Need a Poem to Recite in Class

Off Topic
61

Another from Calvin:

The UFO

While lying on my back to make an angel in the snow,
I saw a greenish craft appear! a giant UFO!

A strange, unearthly hum it made! It hovered oeverhead!
And aliens were moving 'round in viewing ports glowing red!

I tried to run for cover, but a hook that they had low’r’d
Snagged me by my overcoat and hoisted me aboard!

Even then, I tried to fight, and though they numbered many,
I poked them in their compund eyes and pulled on their antannae!

It was no use! They dragged me to a platform, tied me up,
And wired to my cranium a fiendish suction cup!

They turned it on and current coursed across my cerebellum,
Coaxing things from my brain tissue, the things I wouldn’t tell 'em!

All the math I ever learned, the numbers and equations,
Were mechanic’ly removed in this brain-draining operation!

My escape was an adventure. (I won’t tell you what I did.)
But suffice to say, I cannot add, so ask some other kid.

62

Droplets fall from the clouds above,
as if heaven itself now cries out for love.
A lone man walks, sulking in this pain,
feeling the anguish, embellishing the rain.
The fog creeps eerily betwixt his feet,
hugging and holding tightly the hard concrete.
Tears mix with rain, as he peers up at the sky,
“I shall see you again in heaven, my love. I shall see you when i die.”

-Akuma, 7 min ago.

Late in the evening, he trains all alone,
late in the evening, his face like a stone.
The ground shakes with this man’s roar,
the building rumbles as his weight falls to the floor.
A knee buckles, as he collapses to the ground,
swelling in pain, his ears go deaf to the sound.
The man Stands up, summoning a new strength,
“Greatness will be mine, regardless of the length.”

-Akuma, 5min ago.

63

[quote]Wooster wrote:

[quote]inkaddict wrote:

[quote]Wooster wrote:

[quote]inkaddict wrote:
Once upon a time,
Long and far away

There lived internet trolls,
Infected with teh ghey

They used to feed and thrive,
Leaving filth all on the boards

Until they found T-Nation,
And died upon they’re swords

Title: Internet Trolls
By: Inkaddict

[/quote]

That’s just gaytarded. So I dedicate this next one to you. I hope you like it.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

[/quote]
Sure, it may be gaytarded, but at least it was original on made up on the spot!

AND, Bre liked it, so it’s not completely gaytarded.[/quote]

It’s not all that gaytarded really. I just thought you were implying I was a troll. Hug?[/quote]
nope, I don’t accuse trolls, I let them get called out first. Hug.

64

Nothing Gold can Stay by Robert Frost

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

65

Take It Easy by Robert William Service

When I was boxing in the ring
In 'Frisco back in ninety-seven,
I used to make five bucks a fling
To give as good as I was given.
But when I felt too fighting gay,
And tried to be a dinger-donger,
My second, Mike Muldoon. would say:
“Go easy, kid; you’ll stay the longer.”

When I was on the Yukon trail
The boys would warn, when things were bleakest,
The weakest link’s the one to fail -
Said I: “by Gosh! I won’t be weakest.”
So I would strain with might and main,
Striving to prove I was the stronger,
Till Sourdough Sam would snap: “Goddam!
Go easy, son; you’’ last the longer.”
So all you lads of eighty odd
Take my advice - you’ll never rue it:
Be quite prepared to meet your God,
But don’t stampede yourselves to do it.
Just cultivate a sober gait;
Don’t emulate the lively conger;
No need to race, slow down the pace,
Go easy, Pals - you’ll linger longer.

66

Thanks everyone. Can someone post Rodney Dangerfield doing that Dylan Thomas poem?

I’m trying to get him to do this one, but no dice…it’s by some Irish twit Behan something or other…

When money’s tight
And is hard to get
And your horse has
Also ran
When all you have
Is a heap of debt
A pint of plain’s
Your only man

Who knew OG had been in non-blue movies?

67

I’m sorry but that avatar must go.

68

Some nice 8 line poems, perfect for a tenth grader:

Chartless
by Emily Dickinson

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea,
Yet I know how the heather looks
and what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,
nor visited in Heaven,
Yet I am certain of the spot
as if the chart were given.

THE SMOKER PARROT
by John Shaw Neilson
(Australian)

He has the full moon on his breast,
The moonbeams are about his wing;
He has the colours of a king.
I see him floating unto rest
When all eyes wearily go west,
And the warm winds are quieting.
The moonbeams are about his wing:
He has the full moon on his breast.

(assuming tenth graders can say the word “breast” without snickering self-consciously)

This might be better:

NATIVE COMPANIONS DANCING
by John Shaw Neilson
(Aust)

On the blue plains in wintry days
These stately birds move in the dance.
Keen eyes have they, and quaint old ways
On the blue plains in wintry days.
The Wind, their unseen Piper, plays,
They strut, salute, retreat, advance;
On the blue plains, in wintry days,
These stately birds move in the dance.

69

THE SQUAT

Down this road, in a gym far away,
a young man was heard to say,
“no matter what i do, my legs won’t grow”
he tried leg extensions, leg curls, and leg presses , too
trying to cheat, these sissy workouts he’d do.

from the corner of the gym where the big men train,
through a cloud of chalk and the midst of pain
where the noise is made with big forty fives,
a deep voice bellowed as he wrapped his knees.
a very big man with legs like trees.

laughing as he snatched another plate from the stack
chalking his hands and monstrous back,
said, "boy, stop lying and don’t say you’ve forgotten,
the trouble with you is you ain’t been SQUATTIN’. "

70

I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

I name all the flowers I am sure they weren’t;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt–

Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth–
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.

(My favorite Frost poem)

71

I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

I name all the flowers I am sure they weren’t;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt–

Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth–
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.

(My favorite Frost poem)

72

[quote]cyruseven75 wrote:
THE SQUAT

Down this road, in a gym far away,
a young man was heard to say,
“no matter what i do, my legs won’t grow”
he tried leg extensions, leg curls, and leg presses , too
trying to cheat, these sissy workouts he’d do.

from the corner of the gym where the big men train,
through a cloud of chalk and the midst of pain
where the noise is made with big forty fives,
a deep voice bellowed as he wrapped his knees.
a very big man with legs like trees.

laughing as he snatched another plate from the stack
chalking his hands and monstrous back,
said, "boy, stop lying and don’t say you’ve forgotten,
the trouble with you is you ain’t been SQUATTIN’. "[/quote]

Awesome! This was up on the wall in my old gym!

73

More a speech than a poem, but still good.

74

Went with this one:

Introduction to Poetry
Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

75

[quote]sen say wrote:
Went with this one:

Introduction to Poetry
Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem’s room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author’s name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

[/quote]

What? You didn’t like “Amygdala” by DB Cooper?!?!?! That was my magnus opus!

76

Gordon Parks: The Funeral

After many snows I was home again.

Time had whittled down to mere hills the great mountains

of my childhood.

Raging rivers I once swam trickled now like gentle streams

and the wide road curving on to China or Kansas City

or perhaps Calcutta

had withered to a crooked path of dust

ending abruptly at the county burial ground.

Only the giant that was my father remained the same.

A hundred strong men strained beneath his coffin

when they bore him to his grave.

77

As I am an old fart I can quote Kipling. I also dedicate it to Jack Lalanne who fulfilled all of it.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a Man my son!

78

She’s a big fat slut,
Twice the size of me,
Hair on her chest like branches on a tree,
She can fight, fuck, drive a truck, drink a case of rye,
Nelly put your belly next to mine,
And wiggle yer bum!

79

Im not the pheasant plucker
Im the pheasant pluckers son
And il be plucking pheasants
Till the pheasant plucker comes

Get him to say it twice, fast :slight_smile:

80

http://www.dolemite.com/multimedia/mp3player.php?record=player&track=5

THIS is poetry.