accident.
Twice, a coincident.
Three's a pattern.
Four's just pushing it.

Soon we'll be lying on our backs,
Eyes half-closed, minds so cold,
In the shallows of what we have broken,
In the pain of what we leave behind.

We are in the center
The center will hold
But our center has already fallen
It cannot hold any longer.
William Yeats - The Second Coming
Chris Saitta Jun 2019
Old stripe-laced tiger moth of the Serengeti with your sugar-seeking tongue,
Your powdered fang stubs into another ******* hartebeest of some bud.
W.B. Yeats underwent the Steinach operation in 1934, which transplanted monkey glands into his own reproductive organs to give him what he felt were rejuvenatory powers of a “second puberty.”  That absurdity aside, I can’t stand his poetry for some reason as it seems overly egotistical, maudlin, and theatrical (for me, he is one finger of Shelley scotch and four of water), though I fully support anyone who enjoys it and finds real merit to it.  To each his or her own.
Francie Lynch Jun 2017
John and Tuesday slipped away,
I remember well the day.
Working in the garden,
Just a few corners away,
That Tuesday.
I was planting, turning spades,
Adding compost to gaunt soil.
John wasn't in my thoughts Tuesday.
Not like today.

The garden thrives.
The splash of water
Transports memory's eye.
We sit outside The Trout,
He reads to Paul and I,
Below an Oxford sky,
Under cap and pint:
*Think where man's glory
Most begins and ends,
And say my glory was
I had such friends.
RIP John Callaghan. Master teacher and friend.
Yeats: "The Municipal Gallery Revisited."
The Trout is a pub in Oxford we frequented when we taught together.
Roo May 2017
I wish I lived in Wayne’s World,
where Wayne and Garth are real.
I wish I had Cassandra’s curls,
and her *** appeal.

I wish I dated Jason Dean,
and coloured him impressed.
I wish I had the killer gene,
but never ever confess.

I wish I went to Ashfield Hospital,
and looked a little on edge.
Explored shutter island in the spittle,
and made the Marshall pledge.

I wish I lived with Yeats,
or in the lonely moated grange,
I wish I danced on table tops,
my body for money,  fair exchange.

I wish reality didn’t exist,
or better yet just me,
all those opportunities would be missed,
and at peace I’d finally be.
A few of my favourite films/poems/poets incorporated into what started off as a uniform poem but soon disintegrated.  (a metaphor for my life)
Lizzy Nov 2016
Light of my life,
The slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune
Bloom a rose
In the deeps of my heart.

And so I came forth
But could not behold the stars.
The slings and arrows,
They trespassed upon my thoughts.

And I cried that I came
To this great stage of fools,
But it echoed loudly within me
Because I am hollow at the core.

That outward existence which conforms,
This inward life which questions
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece of.  

I don't exactly know
What I mean by that,
But I mean it.
This is made of quotes from some of my favorite pieces of literature
Stanley Wilkin Nov 2016
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.*


In a time such as this, in darkening days
        Without screeching witches
Frightened banshees, buggered old men
Searching for solace, eyes streaming with icicle-lust-
Gangrene facebook: torn-up, shredded twitter

The cries of the disconnected,

In a time like this, in darkening days,
The disconnections come in waves!

Searching for reason amongst the unreasoning,
Hunting for sanity within the insane,
Identifying the dead from amongst the living.


Email excreting venom
Internet exfoliating lies-politicians wrapped
                         In deceit-
A cold time of it, a wretched time of it.

Only within our hearts does hope lie.
                      Only there
Away from conflict and disorder
From the capricious cacophony of biased debate.

Tecknet Jun 2016
deep within the mountains
whence my father fled,
there stood a lonely cabin
and the remains of a farmstead.

why he left, I do not know
for there, it was a sight;
the mountains rose to block the sun,
its rays behind their height.

on them dwelt few animals,
yardbirds, cows, and goats,
though I suppose my father tired of
meals made from rolled oats.
Nigel Finn Apr 2016
I've got that feeling once again,
After staying up til 3 A.M,
When insecurities start to creep,
And I curse myself for lack of sleep.

It seems I have no way of knowing,
Which way my thought process is going,
One day I'm happy, the next I'm glum,
And console myself with smoke and ***.

I try to find a compromise-
Get blasted drunk, and close my eyes,
But the world keeps spinning round and round,
Bottle's empty- no peace found.

Like the Irish airman in the sky,
I seem to watch as other lives flash by,
Then I pass out, hoping I'll never know,
The places those tormented souls must go.
A Sassoon inspired poem (the last two lines are almost completely stolen from "Suicide in the Trenches"), with a nod to W.B.Yeats with the Irish airman reference. Two of my favourite poets.

Written whilst feeling a bit guilty that I'm just a small, insignificant person with not much power to change anything, and being quite drunk. Never a good combination.
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