Poetry

hahha i thought this was gonna be some gay emo thread but i'm glad the first word was "sucks"
 
It only sucks if you don't have the intelligence to understand it, if you can comprehend what is being said it's really nice to read.
 
ever read william butler something or rather...yah i have and i have a 10 minute presentation on him tomorrow. not fun. his life was more boring than a block of butter. ill admit some poetry is tolerable but most if outdated, irrelevant to my life, and most of all....boring as fuck.
 
hey, poetry is badass, you just have to find the right type of poet you identify with.. for instance, i bet I can find a poem which will appeal to many newschoolers... gimme a second....
 
yeah, i definitely think its an aquired taste. i will admit most poetry out there i may not like, but if you can find some that you do its really enjoyable. it can give you perspective on what you are feeling. give it a chance before you ride it all off as "terrible".
 
long, but... yeah. Charles Bukowski.

two kinds of hell

I sat in the same bar for 7 years, from 5 a.m.

(the day bartender let me in 2 hours early)

to 2 a.m.

sometimes I didn't even remember going back

to my room

it were as if I were sitting on the barstool

forever

I had no money but the drinks kept

arriving

to then I wasn't the bar clown

but the bar fool

but at times a fool will find a greater

fool to

admire him,

and,

it was a crowded

place

actually, I had a viewpoint: I was waiting for

something extraordinary to

happen

but as the years wasted on

nothing ever did unless I

caused it:

broken bar mirrors, a fight with a 7 foot

giant, a dalliance with a lesbian, many things

like the ability to call a spade a spade and to

settle arguments that I did not

begin and etc. and etc. and etc.

one day I just upped and left the

place

like that

and I began to drink alone and I found the company

quite all right

then, as if the gods were bored with my peace at

heart, knocks began upon my door: ladies

the gods had sent the ladies to the

fool

and the ladies arrived one at a time and when it ended with

one

the gods immediately--without allowing me any respite--sent

another

and each began as a flash of miracle--even the bed--and the

good ended up

bad

my fault, of course, yes, that's what they told

me

but I remembered the 7 years in the bar, I hardly ever bedded

down with anybody

the gods just won't let a man drink alone, they are jealous of

his simple strength and salvation, they will send the lady

knocking upon that door

I remember all those cheap hotels, it were as if the women

were one: the delicate little rap on the wood and then:

"oh, I heard you playing that music on your radio...we're

neighbors, I'm down at 603 but I've never even seen you in

the hall..."

"come on in..."

and there go your balls and your sanctity, Men's Liberation,

they say, is not needed

and then you remember the bar

when you walked up behind the 7 foot giant and knocked his

cowboy hat off his head, yelling:

"I'll bet you sucked your mother's nipples until you were

12 years old!"

somebody in the bar saying: "hey, sir, forget it, he's a mental

case, he's an asshole, he doesn't know what he is

saying!"

"I know EXACTLY what I am saying and I'll say it again:

I'll bet you sucked..."

he won but you didn't die, not at all the way you died when the

gods arranged to get all those ladies knocking and you went for

the first flash of miracle

the other fight was more fair: he was slow, stupid and even a

little bit frightened and it went well for quite a good while,

just like with the ladies those gods

sent

the difference being, I thought I had a chance with the

ladies
 
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