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well i thought that everone could post a peom they like so here is mine



When the war of the beasts brings about the world’s end.
The goddess descends from the sky

Wings of light and dark spread afar.
She guides us to bliss. Her gift everlasting


Infinite in mystery is the gift of the goddess
We seek it thus. And take to the sky.
Ripples form on the water’s surface
The wandering soul knows no rest.


My friend. Your desire
Is the bringer of life, the gift of the goddess.
Legend shall sails over the water’s surface
Quietly, but surely…


As the war sends the world hurtling towards destructor
The prisoner departs with his newfound love
And embarks on a new journey.

He is guided by hope that the gift will bring bliss

And the oath that he swore to his friends.

Thought no oath is shared between the lovers.
In their hearts they know they will meet again.


There is no hate. Only joy
For you are beloved by the goddess.
Hero of the dawn. Healer of worlds.

Three friends go into battle
One is captured
One flies away
The one that is left becomes a hero.
If we were to enact it.
Would I be the one to play the hero.
Or would You?
After all, your glory should have been mine.

My friend, the fates are cruel
There are no dreams, no honour remains.
The arrow has left the bow of the goddess.

My Soul corrupted by vengeance,
Hath endures torment,
To find the end of the journey in my own salvation.
And your eternal slumber.

Now what u want most….
Is the “Gift of the Goddess”…


Dreams of the morrow hath shattered soul
Pride is lost.
Wings stripped away. The end is nigh
Such is. The fate of a monster.

Even if the morrow is barren of promises.
Nothing shall forestall my return.
If this world seeks my destruction.
It goes with me.

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What’s a peom?

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I doubt this is yours.

peoms discussion on Kongregate

everone could post a peom


Third time’s the charm, eh?

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no ur a peom

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he didn’t say he wrote it

everone could post a peom they like

I’ve always liked The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock, Ozymandias, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan.

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*Poe, E. Near a Raven* Midnights so dreary, tired and weary. Silently pondering volumes extolling all by-now obsolete lore. During my rather long nap - the weirdest tap! An ominous vibrating sound disturbing my chamber's antedoor. "This", I whispered quietly, "I ignore". Perfectly, the intellect remembers: the ghostly fires, a glittering ember. Inflamed by lightning's outbursts, windows cast penumbras upon this floor. Sorrowful, as one mistreated, unhappy thoughts I heeded: That inimitable lesson in elegance - Lenore - Is delighting, exciting...nevermore. Ominously, curtains parted (my serenity outsmarted), And fear overcame my being - the fear of "forevermore". Fearful foreboding abided, selfish sentiment confided, As I said, "Methinks mysterious traveler knocks afore. A man is visiting, of age threescore." Taking little time, briskly addressing something: "Sir," (robustly) "Tell what source originates clamorous noise afore? Disturbing sleep unkindly, is it you a-tapping, so slyly? Why, devil incarnate!--" Here completely unveiled I my antedoor-- Just darkness, I ascertained - nothing more. While surrounded by darkness then, I persevered to clearly comprehend. I perceived the weirdest dream...of everlasting "nevermores". Quite, quite, quick nocturnal doubts fled - such relief! - as my intellect said, (Desiring, imagining still) that perchance the apparition was uttering a whispered "Lenore". This only, as evermore. Silently, I reinforced, remaining anxious, quite scared, afraid, While intrusive tap did then come thrice - O, so stronger than sounded afore. "Surely" (said silently) "it was the banging, clanging window lattice." Glancing out, I quaked, upset by horrors hereinbefore, Perceiving: a "nevermore". Completely disturbed, I said, "Utter, please, what prevails ahead. Repose, relief, cessation, or but more dreary 'nevermores'?" The bird intruded thence - O, irritation ever since! - Then sat on Pallas' pallid bust, watching me (I sat not, therefore), And stated "nevermores". Bemused by raven's dissonance, my soul exclaimed, "I seek intelligence; Explain thy purpose, or soon cease intoning forlorn 'nevermores'!" "Nevermores", winged corvus proclaimed - thusly was a raven named? Actually maintain a surname, upon Pluvious seashore? I heard an oppressive "nevermore". My sentiments extremely pained, to perceive an utterance so plain, Most interested, mystified, a meaning I hoped for. "Surely," said the raven's watcher, "separate discourse is wiser. Therefore, liberation I'll obtain, retreating heretofore - Eliminating all the 'nevermores' ". Still, the detestable raven just remained, unmoving, on sculptured bust. Always saying "never" (by a red chamber's door). A poor, tender heartache maven - a sorrowful bird - a raven! O, I wished thoroughly, forthwith, that he'd fly heretofore. Still sitting, he recited "nevermores". The raven's dirge induced alarm - "nevermore" quite wearisome. I meditated: "Might its utterances summarize of a calamity before?" O, a sadness was manifest - a sorrowful cry of unrest; "O," I thought sincerely, "it's a melancholy great - furthermore, Removing doubt, this explains 'nevermores' ". Seizing just that moment to sit - closely, carefully, advancing beside it, Sinking down, intrigued, where velvet cushion lay afore. A creature, midnight-black, watched there - it studied my soul, unawares. Wherefore, explanations my insight entreated for. Silently, I pondered the "nevermores".
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damn yeah The Raven’s good

that’s not The Raven though :\

The original version scans better.

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This isn’t quite The Raven ;)

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I see now.

I like this poem I found by Emily Dickinson:


I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,-and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.

Now read the last stanza again, thinking of the Blue Screen of Death…

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This isn’t quite The Raven ;)

Pretty much just reads like someone used a thesaurus and replaced all the words with longer ones.

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idk what a peom is…puzzled

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is the raven the poem they used on the simpsons for the halloween episode

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That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will ’t please you sit and look at her? I said

“Frà Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek: perhaps

Frà Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps

Over my Lady’s wrist too much," or "Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat"; such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart . . . how shall I say? . . . too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men,—good; but thanked

Somehow . . . I know not how . . . as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech—(which I have not)—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark"—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,

—E’en then would be some stooping; and I chuse

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will ‘t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your Master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretence

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, Sir! Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me.

I love this poem. One of the classics we learned in school.

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Hey I learned that at school too high five.

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The plastic Rose:

(This is roughly paraphrased from a friends poem, and it isn’t as good as the original, but I think it’s close).

I’ll give you a boquet of flowers,

and love you until they die.

In the midst of them, a plastic rose

because my love for you will never die.

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milskidath nice poem

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I was angry with my friend:

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe:

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,

Night and morning with my tears;

And I sunnèd it with smiles,

And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,

Till it bore an apple bright;

And my foe beheld it shine,

And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole

When the night had veiled the pole:

In the morning glad I see

My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

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That’s “My Last Duchess”, a very good poem and I’m surprised I still recognise it.

And Milski, I think I’ve heard that before, but slightly differently.

Deficit, That’s interesting…

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I love the last Duchess because it’s so eerie.

“All smiles stopped…”

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One I did like was called kid, let’s see if I can google-find it using the one line I know.



Batman, big shot, when you gave the order
to grow up, then let me loose to wander
leeward, freely through the wild blue yonder
as you liked to say, or ditched me, rather,
in the gutter … well, I turned the corner.
Now I’ve scotched that ‘he was like a father
to me’ rumour, sacked it, blown the cover
on that ‘he was like an elder brother’
story, let the cat out on that caper
with the married woman, how you took her
downtown on expenses in the motor.
Holy robin-redbreast-nest-egg-shocker!
Holy roll-me-over-in the-clover,
I’m not playing ball boy any longer
Batman, now I’ve doffed that off-the-shoulder
Sherwood-Forest-green and scarlet number
for a pair of jeans and crew-neck jumper;
now I’m taller, harder, stronger, older.
Batman, it makes a marvellous picture:
you without a shadow, stewing over
chicken giblets in the pressure cooker,
next to nothing in the walk-in larder,
punching the palm of your hand all winter,
you baby, now I’m the real boy wonder.

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What’s a peom?

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Jenny kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who loves to get

Sweets into his list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me;

Say I’m getting old- but add:

Jenny kissed me.

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It’s been asked before.

We concluded that it’s Axe deodorant.