The Poetry Thread

[Asher]

O Captain! My Captain!

by Walt Whitman

O CAPTAIN! my Captain, our fearful trip is done, 
              The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, 
              The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, 
              While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; 
                      But O heart! heart! heart! 
                        O the bleeding drops of red, 
                          Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
                            Fallen cold and dead. 

              O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; 
              Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills, 
              For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-crowding, 
              For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; 
                      Here Captain! dear father! 
                        The arm beneath your head! 
                          It is some dream that on the deck, 
                            You've fallen cold and dead. 

              My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, 
              My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 
              The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, 
              From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; 
                      Exult O shores and ring O bells! 
                        But I with mournful tread, 
                          Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
                            Fallen Cold and Dead.

[SlowwHand]

The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.


Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870

[Al B. Sure!]

Connor, you ever perform your poetry on stage or to others (or have them read it)?

You ever get a bit disappointed by the lack of response when it's not performed on stage? Like just an obligatory "It was good." and nothing else? Like if it sucked, tell me what sucked so I can improve. I never know what to think about where I stand as a result. I think in technical sophistication with my rhyme schemes I'm really good but maybe I'm missing something beyond that and more important than just 'talking an idea constrained by polysyllabic rhymes'

Where do you go for critiques/improvements? I even took a poetry writing class in college where the whole class would evaluate your poems but never got anything meaningful out of it. Just "It was good" which always struck me as an obligatory response.

[N35t0r]

The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

2.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

3.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

4.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

5.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

6.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.


Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870

This

[Al B. Sure!]

Charge of the Light Bridage and O Captain, My Captain are so cliche What's next? "In Flanders' Fields" and "If"?

[Asher]

It may be cliche, but at least it's not crap like yours.

[N35t0r]

I know it's cliché. But I've liked it since the first time I read it in 9th grade (when I still barely surfed the 'net), more than 10 years ago.

[Al B. Sure!]

It may be cliche, but at least it's not crap like yours.

Help me then. How can I improve?

[Asher]

Stop.

[Riesstiu IV]

On a cold November day,
Somebody killed JFK.

Brains splattered,
Hearts shattered.

Who was behind it?
None other than LBJ!

LBJ, KKK, NRA,
LSD, BBC, NBA.

Jointly, they rule the USA.
A shadow government they form.

Built of lies deceit and porn,
This is an empire of evil.

Introducing crack to black people.
Punching babies, the elderly, and feeble.

What is one to do?
One must throw poo.

Throw poo at the police, the American SS.
Throw poo at the money takers, the IRS.

Throw poo at the bourgeoisie enablers.
Throw poo at the proletariat laborers.

For poo is the awakener, the redpill.
That is all you need to be chill.

[Al B. Sure!]

Stop.

Maybe that's why everyone just looks at me and gives me that obligatory-sounding 'It was good'. They're not trying to hurt my feelings when I suck. Wasted my time, I guess. It just feels good when I finish a verse and the rhymes are all in there. Like when I said, rhymes/assonance/consonance bolded:

"I got these dreams where I'm a knight and you're my make-believe maiden (A), faithfully waiting (A) for her good prince (B), but I'm cool with (B), patiently waiting (A), though I do think (B) we're basically wasting (A) a good thing (B) that I hate to leave waiting (A)."

It just sounds awesome to me. I can't explain it but it sounds so good when I finish with the rhymes just having this musical feel to it like a melody when I say it to myself. Maybe I'm just hyping up my own stuff and it's like a Dunning-Kruger Effect and I really am terrible. Thanks for being honest though, something which few ever are. There's been a few others who have said I sucked so I guess they're the only honest ones.

I was getting back into it but it's a waste except for my own personal amusement, I guess.

[connorkimbro]

Al: Everyone has their own preferences, but I honestly enjoyed your performances. Spoken word is a different format than page poetry, but you're great at spoken word. It's very musical, and you deliver it with great energy and great pacing. Don't let critics get you down. No, I've never performed on stage - as I mentioned I'm not really a spoken word kinda guy. Both for reading and writing, I like to see the poem on the page, to meditate on it and savor it in that way.

As far as writing workshops go, keep in mind that often folks who take those aren't *really* interested in writing, they're just taking the class to fill a requirement.

If people say "It's good" it could either mean they like it but mayn't be knowledgeable enough to communicate why in technical terms. Or, as you say, it could be they're just being polite. Best to assume the former

[Al B. Sure!]

Thanks, connor. I got some more:






I performed at an event in March that featured Nikki Giovanni, which was cool. I'm supposed to be doing this thing that will be televised locally in January, as well. I'm trying to come up with something for that since I should be doing it with someone else so we're going to try to make it like performance art/rap mixed into one. As you can see, my style isn't like traditional line poetry since I basically talk just with a crapload of rhymes. So depending on how she writes, it could be like a poetic theater thing. Still trying to figure out what I will do though

[Imran Siddiqui]

Before, you start, it definitely is poetry (took out the verse numbers for stylistic reasons - and that's how it originally was)

Psalm 91 (NIV 2010)

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”
Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”