The Swamp

A_B wrote: ↑Fri Nov 22, 2019 12:49 pm If you got an e-mail from me, please humor the situation. Friend at work is part of something started by the UK english department and I quickly realized I have no friends except for you frigging guys. If you didn't get an e-mail from me, I likely reached my limit before I found your e-mail address. But if you want the e-mail, send me your address in a PM and I will include.

BE good, don't hate me, delete if you want.

govmentchedda wrote: ↑Fri Nov 22, 2019 4:21 pm I'll try and remember what poem I like.

William Carlos Williams wrote: This Is Just To Say

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

BSF21 wrote: ↑Fri Nov 22, 2019 1:52 pm There once was a man from Rangoon
Whose farts could be heard on the moon.
When least you’d expect ‘em
They’d burst from his rectum
With the force of a raging typhoon.

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?