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Posts
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I think you do
may i feel said he
may i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she(lets go said he
not too far said she
what’s too far said he
where you are said she)may i stay said he
(which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said shemay i move said he
is it love said she)
if you’re willing said he
(but you’re killing said shebut its life said he
but you’re wife said she
now said he)
ow said she)(tiptop said he
don’t stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you’re divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)E.E.Cummings
i like my body when it is with your
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new
anyone lived in a pretty how town
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his didWomen and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rainchildren guessed (but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by morewhen by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to hersomeones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then) they
said their nevers they slept their dreamstars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can began to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down )one day anyone died I guess
(and noone stopped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by wasall by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yesWomen and men (both ding and dong)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain^^ loving that… brilliant 8)
she being Brand
she being Brand
-new;and you
know consequently a
little stiff i was
careful of her and(havingthoroughly oiled the universal
joint tested my gas felt of
her radiator made sure her springs were O.K.)i went right to it flooded-the-carburetor cranked her
up,slipped the
clutch(and then somehow got into reverse she
kicked what
the hell)next
minute i was back in neutral tried andagain slo-wly;bare,ly nudg. ing(my
lev-er Right-
oh and her gears being in
A 1 shape passed
from low through
second-in-to-high like
greasedlightning)just as we turned the corner of Divinityavenue i touched the accelerator and give
her the juice,good
(it
was the first ride and believe i we was
happy to see how nice she acted right up to
the last minute coming back down by the Public
Gardens i slammed onthe
internalexpanding
&
externalcontracting
brakes Bothatonce andbrought allofher tremB
-ling
to a:dead.stand-
;Still)I’m putting this up again because first time round the censorship fingy turned it into shyte, which is kind of ironic. But I was new to message boards in them days and am no longer so young and naive.
the boys i mean are not refined
the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fu/ck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a nightone hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a sh/it for wit
the boys i mean are not refinedthey come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamitethe boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a pi/ssthey speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they danceAs with all good poetry there’s far more going on here than you might think at first.
It seems to be about primeval sexual energy that the author may even be admiring from afar. But Cummings was also in the first world war, and was familiar with cannons….. “shake the mountains…”…..”dynamite” etc. Gunners used to carve crosses on the bases for good luck, and hang their helmets from the metal nipples on the guns.
Lots of phallic imagery I know but I like the way that the girls are made equally as powerful.The wonderful thing about good poetry, it can say different things to different people.
@toybulldog wrote:
I’m putting this up again because first time round the censorship fingy turned it into shyte, which is kind of ironic. But I was new to message boards in them days and am no longer so young and naive.
the boys i mean are not refined
the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fu/ck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a nightone hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a sh/it for wit
the boys i mean are not refinedthey come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamitethe boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a pi/ssthey speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they danceAs with all good poetry there’s far more going on here than you might think at first.
It seems to be about primeval sexual energy that the author may even be admiring from afar. But Cummings was also in the first world war, and was familiar with cannons….. “shake the mountains…”…..”dynamite” etc. Gunners used to carve crosses on the bases for good luck, and hang their helmets from the metal nipples on the guns.
Lots of phallic imagery I know but I like the way that the girls are made equally as powerful.there was something special about the censored version, I rather liked it 8)
i agree mims, its the one thing i wish i could do well,paint, draw im not fussed but to be able to leave your soul and thoughts in such a beautiful way both during ur life and after you have departed, to be able to give through words to others is a real and worthy skill, but then i suppose even the simplest of words from one to another can be poetry in motion when they come from the heart …….
simply put by ….
A Definition of Poetry by a 15 yr old
Poetry does not need a meaning or defintion.
Poetry is how the reader reads it,
Poetry is how the poet writes it.
Poetry is real,
Poetry is fake,
Poetry is everything,
Poetry is fate.
Poetry is rhythm.
Poetry can rhyme.
Poetry is anything, I make it mine.my father moved through dooms of love
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of heightthis motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirmnewly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly rootsand should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into beginjoy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoicekeen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely) stood my father’s dreamhis flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.Scorning the Pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grainseptembering arms of year extend
yes humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable isproudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the darkhis sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he’d laugh and build a world with snow.My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and soldgiving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of amthough dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeathand nothing quite so least as truth
–i say though hate were why men breathe–
because my Father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all
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