Colorado Should...: Poetry

Showing posts with label Poetry. Show all posts

Bad Poetry

Hot Lips Grandma
White paint peels from the door,
rusty hinges let loose a loud creek.
A small gray mouse scurries across the floor,
as cockroaches wander around the house.

I dread the encounter,
puckering, grandma opens her arms.
Her musty smell fills my nostrils,
there is no escape...
grandma's livery lips strike again.

Chat gpt's version

"Peeling White Door"

Beneath the chipping white paint of the door,

Rusted hinges groan, echoing through the hall.

A nimble gray mouse darts across the creaking floor,

While shadows of cockroaches dance on the wall.

With trepidation, I step into the embrace,

As Grandma opens her arms, her eyes aglow.

A scent of old books and lavender fills the space,

Inescapable, yet strangely comforting though.

Her lips, a vivid red, draw near with a tale,

Of years gone by and love that never fails.

In this moment, Grandma's affection prevails,

A kiss from the past, where warmth never pales.

Unnamed
I don't want to die,
let alone grow old.
So mind don't show me,
body grow cold.

I cannot face
the fate of man

I am still waiting for life to bagan
I am still waiting for a friend who is true
I am still waiting for a little respect
I am still waiting for life to make sense...

And the ultra-sound
shows a new little life
My current concerns will now take a past tense.

Chat gpt's version

"Unspoken Fears"

Fearing the final breath, the end of days,

Resisting the march of time, its unyielding hold.

Wishing my mind to veil the inevitable ways,

As my body surrenders, grows weary and cold.

Confronting destiny, mankind's shared plight,

Seems more than my heart can stand.

Yet here I linger, in life's uncertain light,

Awaiting a genuine friend to take my hand.

Longing for just a whisper of esteem,

Hoping for clarity in life's chaotic dream.

Then, in the hush of a moment, pure and serene,

An ultrasound reveals a new life, unseen.

With this promise, my present fears lose their sheen,

As the future unfolds, a journey unforeseen.

Poetry can be the best way to motivate yourself

Reasons to agree: +1

People have spent time to put important life lessons into poetry, that are well said enough that they tell a story or hold a truth that is more powerful than just stating the belief as a summary, or cliffs notes version of the poetic statement. For instance to me the Palace by Rudyard Kipling tells me that when people look back on the wreck of your life, that they won't just see your permanent long lasting improvements that you made, but that they will also see what you tried to do, and that that can be good enough, perhaps. That idea is much better explained in his story / alagory / poem, printed below for your ease of use.
Come Let Us Anew by Wesley should be motivating to most people

Reasons to agree: +2

Its nice to think that you can start again.
It may be depressing to think about how fast life is passing, but it is true, and so you need to deal with truths.

Reasons to disagree: -3

Its depressing to think about how fast live moves.
You don't really get to start again. A year is a continuation of the previous year, and you don't start with a new situation. People often sing this at the new year, but they continue to live their old lives.
Unfortunately some people have so much emotional need to validate their rejection of religion that they might not be able to apply anything from a poem that has a faithful perspective.

Reasons to disagree: -1

A well rounded person won't look for motivation just from poetry, but will try to have good health, excercize, friends, and family, and also try to have an inner life, and think deaply about things from time to time. Part of thinking about things can include seeking out and learning good poetry. But is is sort of wrong to say that poetry is the "best" way to motivate yourself. Sometimes anti-depressents, or exercize are the best way to motivate yourself.

Palace by Rudyard Kipling

When I was a King and a Mason-a master proven and skilled-

I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build.

I decreed and cut down to my levels, and presently, under the silt,

I came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had built.

There was no worth in the fashion-there was no wit in the plan-

Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran-

Masonry, brute, mishandled; but carven on every stone:

"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him I, too, have known."

Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned ground-works grew,

I tumbled his quoins and ashlars, and cut and reset them anew.

Lime I milled of his marbles ; burned it, slacked it and spread;

Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.

Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet as we wrenched them apart,

I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder’s heart.

As though he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand

The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned.

When I was King and a Mason-in the open noon of my pride,

They sent me a Word from the Darkness-They whispered and called me aside.

They said-"The end is forbidden." They said-"Thy use is fulfilled,

"And thy Palace shall stand as that other’s-the spoil of a King who shall build. "

I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves and my sheers.

All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless years.

Only I cut on the timber-only I carved on the stone:

"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him I, too, have known."

2. Come, Let Us Anew (Wesley)
Come, let us anew our journey pursue,
Roll round with the year,
And never stand still till the Master appear.
His adorable will let us gladly fulfill,
And our talents improve,
By the patience of hope and the labor of love,
By the patience of hope and the labor of love.

Our life as a dream, our time as a stream,
Glides swiftly away,
And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.
The arrow is flown, the moments are gone,
The Millennial year
Presses on to our view, and eternity’s here,
Presses on to our view, and eternity’s here.

O that each in the day of His coming may say,
“I have fought my way thro’—
I have finished the work Thou didst give me to do.”
O that each from his Lord may receive the glad word:
“Well and faithfully done;
Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne,”
“Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne.”

My Mom pointed out that she like this hymn. She felt her life had gone so fast, and liked the 2nd verse... the part about your life flying by like an arrow, a dream, or a river.

Poetry can put your shortcomings in perspective

Poems that agree: +

1. William Shakespeare - Sonnet #129
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad:
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Shakespear's sonnet #129 is a great poem about addition. It sort of reminds me of the song that Johnny Cash sang called Hurt. I want me kids to be free. I want them, and all of humanity, to be free from all addictions. I don't want them to be slaves to alcohol, drugs, or any other addiction. It doesn't make them more noble or heroic to overcome addiction, like Cash... It is more noble to just avoid it.

Shame

Authors of good poetry can force you confront difficult topics

Poems that Agree: +

1. Spring and Fall: [Margaret, Are You Grieving] by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep & know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Megan was an english major and told me about this poem.
You can find better explanations on other sites but:
Margaret is a young girl... Can't remember. Perhaps a niece or something... Apparently she was sad when she was watching the leaves fall of the trees...
Goldengrove yellow trees.
Unleaving = leaves falling of.

People can write poems that describe the type of parent you want to be

Poems that agree: +

1. "Genes" - Sharon Dunn

My eleven year son wants to fish,
he owns two rods, one saltwater,
one freshwater. He loves knives,
Bowie knives, Swiss Army
knives, "Knives like this one?"
my brother says, opening his desk
drawer and taking out a small
jackknife with antler handle.
My boy camps outdoors, begs to sleep
outside, is always shooting
arrows, rubber band guns,
he is lashing together a fort
in the backyard. He sails,
swims, kayaks and wants
to know the stars.
The outdoor hunting genes
are in the dark men in my family.
Yet I believe he is a son of light.
His joy in reading, cooking
and piano are fanned
from the tinderbox
of his father's heart.
He will save rainforest,
he will grow vegetables,
keep horses, fly his own plane.
He will make his own brave life,
he will not remake our lives
nor redeem us, nor pity us.

Poetry can help you tell your kids how you feel about them

Poems that agree: +

1. Daughter Lyrics by Loudon Wainwright III

Teenagers can be OK to live with +1

Poems that agree: +

An Easy-Going Weekend by Gerald Locklin

With my wife and daughter away at

My daughter's college for four days,

It has been a bachelor's weekend

For my fifteen-year old son and me.

We get along easily because we

Like a number of the

Same few basic things: eating,

Reading, writing, music. his social

Life is different from my current

One: he visits with his friends,

Girls and boys, while I swim at

The YMCA pool. Then he watched

Videos—a compromise between

The ones that he picks out—

Empire Records, Strange Brew—

And the ones I think he ought to

Be exposed to—Citizen Kane,

La Strada, Dr. Strangelove. He

Plays his amplified guitar; I switch

A game on when the Yankees are

At bat. I give him In Our Time

To read; finish up a Flann

O'Brien for my class. We both

Like Italian one day, Mexican the

Next. He feeds the cats and does

The dishes for his mother.

At night, he works late on

A story at the MAC; I write

A poem with a pad and pencil.

I exercise the dog and feed it.

I go to bed before he does.

We both say, "love you; see

You in the morning." And

We mean it

Poems that disagree: -

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Reasons to agree: +

Reasons to disagree: -

Teenagers are moody

Score:

# of reasons to agree: +1

# of reasons to disagree: -0

# of reasons to agree with reasons to agree: +0

# of reasons to agree with reasons to disagree: -0

Total Idea Score: +1

Don't like the score? It is easy to change the score. Just post a reason to agree or disagree with the overall idea, or any of the reasons and the score will change.

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Books that agree: +

Books that disagree: -

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Webpages that agree: +

Webpages that agree: -

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Interest of those who agree: +