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William Shakespeare - Sonnet #12
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

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Written in 1972, this is Woodchucks by Maxine Kumin:

 

Woodchucks
Gassing the woodchucks didn't turn out right.
The knockout bomb from the Feed and Grain Exchange
was featured as merciful, quick at the bone
and the case we had against them was airtight,
both exits shoehorned shut with puddingstone,
but they had a sub-sub-basement out of range.

Next morning they turned up again, no worse
for the cyanide than we for our cigarettes
and state-store Scotch, all of us up to scratch.
They brought down the marigolds as a matter of course
and then took over the vegetable patch
nipping the broccoli shoots, beheading the carrots.

The food from our mouths, I said, righteously thrilling
to the feel of the .22, the bullets' neat noses.
I, a lapsed pacifist fallen from grace
puffed with Darwinian pieties for killing,
now drew a bead on the little woodchuck's face.
He died down in the everbearing roses.

Ten minutes later I dropped the mother.She
flipflopped in the air and fell, her needle teeth
still hooked in a leaf of early Swiss chard.
Another baby next.O one-two-three
the murderer inside me rose up hard,
the hawkeye killer came on stage forthwith.

There's one chuck left. Old wily fellow, he keeps
me cocked and ready day after day after day.
All night I hunt his humped-up form.I dream
I sight along the barrel in my sleep.
If only they'd all consented to die unseen
gassed underground the quiet Nazi way.

Identity
By-Cyrus Diaz


Look at me,
it's not my true identity
I have a covert identity,
i wonder if you'd ever see,
my thoughts, my deeds
are all that makes me
but something I may do
may not describe me.

My true identity
has fled me,
fled me to another
to my friends and family
my true identity
is all that makes me.

So lost deep inside
if its not for my soul
i would[d be lost again
my true identity
is hard to see.

Accept who you are
recognize your own beauty
identity isn't a need,
your identity should be your own
a better person you will be known
this is me, this is my identity
my true identity is all full of beauty.

Here's another one from Tupac...believe me, even if you hate rap, the man was a phenominal poet...

In The Event Of My Demise
In the event of my Demise
when my heart can beat no more
I Hope I Die For A Principle
or A Belief that I had Lived 4
I will die Before My Time
Because I feel the shadow's Depth
so much I wanted 2 accomplish
before I reached my Death

I have come 2 grips with the possibility
and wiped the last tear from My eyes
I Loved All who were Positive
In the event of my Demise

i have a fav..but its better in vid form..enjoy

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Posted by Jessie W. Garrett III on May 22, 2024 at 12:32am — 1 Comment

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