Discussion What poem defines you?

[fallen.bolt]

I am a workaholic person, who works alot to maintain my family in disastrous Brazilian economic situation.

Here in Brazil our salary goes on the ladders when inflation goes to the elevator.

Last year was difficult to pay living rent and bills. Now, the renting bill is higher, it's almost impossible to deal with the costs - or I buy the food to maintain my family (including a children) or I pay the rent and bills and let my family starving. Fucking dilemma.

I work all day in a factory and when I come to my house, I work with freelance. I'm living 24/7 working routine. No free moments and time. No time for hobbies and attention to my family.

My wife and son are charging me to give attention to them. I understand it, but everyday I'm worried about how I will pay the next rent and bills.

I feel exhausted, working a lot with no rewards (dignity, better life condition, a free time to see and think about myself and grow up as person) I don't know where is going to end this crazy routine.

That's why I consider this poem, which defines me.

This is a poem written by an Chinese suicidal who used to work at Foxconn factory, Wu.

"A screw fell to the ground
In this dark night of overtime
Plunging vertically, lightly clinking
It won't attract anyone's attention
Just like last time
On a night like this
When someone plunged to the ground."

Now, read upwards.

It's depressing to live in a capitalist system with a rampant consumerism, spend your life in a job with a shitty salary without opportunity to grow in life and knowing that your function is just enrich your boss.

 

[Life_and_Death]

this is a poem i wrote myself from my pov.

The Mirror

In the mirror I search so desperately for the girl that I once knew.
But all I see are eyes sunken in, and a face that seems so blue.
In the mirror I search so hopelessly for the girl I seem to've lost
But in the end all of my searching came at a cost
In the mirror I search so helplessly for the girl that welcomes death
I'm sorry, I'm way too late I said, taking my last breath

In the mirror you search so cautiously for the girl that was here
Hoping and praying she didn't disappear
In the mirror you search so carelessly for the girl you miss so dear
Please stop searching, it's only becoming clear.
In the mirror you search so doubtfully for the girl that must be gone
wondering where everything had went wrong

In the mirror you see my reflection
the scars, regret and hate, inflaming my depression
In the mirror you hear my cries
Screaming, breathing, living, die
In the mirror you feel my presence
And I know you'll never accept it

​

also people are always asking this about songs so i think this is a cool change.

 

[Makko]

Fellow workaholic here. I don't have any poems to post, but I relate to yours.

 

[NodusTollens]

I am a workaholic person, who works alot to maintain my family in disastrous Brazilian economic situation.

Here in Brazil our salary goes on the ladders when inflation goes to the elevator.

Last year was difficult to pay living rent and bills. Now, the renting bill is higher, it's almost impossible to deal with the costs - or I buy the food to maintain my family (including a children) or I pay the rent and bills and let my family starving. Fucking dilemma.

I work all day in a factory and when I come to my house, I work with freelance. I'm living 24/7 working routine. No free moments and time. No time for hobbies and attention to my family.

My wife and son are charging me to give attention to them. I understand it, but everyday I'm worried about how I will pay the next rent and bills.

I feel exhausted, working a lot with no rewards (dignity, better life condition, a free time to see and think about myself and grow up as person) I don't know where is going to end this crazy routine.

That's why I consider this poem, which defines me.

This is a poem written by an Chinese suicidal who used to work at Foxconn factory, Wu.

"A screw fell to the ground
In this dark night of overtime
Plunging vertically, lightly clinking
It won't attract anyone's attention
Just like last time
On a night like this
When someone plunged to the ground."

Now, read upwards.

It's depressing to live in a capitalist system with a rampant consumerism, spend your life in a job with a shitty salary without opportunity to grow in life and knowing that your function is just enrich your boss.

Sorry to hear about your struggles, I can't imagine what must be going through you head. I hope something can be done to help your situation- it sounds like you deserve a much needed break.

I really enjoyed the poem you shared, & the fact that it could be read both ways was a pleasant surprise.

Here's a poem that I just wrote on my profile:

Quick- laboured,
Each beat plays a familiar rhythm.
A song we sing as moments
Flicker, on a screen
In our mind's eye.
Invasive, the melody drowns
Each thought.
Becomes so loud that thinking-
Thinking, thinking becomes repetitive.
Half thoughts form whole truths, while
Giving way to the flood- the rush,
The wave of emotions so great
You feel a ripple in your soul.
The staccato of your heart grows
Louder, faster- hopeless
Only one thought remains.

—/—/—
​

@Life_and_Death I didn't know you wrote poetry, it's always a nice surprise to find people who write/enjoy poetry.

 

[Life_and_Death]

@Life_and_Death I didn't know you wrote poetry, it's always a nice surprise to find people who write/enjoy poetry.

i mostly write flash fiction but i do have the occasional poem

 

[NodusTollens]

i mostly write flash fiction but i do have the occasional poem

That's okay, it's still something. I enjoyed it. :)

 

[Life_and_Death]

That's okay, it's still something. I enjoyed it. :)

aww thank you

 

[hellodarkness]

I have always identified with The Heartbreaker Poem by Bianca Phipps

It's a good one.

 

[AE2021]

Really like your poem. Thank you for sharing it.

This is one from Rumi that resonates for me. I think it reassures me that I am indeed leaving this weary world day by day even if I am not actively suicidal at this time.


In a boat down a fast-running creek,
it feels like trees on the bank are rushing by.

What seems to be changing around us
is rather the speed of our craft leaving this world.

 

[wordsonscreen]

I love this by Max Ehrmann. The bold is my favorite part!!


Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

 

[Wisdom3_1-9]

The defining moment of my life was the loss of my best friend when he was just 18. His death ruined me. It ripped my heart apart and set my life on a tragic course. In that respect, I think the poem that best defines me is Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden. It's a litany of the thoughts of hopelessness one has after losing love.


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

 

[notreallynow]

by Borges


1964

The world is no

longer magical. They left you.
You will no longer share the clear moon
or the slow gardens. There is no longer a
moon that is not a mirror of the past,

crystal of solitude, sun of agonies.
Goodbye the mutual hands and temples
that brought love closer. Today you only have
the faithful memory and deserts days.

No one loses (you repeat vainly)
but what he does not have and has
never had, but it is not enough to be brave

to learn the art of oblivion.
A symbol, a rose, rips you
and a guitar can kill you.

II

I won't be happy anymore. Maybe it doesn't matter.
There are so many other things in the world; any
instant is deeper
and more diverse than the sea. Life is short

and although the hours are so long, a
dark wonder stalks us,
death, that other sea, that other arrow
that frees us from the sun and the moon

and love. The bliss you gave me
and took from me must be erased;
what was everything has to be nothing.

I just have the joy of being sad,
that vain habit that bends me
south, to a certain door, to a certain corner.
More by JLB:



Not a star will remain in the night.

The night itself will not remain.

I will die and with me the sum

Of the intolerable universe.

I'll erase the pyramids, the coins,

The continents and all the faces.

I'll erase the accumulated past.

I'll make dust of history, dust of dust.

Now I gaze at the last sunset.

I am listening to the last bird.

I bequeath nothingness to no-one.

-----------------------------



have committed the worst of sins

One can commit. I have not been

Happy. Let the glaciers of oblivion

Take and engulf me, mercilessly.

My parents bore me for the risky

And the beautiful game of life,

For earth, water, air and fire.

I failed them, I was not happy.

Their youthful hope for me unfulfilled.

I applied my mind to the symmetric

Arguments of art, its web of trivia.

They willed me bravery. I was not brave.

It never leaves me. Always at my side,

That shadow of a melancholy man.

 

[it's_all_a_game]

Aubade by Philip Larkin. I like how the speaker contemplates death.

 

[AntiCycleAN]

"Not to be born at all
Is best, far best that can befall,
Next best, when born, with least delay
To trace the backward way.
For when youth passes with its giddy train,
Troubles on troubles follow, toils on toils,
Pain, pain forever pain;
And none escaped life's coils.
Envy, sedition, strife,
Carnage and war, make up the tale of life."

-- Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus

 

[262653]

Sigil stones are black
And so is my hair
What the hell I'm even doing here

 

[Toonloon]

Caged Bird
BY MAYA ANGELOU
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.


This poem is how I feel almost all the time.

 

[wait.what]

Great thread idea, and the poem by the suicidal Foxconn employee was brilliant and absolutely chilling.

I don't think I've ever read a poem I identified with so strongly that I felt it defined me, although my mother once told me that she saw me in a line from Robert Browning's "My Last Duchess:"

She had/ A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad

(I'm trans, and grew up with people calling me "she." He/him is correct, though.). I'm not completely sure what my mother meant by saying I had a heart "too soon made glad," but I think she I was saying I was too naive and easily convinced that others had good intentions. She said the same line reminded her of herself, and I don't think she meant it as an insult or criticism really. She offered it as more of an explanation for why I was the particular target of school and neighborhood bullies. I guess I was a patsy. I was probably about 12 at the time.

In those days it was common to view bullying as a kind of educational experience. Bullies did you a favor by spotting all of your weaknesses and punishing you for them. That taught you to not have weaknesses, so when you grew up you would be perfect. Or something. So the think-positive way (always the best way) to deal with being mercilessly harassed by your peers is to first admit that all the cruel things they say about you are true.

Early adolescence was about the time I started seriously thinking about killing myself. That's pure coincidence, though.

So yeah, Browning's poem actually has nothing to do with me, just as ultimately my mother's weird comment had nothing to do with me, but that snapshot from my childhood goes a long way toward explaining . . . everything.

So I guess "My Last Duchess" is "my" poem.

The poem itself is great, by the way, gorgeously-rendered Gothic horror in the high European style. It is said that women were known to cross the Atlantic because they'd fallen in love with Browning through his poetry. I can believe it. Pity he was apparently pretty boring in real life. So if you ever cross an ocean to stalk a poet, be sure to book a return trip, just in case he turns out to be dull.

 

[fixitinpost]

I don't know what's worse:
to always be alone,
or to always be accompanied
by my anxiety

 

[Spiral]

The Lake
- Edgar Allan Poe

In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunting of the Wide world a spot
To which I could not love the less - So lovely was its loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rocks bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.

But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon the spot, as upon all,
And the mystic wind went by
Murmuring in melody -
Then - ah then I would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.

Yet the terror was not fright,
But a tremulous delight -
A feeling not the jewelled mine
Could teach or bribe me to define -
Nor love - although the love were thine.

Death was in that poisonous wave,
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his lone imagining -
Whose solitary soul could make
An Eden of that dim lake

 

[Aloken]

The God Abandons Anthony, C. P. Cavafy

When suddenly, at midnight, you hear
an invisible procession going by
with exquisite music, voices,
don't mourn your luck that's failing now,
work gone wrong, your plans
all proving deceptive—don't mourn them uselessly.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
say goodbye to her, the Alexandria that is leaving.
Above all, don't fool yourself, don't say
it was a dream, your ears deceived you:
don't degrade yourself with empty hopes like these.
As one long prepared, and graced with courage,
as is right for you who proved worthy of this kind of city,
go firmly to the window
and listen with deep emotion, but not
with the whining, the pleas of a coward;
listen—your final delectation—to the voices,
to the exquisite music of that strange procession,
and say goodbye to her, to the Alexandria you are losing.

The City, C. P. Cavafy

You said: "I'll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried like something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I've spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally."

You won't find a new country, won't find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You'll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You'll always end up in this city. Don't hope for things elsewhere:
there's no ship for you, there's no road.
Now that you've wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you've destroyed it everywhere in the world.

C. P. Cavafy is my favorite poet. Unfortunately, the translations cannot show the magnificence of the original poems (at least I can know it, since I speak Greek), but are good enough. The first poem talks about Marc Anthony who is about to lose Alexandria, the city of Egypt. Alexandria here is also a symbol of every man's dream, ambition and plan and the poem talks about those who see their dreams being shattered to the ground. They have to say farewell to them, there's no other way. They have to say farewell to Alexandria that they're losing. It really defines me, but I don't think God abandoned me (according to Plutarch's story, the night before Marc Anthony lost Alexandria to Octavian, a procession playing music and singing was heard and it crossed the gates of the city, leaving it to silence. The God Bacchus, the protector of Anthony was forsaking him)

The second poem is more straightforward. Every time I heard it, I was welling up. The magnificence of Cavafy's writing haunts me.

 

[Error1987]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I want to die
And so do you

 

[Callie Arcale]

It's hard to choose just one. But if I have to, I'd probably go with Rilke's Again and again because it is in line with my antinatalist views.



Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall: again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

 

[Isadeth]

After a while you learn
the subtle difference between
holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn
that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn
that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin to accept your defeats
with your head up and your eyes ahead
with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child
and you learn
to build all your roads on today
because tomorrow's ground is
too uncertain for plans
and futures have a way of falling down
in mid-flight.
After a while you learn
that even sunshine burns
if you get too much
so you plant your own garden
and decorate your own soul
instead of waiting for someone
to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure
you really are strong
you really do have worth
and you learn
and you learn
with every goodbye, you learn…

 

[Wisdom3_1-9]

Caged Bird
BY MAYA ANGELOU

I absolutely love this.
But what can the caged bird do when it can't sing anymore? What does it do when it's lost its voice?
That's how I feel.

 

[signifying nothing]

I absolutely love this.
But what can the caged bird do when it can't sing anymore? What does it do when it's lost its voice?
That's how I feel.

You hope that whoever caged you replaces you with a bird that does sing and puts you out of your misery or sets you free.

 

[signifying nothing]

There was a man who found two leaves and came
indoors holding them out saying to his parents
that he was a tree.

To which they said then go into the yard and do
not grow in the living room as your roots may
ruin the carpet.

He said I was fooling I am not a tree and he
dropped his leaves.

But his parents said look it is fall.

 

[wordsonscreen]

There was a man who found two leaves and came
indoors holding them out saying to his parents
that he was a tree.

To which they said then go into the yard and do
not grow in the living room as your roots may
ruin the carpet.

He said I was fooling I am not a tree and he
dropped his leaves.

But his parents said look it is fall.

I love this so much!

 

[Nicothe13th]

Ah, they say life's not about waiting for the storm to pass
It's about learning to dance in the rain
Bugzy Malone
You know? Watch this
It's not physical pain, it's psychological pain
Emotionally scarred so bad I was wearing a mask-like Bane
Not an actual mask, a psychological mask
What do you find that mad?
What about a kid that had to find his dad
Only to find that he didn't like him back
Not physical pain, psychological pain
I seen it from the beginning, I was there on the wedding day
The happiest kid in the world when I'd seen the smile on my mum's face
I thought it was real
I heard the vows, I threw the confetti
Little did I know it was fake
Not physical pain, it's psychological pain
Everything I loved in life just went up in flames
I went from cold to freezing
I watched the family break into pieces
I thought that adults could iron out creases
I thought family was cousins and nephews and nieces, not arguments and police
Not physical pain, it's psychological pain
And if you look closely enough you can see the pain in my face
All the confusion, too many lies
It's all an illusion, nobody tries to understand
You get kicked to the curb and nobody says one word
I'm a bad boy and I know why
I get mad 'cause I said I won't cry
And the pain runs deeper than the blue sea, but the tears they will never run dry
You're looking at a bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
I'm a bad boy and I know why
I get mad 'cause I said I won't cry
And the pain runs deeper than the blue sea, but the tears they will never run dry
You're looking at a bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Ya, it's not physical pain, it's psychological pain
And I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't miss Dane
I watched him come from Jamaica
Sat with him playing on Sega
Sat thinking about paper
Me and him were the same age, and it just meant that we were rebellious by nature
Physical pain, psychological pain
They sent him back, while I was sat locked up in a cage
I hit the roadside pissed, told him over the phone, "Wait there I'll bring him home"
Tried to make money in time, but it was too late
It's not physical pain, it's psychological pain
They told me he fell from a bus and got bleeding on the brain
I prayed to the Lord, bring him back if he could live normal
He was in a coma, no-one's immortal
Turns out his condition was awful, it must have been fate
It's not physical pain, it's psychological pain
And if the storm don't pass then I'm going to dance in the rain
'Cause no matter what I'm a soldier, the world gets colder and colder
Every day that I get older I realize that life's way to short to play games
I'm a bad boy and I know why
I get mad 'cause I said I won't cry
And the pain runs deeper than the blue sea, but the tears they will never run dry
You're looking at a bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
I'm a bad boy and I know why
I get mad 'cause I said I won't cry
And the pain runs deeper than the blue sea, but the tears they will never run dry
You're looking at a bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy
Bad boy, bad bad boy

 

[notreallynow]

STEVIE SMITH

BOG-FACE
Dear little Bog-Face,
Why are you so cold?
And why do you lie with your eyes shut?--
You are not very old.

I am a Child of this World
And a Child of Grace,
And Mother, I shall be glad when it is over,
I am Bog-Face.

 

[wordsonscreen]

STEVIE SMITH

BOG-FACE
Dear little Bog-Face,
Why are you so cold?
And why do you lie with your eyes shut?--
You are not very old.

I am a Child of this World
And a Child of Grace,
And Mother, I shall be glad when it is over,
I am Bog-Face.

I love this <3

I discovered Stevie Smith today. Thank you!!
​

In My Dreams by Stevie Smith​

In my dreams I am always saying goodbye and riding away,
Whither and why I know not nor do I care.
And the parting is sweet and the parting over is sweeter,
And sweetest of all is the night and the rushing air.

In my dreams they are always waving their hands and saying goodbye,
And they give me the stirrup cup and I smile as I drink,
I am glad the journey is set, I am glad I am going,
I am glad, I am glad, that my friends don't know what I think.

Tender Only to One​

BY STEVIE SMITH

Tender only to one
Tender and true
The petals swing
To my fingering
Is it you, or you, or you?

Tender only to one
I do not know his name
And the friends who fall
To the petals' call
May think my love to blame.

Tender only to one
This petal holds a clue
The face it shows
But too well knows
Who I am tender to.

Tender only to one,
Last petal's latest breath
Cries out aloud
From the icy shroud
His name, his name is Death.

Not Waving but Drowning ​

Launch Audio in a New Window
BY STEVIE SMITH

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.