Pretty sad poem i found

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Amen. I guess ignorance really is bliss, too.

You have no clue what a good poem is, unless you like Emo Garbage!Let me show an example of a true poem, since I guess you have never seen one. In reply to:A HUNTING MORNINGSir Arthur Conan DoylePut the saddle on the mare, For the wet winds blow; There's winter in the air, And autumn all below. For the red leaves are flying And the red bracken dying, And the red fox lying Where the oziers grow. Put the bridle on the mare, For my blood runs chill; And my heart, it is there, On the heather-tufted hill, With the gray skies o'er us, And the long-drawn chorus Of a running pack before us From the find to the kill. Then lead round the mare, For it's time that we began, And away with thought and care, Save to live and be a man, While the keen air is blowing, And the huntsman holloing, And the black mare going It's not Magic! It's skill!

Dude, just stop it. If you're intentionally trying to be difficult, then you're bad. If you're not, then I don't know what to say. Whatever the deal is, you don't give a hang about the original poster, or why he posted those poems, which, if you think about it, is why this thread exists. The subject here is not literary criticism.

I like different type of poems, Austin likes free verse things, such as he posted. I like poems with more..."etiquette" I'm saying the poems which he posted are not good, but I just dont really enjoy them as he does.

OK, now it's obvious that you're just being bad.

Read some poems from here, you'll see.http://www.love-poems.me.uk/a_famous_poems_index.htm

You left out the last line: "As the black mare can."There are different tastes in poetry, and what some people love, others dislike, and vice versa.Here's one I like: Robert Browning: The Last Ride Together.

I see. This thread is all about you. To hell with the original poster.

Is someone making a point? Maybe he should state it more clearly.

Explain that to Steve, he doesn't seem to grasp that concept.That is a good poem, Ineligble, I havent read it in a while!My friend did that poem as an arpeggiation on the guitar, amazing!I still say. The Rape of Lucerece is an amazing poem!

Yes, Ineligible, explain. Enqiring minds want to know.

OK, I agree with what you say most of the time, and even when I don't agree, I don't really say anything about it (stupid me avoiding pointless arguments). But whats the point in attacking Pete? He corrected Purple and mentioned a poem he likes. Whats the big deal?

Thread hijack?

The thread was hijacked a long time ago!

No, that was not meant to say, "Your post is a hijack". It was in answer to your question.

Sorry, I did understand what you meant. What I was saying is that Purple, and to an extent, yourself hijacked the thread a long time ago. Since Purple changed the topic of this thread, Pete was actually on-topic.

Silent said its fine, since it was about poems.

changed the topic of this threadIf the OP goes away for part of a day, so does his thread, I guess.

Unfortunately, the ignorance remains....and I don't mean you.

well, to get this at least partly back on subject, heres another poem.The Dummy by Michael Mack In that forgotten part of townWhere wasted hopes and dreams abound,A wrinkled man with life near end,In hopes to have at least one friend,Fashioned bits of wood and thingsAnd made a dummy run by strings.He sat alone for hours on end,Conversing with his only friendAnd found delight within the factThat he controlled it's every act.He told it how he never hadA chance, since all his luck was badAlthough he'd tried so to succeed -The dummy nodded and agreed.And how his journeys in romanceHad never given him a chance,And wasn't it a crying shameThat he was always held to blameWhen everyone knew, oh so well,That life is but a living Hell,Controlled by lust and power and greed?The dummy nodded and agreed.With patience that would rival saints,That dummy sat through all complaintsAnd, with each little expert tug,He'd droop his head or bow or shrugAnd give some comfort to the manWho held his lifelines in his handAnd helped to fill a lonely needWhen he just nodded and agreed.Senility increased with timeAs did the old man's phantomime,And feverish fingers pulled with gleeThe dummy's dance of misery.They never left each other's sideUntil the day both stopped and died.We found them lying, hand in hand,The dummy - and his wooden friend.