I can't stand poetry.

I dare someone to post a poem that's actually inspiring, thought-provoking, or good that doesn't reek of pretentiousness.

routine was the theme, he'd wake up and...wash and pour himself into uniform
something he hadn't imagined being...
as the merging traffic passed, he found himself staring, down, at his own hands..
not remembering the change, not recalling the plan, was it...?
he was okay, but wondering about wandering
was it age? by consequence? or was he moved by sleight of hand?
mondays were made to fall, lost on a road he knew by heart
it was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly...
sometimes he hid in his radio, watching others pull into their homes
while he was drifting...
on a line, of his own, off the line, on the side
by the by, as dirt turned to sand, as if moved by sleight of hand
when he reached the shore of his clip-on world
he resurfaced to the norm
organized his few things, his coat and keys...
any new realizations would have to wait til he had more time, more time...
time to dream, to himself
he waves goodbye, to himself
i'll see you on the other side...
another man...moved by sleight of hand...

When I read the title to this thread before I opened it, I thought the first post was going to be an admission of closeted homsexuality. Here I find its only about poetry!

Seriously, you seem to be a pretty well-versed guy so I'm just wondering what it is about poetry that makes you dislike it. I'm not the world's biggest poetry fan myself, but I can appreciate it and don't find it to be pretentious at all. Maybe its because I'm a writer by nature that I have more appreciation for it than disdain.

read some e. e. cummings poems.

Blackberry Picking

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.

Seamus Heaney



The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Wallace Stevens

When the new PJ album comes out, read the lyrics before listening to anything.
Matter of fact, don't listen to it at all. Just read it. See what kind of response you have to it.

The manner in which you constructed the above sentence makes it seem, at least to me, that it is an already foregone conclusion that whatever is posted you will just dismiss as rubbish. Which is cool, as peotry is not for everyone. I guess what I'm saying is, I hate this, make me like it isn't going to get you far with poetry.

Fly Eagles Fly
On the Road to Victory
Fly Eagles Fly
Score a Touchdown 1, 2, 3
Hit ‘em Low
Hit ‘em High
And Watch Our Eagles Fly
Fly Eagles Fly
On the Road to Victory
E-A-G-L-E-S…EAGLES

Damn,

I just got chills.

I've always like these two and don't find them pretentious

MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN I BEHOLD
By William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.




Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


I should say though, that as far as poetry goes, I only want to read it not hear it recited, and gimme the classics. I've not read much modern stuff that is all that great and the few "Poetry Slams" that I've witnessed were freaking embarrasing.

I was going to post that.

I usually cringe when I read other's poetry because I find it's pretty damn awful. It is rare to find something fresh and inspired. That said, I still enjoy writing.

PS-The 'light' and 'night' rhyming just makes me laugh. Same with desire/fire, but that's more so in lyrics than anything else.

you're not required to enjoy all forms of art. ballet and opera don't really do much for me.

I also have this problem of finding most poems pretentious...but i still like poetry

i love jim morrison's poetry.

*Agrees 1000%*

Thats a good point.... very good actually... seems laughable to read just the lyrics... dont see the "poetry" in it till music is added

Poems are like babies... they're beautiful to the people that made them.

maybe this convinces you, as.