Elassë~Adael (currently calling herself “e~a the sock monkey”) humbly requests a new installment of the Poems and Songs thread. There’s plenty of room left on Poems and Songs, v. 2006.4. We’re all in favor of humility, however, so here’s one more P&S thread to round off the year.
117 thoughts on “Poems and Songs, v. 2006.5”
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I’ll start it off with “Fern Hill” by Dylan Thomas:
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
Zallie asked on a previous thread about what makes poetry different from prose. If reading Dylan Thomas doesn’t answer the question, here’s an explanation by the Scottish poet Tom Leonard.
100 Differences Between Poetry and Prose
poetry stops before the end of the margin
you can talk about prose without mentioning school
you don’t read poetry to get from Glasgow to Saltcoats without noticing
John Menzies doesn’t stock poetry
whoever heard of war & peace having the line as a unit of semantic yield
you can call a poem what you want and say its poetic licence
poetry is the subliminal history of linguistic shape
ahem
poetry has four wheels, two wings and a pair of false teeth
…
you don’t get prose in anapaestic dimeters
nobody publishes their first slim volume of prose
aristotle never wrote The Proses
if you dribble past five defenders, it isn’t called sheer prose
poets are the unacknowledged thingwaybobs
poetry is quintessentially contrapuntal
the square root of poetry is an ever-evolving quark
whenever Vergil looked in the mirror, he beheld an epic Latin poet
poetry is all the juicy bits in the juiciest order
poetry is jellied religion
pascal: if your labourers complain too much, try taking them to a poetry reading
prose goes scchhpludd
prose goes scchhpludd scchhpludd clomp clomp clomp
are you sitting comfortably
then I’ll end
1,2- Oddish.
My favorite poets are Shel Silverstein and….. Dr. Seuss. If he counts as a poet. Cat, hat, dog, frog. He was a genius.
I love this thread! I love it so! Uh-oh Homr-Work.
Welcome to my Christmas song
I’d like to thank you for the year
So I’m sending you this Christmas card
To say it’s nice to have you here
I’d like to sing about all the things
Your eyes and mind can see
So hop aboard the turntable
Oh step into Christmas with me
Step into Christmas
Let’s join together
We can watch the snow fall forever and ever
Eat, drink and be merry
Come along with me
Step into Christmas
The admission’s free
Take care in all you do next year
And keep smiling through the days
If we can help to entertain you
Oh we will find the ways
So merry Christmas one and all
There’s no place I’d rather be
Than asking you if you’d oblige
Stepping into Christmas with me
Believe it or not, first time i heard this song was yestiddy. I like elton john. He’s kewl. Anyhoo.
Reposting my poem from the previous thread:
(this poem sort of has many phrases that are titles of books or songs.)
twisting into dreams of delirium
I fall
rising up, up
where there’s someplace to be flying
to be soaring
free,
free defying gravity
with dreams and whimsies
songs and stories
a world of my imagination
falling up into a whimsical world
I need someplace to be flying
someplace where I can defy gravity
let my dreams float freely
somewhere over a rainbow of misguided thoughts
of stereotypes
of who I should be
of who they want me to be
I need someplace to dream into delirium
to let my thoughts run free
my dreams soar
like crows ascending
towards a sun of imagination
Yay!! Poems&Songs! This thread was diiiiiiiiieing. Hmm, I don’t have any recent poems. I am working on one, though. For weeks. Meh. I’ll post it hear later and again when I finish.
Come xmas i’ll post a short story by lovecraft… freak everyone out.
Ooh, fun. *prepares to be freaked out*
i was going to put up the pome VF and i have been email-writing but it’s too much bother with all the little lines and whatnot. We started doing random couplets like…idk…ages ago. Right now we’re talking about gnomes. And cheese.
a poem i wrote in 3rd grade that beautifully portrays pain.
OUCHHH!
She ran,
She fell,
OUCH!
I’m currently in a poetry class, and we just wrote a poem based on the poem, “A Questionnaire,” by Ruth Whitman. Mine is still in draft form…so any feedback would be great. Here it is:
A Questionnaire
Describe your early education.
At eleven, rigging the boat,
my grandmother and I prepared to sail.
Pulling hard to lift the boom,
the halyard burned my hands.
Pushing off from the shore,
I grasped the tiller tightly.
My grandmother placed her hand
on top of mine,
moving it back and forth.
With my grandmother as a guide,
I learned the feel for the water.
What is your permanent address.
Under the sturdy rocks
that form the breakwater.
Between the blades of grass
which grow beneath the sign
which bears the name, Swift Field.
On top of the bell tower
whose music wakens me each morning.
On the wings of a butterfly
Who teaches me to fly.
Male or female.
Neither.
Gender dares not to pass
Through my mind
as I ride the butterflies
and float with the clouds.
No barrier separates me
from the depths
of the sky,
nor the light
from within.
Are you married.
I marry no one.
Bonds are created
with many,
vines of friendship
grow high.
List your honors and awards.
Living through difficulty.
Folding the cranes,
one by one,
then watching them burn.
Fire devouring them
while ash blows skyward.
Give a brief statement of your plans.
To fly alongside the butterfly.
To sail with my grandmother.
To breathe the ashes forever.
I liked the Male or female. and List your honors and awards. sections of your poem. Good work! I don’t really have any constructive criticism, sorry about that. Cool idea.
Bligh. Here is a poem I wrote on the spot to add as filler in my NaNoWriMo story:
An Ode to Chocolate
Oh, chocolate, oh, chocolate,
You make me full, not thin or fat,
Though for others their woes of weight
They lay upon your responsibility plate.
The wars, the famines, the good times, the bad,
All had chocolate, chocolate all had.
So now, with sad bemoaning faces,
We turn to your appetizing chocolateyness and cute chocolate faces.
Chocolate, Chocolate!
C H O C O L A T E!!
You keep me awake at night when cheese fails
You keep me addicted to chocolateyness by the pails
And now, I shall write a small little informative bit
About the chocolate:
Chocolate was eaten by
South Americans fair,
And in return for beads and stuff,
Columbus ate their wares.
And he said one word:
M m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
(Can you say m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m m?)
IGH!!! ICK!! BLEAAAGGGHHH!!!! How can anyone STAND even the SMELL of coffee/espresso whatevers/ all those type of things?!?!?!
I accidentally bit into a coffee/espresso whatevers/all those type of things jelly bean. I thought I would die. It tasted like something had died on the road. I no longer like jelly beans.
I bit into a jelly-belly
While surfin’ for info,
My tongue went numb, and then it burst
Into a million pieces-o!
I barely made it out alive,
That jelly bean was rotten,
It tasted not of dung or tuna,
Or human or even cotton,
The taste it had was Coffee,
The smell of it was foul,
But I only realized what it was
Once I had taken a bite and howled:
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I made it up on the spot.
I really need to put some good poems of mine here, not just these ones I have put up here so far.
(11) That’s excellent. I’d like to read “A Questionnaire”.
I like that the last verse ties it up so well thematically. I think it’s all in all a very strong poem. The verse that needs the most work, I guess, is the first. It gets a little wordy…maybe you could work to get the idea of your grandmother teaching you to sail withou out useing som nay lines. I think it’s great poem though.
My writing.lit teacher is really into poetry. We’ve been reading Wilfred Owen to go with our current novel, Johnny Got his Gun
My keybord stopped working, but here’s what I was going to put in the rest of that last post. And sorry about all the typos.. i meant “without using so many lines”. This keyboard hates me. Its keys are like rocks.
Anyway, a poem by WIlfred Owen. I’m not sure of the title.
Move him into the sun –
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds, –
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved,- still warm,- too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
– O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
The Wilfred Owen poem is called “Futility.”
I love this thread. The other one was definitely dying. I don’t have anything fresh right now, but maybe I can whip something up. I’m in the hospital
Sorry. That last post got cut off. Here’s the rest of what I was going to say:
I’m in the hospital right now, perfectly fine, using PPanda’s computer. I’m listening to singalong songs right across the hall from my room, mostly Christmas songs. I don’t know. Maybe I can right about that…:
Deck the halls with boughs of holly!
Fa la la la laaa la la la la
(chord chord)
‘Tis the season to be jolly
Falalalalaalalalala
Now sing it with me!
is da sesin to be jolly
falalalalalalalalalalalalalallllaaaaaaaa
Good!
Don we now our gay apparel
Fa la la
la la la!
La la la.
‘Tis the season to be jolly
Falalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
la la
la
llllaaaaaaaaaa!
Yay!
In 1777 I’m told, our founding fathers all sat down
and wrote a set of rules
that blew the world around
etc. etc.
we the people
in order to form a more perfect union
establish justice
insure domestic tranquility
etc. etc.
SCHOOLHOUSE ROCK ROCKS!! Yesh!
Here is my awesomeness song!
There Are Pigs That Are Living In My Room
There ar pigs that are living in my room
and they are such a terrible sight!
Oh, I wish they would just disapear in the night!
There are pigs that are living in my room!
There are pigs that are living in my room
and some day, oh, I wish they’d go “Boom Boom”
Then they’d fly through the air like a whitch on a broom!
There are pigs that are living in my room.
(tune change)
They cover the beds!
They cover the Floor!
I wish that they would be no more!
There are pigs that are living in my room. Room. Room!
“There Are Pigs That Are Living in My Room” is officially by kiwimuncher. No body steal it!!!!!!!!!!
commentary on my poem?
‘nuther poem:
imagine laughter from all mouths
filling the world with a beautiful song
of love
11- Ooh, nice. I shall write that on the next questionere that keep bombarding my email(with your permision).
6- I like it, espesally the first bit- “I fall, rising up”. The defing gravity bit makes e think of Wicked, but your poem is not the same style of Wicked at all so it’s okay.
Here’s a poem I’m not done with yet, but I’ll post it for responses.
Could you carry me away? to
beyond the break of day? and
promise me you’d stay? now
let the colors fade to gray…
the city is sleeping but the lights are still on
whispers and murmers and hours till dawn
flickering shadows, all colors are gone
twisting and turnig and deep in the night
moon-shattered splashes and tricks of the light
all monochromatic, black and white
white fades to black and the black turns to grey
pebbles and stones and all thoughts gone astray
before the words leave my lips you have swept me away
take me back, to yesterday…
WOuld you carry me away? to
beyond the break of day? and
promise me you’d stay? now
let the colors fade to gray…
the music is playing, the music is loud
we’re trapped in a fog and we’re lost in the clouds
we ing in our minds but we’re speaking aloud
…annnnd, that’s all I’ve gotten to so far. Feedback, please.
24- yeah, i did sort of mention that I stole phrases from more than one place
25- It’d make a good song. I like it don’t have much time now but I’ll constructively criticise later.
READY????
Poem
watching as the flurries fly,
many thoughts came passing by,
sitting on the window sill,
snowmen standing tall and still,
children dancing in the snow,
where on earth did childhood go?
and when the looming darkness falls,
would i be stuck between four walls?
it didn’t take long to decide
to carpe diem, go outside.
On a Night of Snow
by Elizabeth Coatsworth
Cat, if you go outdoors you must walk in the snow.
You will come back with little white shoes on your feet,
Little white slippers of snow that have heels of sleet.
Stay by the fire, my Cat. Lie still, do not go.
See how the flames are leaping and hissing low,
I will bring you a saucer of milk like a marguerite,
So white and so smooth, so spherical and so sweet,
Stay with me, Cat. Outdoors the wild winds blow.
*****************
Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night,
Strange voices cry in the trees, intoning strange lore,
And more than cats move, lit by our eyes’ green light,
On silent feet where the meadow grasses hang hoar-
Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
And things that are yet to be done. Open the door!
And thus the chatters,in the evening,
died.
And o’er the world the lonely child
flied
Until the call whispered into his
ear
To come hither and rest now,my
dear.
This is a poem made on the spot by QED
Your mother was a hamster
Your father smelt of elderberries
Your head is made of bricks sir
I ignore your many queries
It’s odd that you are living
After so many wish for your death
Please never again try singing
Don’t mock people who say “Yeth”
I think you are abominable
Exceedingly ugly and mean
As thick as the skin of a bull
You really need to get clean
From hair to greasy hair
I loathe every bit of your scalp
And for your appendages in pair
I shudder and let out a yelp
Your mind is a bowl of porridge
Thick, sluggish, and slow
I’d like to push you off a ridge
Or bury you under the snow
You can’t understand two plus two
Will always equal four
You can never remember jokes
You really are a bore
I despise you completely with passion
I banish you now from my sight
You have no conception of fashion
You appear to ignore every slight
Is that because you are stupid?
Or are you simply a jerk?
Is there any way to rid you
Of this horrible tendancy to lurk?
Get thee from my sight
And never return!
I’ll put up a fight
And it’s you i will burn!
I despise you completely
Oh wicked Mr. Joe
Now that i’ve dissed you neatly
From this poem I shall go.
to eat and eat and eat and eat
well i think that is quite a feat
to chew and chew and chew and chew
well, that is quite a thing to do
to chomp and chomp and chomp and chomp,
well darling, that is quite a romp
so read and memorize and eat
this little poem, oh so sweet.
1-I’m not a big fan of Dylan Thomas, but I do like that poem.
2-I love Tom Leonard.
8-I can deal with Lovecraft quite well, thank you.
I don’t write poetry. I’m very good at quoting and appreciating it. But writing it? No. I can’t write poetry to save my life. Here is my favorite poem. It is by Tom Lehrer when he was 14 and a senior at Loomis. It is called “Dissertation on Education”:
Education is a splendid Institution,
A most important social institution,
Which has brought about my mental destitution
By its own peculiar type of persecution.
For I try to absorb
In the midst of an orb
Of frantic instructors’ injunctions
The names of the Fates
And the forty-eight states
And the trigonometrical functions,
The figures of speech
(With the uses of each)
And the chemical symbol for lead,
The depth of the ocean,
Molecular motion
The names of the bones in the head,
The plot of Macbeth
And Romeo’s death
And the history fo the Greek drama,
Construction of graphs
And the musical staffs
And the routes of Cortez and Da Gama,
The name of the Pope,
The inventor of soap
And the oldest American college—
The use of conceits,
The poems of Keats,
And other poetical knowledge.
I’m beginning to feel
I don’t care a great deal
For the reign of the Emperor Nero,
The poems of Burns,
What the President earns,
And the value of absolute zero,
The length of a meter,
The size of a liter,
The cause of inflation and failure,
The veins and the nerves,
Geometrical curves,
And the distance from here to Australia,
Reproduction of germs,
Biological terms,
And when a pronoun is disjunctive,
The making of cheese,
The cause of disease,
And the use of the present subjunctive.
I wish that there weren’t
Electrical current,
Such places as Rome and Cathay,
And such people as Watt
And Sir Walter Scott
And Edna St. Vincent Millay.
I don’t like very much
To learn customs and such
Of people like Tibetan lamas,
And I’d like to put curbs
On irregular verbs
And the various uses for comas,
International pacts
All historical facts,
Like the dates of Columbus and Croesus,
Bunker Hill, Saratoga,
And Ticonderoga,
The War of the Peloponnesus.
But although I detest
Learning poems an the rest
Of the things one must know to have “cultureâ€,
While each of my teachers
Makes speeches like preachers
And preys on my faults like a vulture,
I will leave movie thrillers
And watch caterpillars
Get born and pupated and larva’ed,
And I’ll work like a slave
And always behave
And maybe I’ll get into Harvard…
I like saying that poem. It’s fun. I don’t like Shel Silverstein or ee cummings or H.D. Imagiste or Ezra Pound, I like most of Roald Dahl’s poetry, and I also like Lewis Carroll and I love dada poetry. A lot of people think of dada as a painting and sculpture thing but the poetry was amazing.
I like writing poems. My most recent one:
There once was a great Russian Czar,
Whose habits were rather bizarre.
He went out into town,
While dressed as a clown,
In a five-wheeled eight-seater car.
No offense to any Russians here, Czar was the only thing I could come up with that worked and rhymed with bizarre.
33 – Interesting limerick, PC. Nice.
34- Thanks.
My family (mostly my siblings) and I have been…adapting…
holiday songs. We plan to use sound recorder on the computer
(I LURVE sound recorder) to record the songs. Here is an excerpt from “Arson Brown’s Grand Scheme”:
Later on, we’ll conspire,
To set the house a-fire,
We’ll face unafraid the plans that we made,
Though the consequences may be dire,
No, we are not pyromaniacs. I swear.
what holiday song is that supposed to be adapted from?
New P&S! Lurve time!
8 (FS)- Lovecraft. W00t w00t.
Here’s a poem/song-ish-thing I’m working on. It’s about colonialism, of all things. Not finished, and I’m a sucky rhymer. There is a rhyme scheme, but it varies with the stanzas. It goes something like this: AAA BBAA CDCD EEEAA FGFG HHAA AAA. So it’s screwy. I really don’t like rhyme, but it seemed to work for this. Comments plzkthx.
Blood reaching to the skies
The sun will always rise
The quetzal never dies.
The bird will fly away
Beyond every bloody day
It still, ascendant, flies
The quetzal never dies.
And swords will come (cold metal)
Cold metal in the gun
Forever burns the quetzal
Green feathers in the sun.
We call them gods, the shining things
Each one an ending brings
And clips off all our wings
Still mummified in lies
The quetzal never dies.
We wait here now in silence
The pain of killing gone
Yet always is the violence
The memory goes on.
Wings spread ever higher
Reaching for the fire
However hard it flies
The quetzal never dies.
Hands covering our eyes
Still the sun will rise
The quetzal never dies.
For some reason, poets that use one word per line REALLY annoy me.
37-Winter Wonderland, no?
38-I likes. Sounds like south america…mebbe cuz quetzal sounds south american. Is that what it is? I figured it’s a bird of some kind…
40 (Ebeth)- A quetzal is a Mesoamerican bird, revered by the Aztecs, who then proceeded to slaughter it for its shiny green feathers.
Mwahaha, right continent anyway. Aww, i hate it when people slaughter things for shiny feathers. :'(
Quetzals survived, though. They’re still around in the forests of Guatemala, which has named its money after them.
43 (OEAD)- Yes, I know. I’ve seen photos of them, and they are quite magnificent and shiny.
Jason Mraz rocks, and his songs are awesome
EXCERPT!!!!!!!
Geek in the Pink
hey, baby look at me go,
from zero to hero,
you better take it from a geek like me,
well i can save you from,
the unoriginal dum dums.
who wouldn’t care if you com…plete him or not
so what i got a short attention span
a coke in my hand,
because i’d rather spend the afternoon relaxing understand?
my hip hop and flip flops, well they don’t stomp to the light rock,
my shot to mock you really puts me in a tight spot
the hype is nothing more than hoo ha so,
i’m developing a language and i’m callin it my own,
take a peek into the speaker and you’ll see what i mean,
on the other side the grass is greener
43- I’ve seen one!
Wander through the gloaming
to a world between
hmm.. that’s all I have. Once I write more I’ll post it. I had an idea but it just isn’t wanting to be written right now.
Okay everyone! 2 of my friends and I are making a poem book for school and here is one of my poems!
Turn the page gracefully
Smell of paper in the air
Frown of deep, sad concern
Almost all hope is gone
Eyes grow wide, danger comes
One small tear runs off my nose
Death has come but also victory
Is that how life really goes?
Good triumphing over evil?
No, I do not that’s so
But I think that really shows
That’s how we wish it could be
But hey, it’s just a story
Fiction (48) is officially by kiwimuncher
38- Oooh, I like it. Very poetic. For a poem, that is.
Oh! I should copy these! For those who don’t know, I’m collecting all the muser-writen poems. Don’t really know why. I’ve got all but part of the first thread(and this one) allready. I don’t really know what I’m going to do with it. Maybe send it to the GAPA or something. Oh well, I’ll deal with that later.
And now: a short Hiaku from last year I just found.
Poems are like a bird
Soaring high, above us all
Where we cannot go
Haiku
Watching Snow Fall
Peacfully Blanketing Earth
Big White Comforter
Haiku’s don’t make sense
To me they are just words-no rhyme
though their scheme sets them apart.
51 –
If you learn haiku
You will also learn that it
Goes 5-7-5
first 5 syllables
the second line has seven
then 5 once again
Just made that up.
one two three four five
the next line will be seven.
count to five again
ALSO
haiku is about
nature, or in most places.
senryu, for feel.
senryu’s are about emotion, and haiku is about nature
USUALLY
54 – Yeah. We had to write nature haikus, and here’s the stuff I came up with. I don’t know if I already put this there, though:
The beauty of wind
Can be described as magic
For its small light touch
And here’s a windspark. I don’t like windsparks:
I dreamed
I was a leaf
Over a field
Flying and falling
Simply
Cinquain:
Birdsong
Light, beautiful
Reaching out to heal all
Patiently helping our nature
Airy
Here’s a picture poem that won’t work without the spaces and the lines, but oh well:
Opening to give us water and growth
Cold………wet………loud………scary
………..Strong
…………Bright..
………..Big…..
………Noisy
……..And..
……….Awe..
…………some..
……………………
It’s supposed to be a storm cloud. If you squint you can see it. Sort of.
I think this is a funny poem:
Good Morning, Mrs. Hamster
by Kenn Nesbitt
The teacher performed an experiment
she probably shouldn’t have tried.
Some chemicals flashed and exploded.
She ended up frazzled and fried.
Her eyebrows were sizzling and smoking.
Her clothing was covered with soot.
She looked like a cartoon coyote
whose cannon had just gone kaput.
But something astonishing happened
as soon as her test went awry.
The teacher was caught by the shock wave,
and so was her hamster nearby.
The universe inside the blast zone
was literally rearranged,
affecting the teacher and hamster,
and somehow their brains were exchanged.
The hamster climbed up near the blackboard
and handed out homework galore.
The teacher, by contrast, was squeaking
and crawling around on the floor.
The principal quickly came running
the instant he learned of the news.
The hamster said, “Welcome. Please join us.”
Our teacher was sniffing his shoes.
I’m sorry to say our poor teacher
now sits in a cage eating grass.
The principal made her our pet,
and the hamster’s in charge of the class.
I think Panda and I will be posting a Muse song sometime eventually, when it’s written. Most of the lyrics will probably be along the lines of “Crusto volanti noli obstare.”
Crusto volanti noli obstare (to the tune of: If you’re happy and you know it. )
By: SupremeMuser2000
Crusto volanti noli obstare *clap clap*
Crusto volanti noli obstare *clap clap*
Don’t stand in the way of a flying pie
Just let it fly on by
Crusto volanti noli obstare *clap clap*
Isn’t that cool?
Jadestone thinks she is going to have a vain moment(sorry people) and pot one of her favorate poems she’s written. Vain because I posted it before on the old thread. Anywhee, here it is. It’s more of a chant, so say it to a rhythm or somthing.
The stars shine bright
on a silver night
so drink moonlight
for your delight
not everything
is what it seems
beware the shadows
in between
the world is flat
the world is round
so jump and twist
and turn around
and don’t be fooled
by the glint of gold
do what you wish
do as you’re told
and use your voice
but not to loud
watch where you step
you’re on a cloud
I see the sea
and it sees me
but I still don’t know
what to be
and everyone is
twisting, turning
watching, yearning
listening, learning
see the fire
burning, burning
burning down
and underground
not a wisp of smoke left
on
the
ground.
58 – Er… interesting…. I like it. It works. Certainly different from what Panda and I have been working on. We were more on a Mozart theme. But different tune.
Crusto! Vola-anti, Vola-anti
Noli
Obstare
Ob, ob, stare,
Crusto!
Or something like that. Like the Coronation Mass.
60- Thank you. I mean, um, heh heh heh.
61 – Now THAT is a dead give-away.
Mwahahahaha! I found who YGS is!
First there was the booming of creation
First THUNDER was born
And in the thunder lighning came forth
And LIGHT and DARKNESS were born
Alway existing beside each other
And then light and darkness lost their boundries
Spiraling into everything and yet nothing
And CHAOS was born
And yet even in chaos a steady direction existed
And WIND was born
And the wind stirred up the cold hard stones of nothingness
And SAND was born
And the wind grew hot and danced
And FIRE was born
And the wind blew over the fire
Cooling it and slowing its dance
And WATER was born
And the water grew colder
And its dancing ceased
And ICE was born
And the water washed upon the sand
And LIFE was born
-Song of the Afareet
The idea for this came when I was reading this thread. You’ll notice almost all the lines begin with “And”
62,63- I was actually trying to give it away. On the Alter Ego thread, you wouldn’t beleive how many hints I gave away, and no one got it.
65 – I KNOW STOP I GOT IT STOP BUT I AM TRYING NOT TO GUESS STOP I AM FAILING STOP JUST TRYING TO KEEP THREAD GOING STOP I COULD GIVE YOU ALL HINTS YOU SAID BUT WILL DO IT ON AE THREAD STOP I DROPPED HINTS TOO END
LETS SEE HERE 1234567 STOP MANY MANY LETTERS SHEESH BIG TELEGRAM BILL END
64 (Anata)- Yay for RRR fan-poetry. Actually, I like fan-poetry in general, so long as it’s good. Axa’s Naruto stuff shall always remain among my favorites.
Y aquà está una poema que yo escribé en este momento. ‘Tis quite odd, but if you think about it…it should make some sort of twisted sense?
donttouchanything
because if you do
why, the world will end
and all the tiny puppies in baskets
will be homeless
with their minds blown out through the sky.
Think of the puppies before you move. (thenexttime?)
Ah a new thread! I’ve beent oo lazy to post much, I’m sorry. Heh…
(6) I like it! Simple but strong, that’s what I;ve always thought of your poetry…it’s very crisp! 8D
(21) Ah, this reminds me of Shel Silverstein for some reason! Which is a good thing. ^^ Keep it up~~
(25) My favorite line by far is “the city is sleeping but the lights are still on” . I really like the structure of this poem in the first and last clause. It gives a very nice choppy feeling that’s enlivening.
(38) I lovelovelove the word queztal. I’m the same, outright rhymes seem very contrived to me as I write them. I think it turned out well!
(51) Eh… it’s “haikus” ont “haiku’s” since there is not possession. I respect your opinion, but poetry isn’t really all about rhyming all the time.
(55) OH MY I love the mere look of this poem! It’s very fluid, which I like even more! Nice job, keep it up. ^^
And now for some of my own stuff. My style has changed a lot, mind you. At least I think it has. I’ve recent;y hit a sort of creative block though, but it comes and goes…
//snow
Smiling now,
with the ghosts of those I have created
See only the hollow laughter
in these pretentious eyes of mine.
Curled in the snow
Freezing to death in a blue winter, these are my dreams
I want to feel nothing but cold
“No, but I really…”
Mean it, was that what you were going to say?
With half a glance, I turn the world
As always, simply laughing
But there is only bitterness,
because I’m going to-
(A glass snowflake, in my hand
Shatters; the shards are in my skin
A delicious chill spreads-
You’ll never know)
Break you, and all that you are
A final wish, a hateful hope
Your oblivious nature that seeks to enrage
Tries my heart, every day
Nothing is simple
The world, grotesquely contorted; I’m done with that
It;s selfish, but I want only my own happiness
All of this, I;d leave it in an instant, if only to be gone
So stay away from me
twisting the world
into a half-matchbox shape
of colour
wires running helter-
skelter across a globe
fire of love
of hate
of strength flying over the seas
under the seas
in the seas
where am i?
in all of this – where am I?
——————
a crow –
waiting for flight
poised for song
– in a tree
needing
a place
to be
flying
someplace
to spread her wings
but half-knowing
where it is
already
——————–
in the shadows
I wait
watching
I move like a shadow
chairs, tables, flats
flying in my shadow-arms
I float above watching with the lights
even higher I sit on the roof tops
looking out at the lights of the city
I, a shadow, cast by the stagelights
I don’t know if I posted this on the other thread…but…
***
Columbia, by Langston Hughes
Columbia,
My dear girl,
You really haven’t been a virgin for so long
It’s ludicrous to keep up the pretext.
You’re terribly involved in world assignations
And everybody knows it.
You’ve slept with all the big powers
In military uniforms,
And you’ve taken the sweet life
Of all the little brown fellows
In loin cloths and cotton trousers.
When they’ve resisted,
You’ve yelled, “Rape,”
At the top of your voice
And called for the middies
To beat them up for not being gentlemen
And liking your crooked painted mouth.
(You must think the moons of Hawaii
Disguise your ugliness.)
Really,
You’re getting a little too old,
Columbia,
To be so naive, and so coy.
Being one of the world’s big vampires,
Why don’t you come on out and say so
Like Japan, and England, and France,
And all the other nymphomaniacs of power
Who’ve long since dropped their
Smoke-screens of innocence
To sit frankly on a bed of bombs?
O, sweet mouth of India,
And Africa,
Manchuria, and Haiti.
Columbia,
You darling,
Don’s shoot!
I’ll kiss you!
***
Lovely, eh?
Here’s a sad one: Gerard Manley Hopkins’s “Spring and Fall, to a Young Child”:
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
72- Oh, thit is sort of sad. I like the line “Sorrow’s springs are the same.” Hmm… I’m working on a poem. I think I’ll post it… it’s only half done. lets see if I can finish…
Here I stand, surrounded
yet I’m stting in the dark
I just want to hold together
but instead I fall apart
strings, strings,
unraveling
remember all the little things
strings, strings,
unwinding,
hours, minutes, long
love is like a window
or maybe it’s like a door
I’m not sure what’s going on
I don’t want to do this anymore
threads, threads,
the things we dread
whatch out now, we’re not yet dead
threads, threads,
the things we said
going, going, gone
Hmm… it’s okay, I suppose. Feedback?
I felt the sea’s ankles
Twisting around my toes
Stealthily
Slowly
Carefully
Twisting and turning
Gathering
Splashing
That’s all I have. I think it’s a bit too much in one moment… can anyone help me space it out?
71 – That’s so beautiful. And you’re right, it’s kind of sad.
72 – I love the rhyming and imagery of the last stanza.
Suggestions: Maybe instead of “or maybe it’s like a door” do “or maybe it’s a door.” Just a suggestion. I’m not sure which I like better. Just putting it out there. And “I’m not sure what’s going on” could be “I don’t know what’s going on” or “I don’t see what’s going on” or something. It seems that “I’m not sure what’s going on” and “I don’t want to do this anymore” don’t really go together…
Wow! So many of the poems here are really funny and/or really good! I like writing poetry, but I don’t get alot of free time anymore and haven’t been able to write much except for homework lately. No. 72 – OMG that is a gorgeous poem. I really like the way the second and fourth stanzas correspond, the rhythm is realy nice there. The third stanza, however, could be a little different. I’m not sure what it needs yet, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out. That’s a wonderful work in progress.
I flit, I float,
I fleetly flee
I fly
The sun
has gone
to bed and so must I
Goodbye……..
—————————-
gliding
across wild waters
choosing roads
of time and value
seeking what I do not have
this poem is too depressing
Isn’t that just a lovely poem?
life is like a pinecone
each flap a strip of rhythm
holding the seeds of love
(72 Jadestone) What I really like is that you maintained a rhythm and flow. So many poems get that sort of jerky line-by-line feeling but this was much more… musical. I also like your use of refrain.
(73 Taiwan Hippo Fan) Well, when you feel that way about a poem it may help to stand back and think about what you’re saying, or trying to say. You obviously have an image in your head, and you’ve got some wonderful words to describe it. But if you want to make it more clear, take away some descriptive, one-word lines, and replace them with full “sentences” (I don’t know if you can say a poem has sentences but whatever). What do you mean by “the sea’s ankles?” I’d love to know. This poem seems to be the start of some great imagery. Good job. I hope what I said helps.
(75 KC/THF) I like the alliteration in the 1st poem. I wish I could say more! All three were good.
This poem was inspired by a painting I did. It was from a black and white photo of a little African boy that came from a volunteer thing I did. The photo is pretty moving, so that’s why I used as a model for my painting. A lot of people said my painting was good, but I have mixed feelings about it.
The little African boy
in the painting stares back
his eyes are quiet, submissive but
still smoldering
reflecting more accurately than any artwork
the truth of the situation.
I dare you to pity me
he says.
you, who created me with no more than
the turn of a page
a flick of a brush
and a falsely humble smile
you, who feel so kind and benevolent
as though you have done me some kind of favor
in painting this world,
a child’s naive rendition of the truth
I am the truth, and you have unwittingly stumbled upon me
but haven’t the wisdom to see it.
any comments on my poems? I really liked 72, especially the repitition.
I like the ideas in your most recent one, Skipper.
I shall write a poem about Muse!
Ah, Wonderous mag
I carry it in my bookbag
I never find you scary.
I love the crab that’s hairy
Land lobsters are the bomb
I read Muse all day long
Tis fr00dyness ain’t it?
CHERRY TREE
the bud of flower opens
soft, quiet on the tree
let the soft melodic wonder
be a nuance unto thee
brightest, vivid pink
melting, free to branches brown,
the glory of the newest flow’r
escaping through the town
As they slow, the people see
The beautiful pink cherry tree
The buds Alight
Waft tempts to me
Scents of sweet
Released with care
With a petal’d flit
Spring’s in the air
RAINFALL
A tinkle of rain
It starts from above
As slight as a feather
Like coos of a dove
As the hours clawl by,
The rain starts to pound
It rattles the windows
It rumbles the ground
There are rumbles of thunder
In a faraway fright
And then, with less warning
Lighning takes flight
A crack like a whip
Snapping high through the air
Sends the cats into hiding
And statics your hair
But then, after moments
No more hours have passed
The last baby raindrop
Reveals at long last
A glimmering rainbow
Stretches over come’d night,
And although it is darkening
Your glowed heart stays light,
Because even through gloom
Throughout dark and dacay
The sun always peeks out
Yet to shine one more day
Whoops! Sorry, I ended my post too early! I just feel a need to write poetry.
There once was a little brown ant
Who’d run a long ways and then pant,
“Will you make the road short
For a little ant’s sport?”
To put it quite simply, we shan’t.
Sorry, that was a really bad limerick!
My Lullaby
A soft, quiet chirp
A bright flutter of wings
A fiddle plays softly
As Cardinal sings
But then….
BOLD AND BRASH!
Boy climbs into the tree
Shakes and quakes it
As hard as can be
The song flows away
But silence is nigh
The boy leaves for home
For the darkening sky
The moon climbs to perches
To keep him aloft
Then he whistles his tune
Just as sweet and as soft
As the Cardinal with care
To be gentle and let leap
The soft melodies
As you drift off to sleep.
79, 80 – Those are wonderful poems. I envy the way you can keep the beat throughout the entire poem. I usually change the rhythm and screw everything up. I agree, that was a pretty bad limerick, but the other poems were great! In “Cherry Tree” the “Wafts tempt to me” line kinda threw me off. Isn’t
waft a verb? If I’m wrong, forget about it, but maybe you can change that. Everything else is great!
Sorry for double posting, but I had to leave for awhile. I guess I’ll put down a poem I wrote for Lan. Arts awhile ago. Tell me what you think of it!
All those soldiers overseas, may they quickly be granted peace.
Christmas is near, there are flurries of snow
Electric décor sets neighborhoods aglow
But when you are stranded in a vast field of sand,
It becomes rather hard to make a snowman.
Skating, snow forts and icy rides
Steaming laughter and twinkling eyes
Become things of the past, faded photographs.
Now smiles are few, and so are the laughs.
The winters of childhood, where did they go?
With mountains of presents and landscapes of snow
When Santa, in his sleigh, would bring round a happy day
By sneaking down the chimney fore dawn’s first ray.
Now gone are those days with the brightly shining lights
Where a squabble with you sister was considered a fight
Now life’s a constant struggle where around your ears falls rubble
From yet another terrorist group that wants their way.
Then you’re waking up on duty; tired, aching, sweaty, sooty
Thousands of miles from home, and on Christmas Day.
All those soldiers overseas, may the quickly be granted peace.
I know, it’s not the best, but I consider it a worthy effort at poetry.:)
81) Thankx! I’m blushing!
82) Thats an awesome poem too!
Heres another poem. Any comments?
A word is exchanged
There blossoms the fight
It starts in the morn,
It goes into night
Darkness the blanket
Lays calmly with care
Over battlers aplently
In the black smoky air
With a flash like a bolt
Of thunder’s reprise
The soldiers are firing
Flames dance in their eyes
The stars up above
Watch in fright there as one,
The battle keeps raging
For what’s done is done
Clouds of smoke o’er the townhouses
Battered and worn,
And there lay the toy soldiers
All bent up and forlorn
For the small bot has Left
In the dark of the night
In the dirt lay surivors
Of their sandcastle fight.
No. 83 – Luv it! I really like the way it changes to the toy soldiers and the sandcastle. One of my freinds wrote a poem a lot like this one, about a couple of kids playing a classic “knight rescues princess” game. It starts out with a very realistic dragon and ends with two little kids with sticks and some old dress-up clothing. I’ve always liked those kinds of poems. The transformation twixt reality and imagination is always really fun to read. Antways, great work! If you regularly write poetry this great, you should make a book of it or something.
84-Thanx! Actually, I am writing a novel right now. Bot if I posted what I had, there probably wouldn’t be any thread left!!!
Hey! Awesome! I’m also attemting to write a book, but it’s definently bookstore length right now. Only 24 pages.
. Another problemo is that I am continuosly coming up with new stories and stuff, so I haven’t actually worked on the original one for weeks. I’ll probably get around to it eventually, but right now I’m using up my computer time on Museblog. I’m just gonna check the other threads and go work on it.Seeya!
More poems to be witten, ah, the joy…
My imagination is running wild!
It would be in your interest to hide
It’s armed with quick thinking
And wit to be had
I think that you’d best come inside,
Whoop! There it flies
To a fairy tale land
Where it’s freedom is yet to be sung,
Imagine itself
Is really enough
But the “nation” adds on to the fun
People all over
The tall and the small,
Creativtity:more than a ton
For you see, with your thinking
In worlds alike
Your imagification is ONE.
86 ~ I’ve always wanted to write a book, but I have permanent writer’s block, I think. I can never come up with a good plot.
80 – Actually, it was pretty good. It made sense, at least. You should hear mine:
In a little old town known as Muse
Almost no one would ever wear shoes
It was quite a dilemma
For a young girl named Emma
For her shoes she was often to lose
Isn’t that just the most wonderful limerick you’ve ever heard? Let’s try again:
In a country that’s known as Iran
Who had quite a simple name – John
He was quite a freak
For he couldn’t quite speak
When he died, he was but sat upon.
And there we have quite the most pleasant one you ever heard. Now you see, I can’t even rhyme correctly. Yours was pretty good. Although not much point…
89-I like those . They were great!
88- That’s why I never wrote a diary. I just like to write on the computer, and my brain doesn’t like puttinthoughts down with pencil.
This is my sister’s poem…*ducks* It’s called Piggystein (Pig-ee-stine)
Piggystein, Piggystein, born in a barn
Piggystein, Piggystein, lived on a farm
He only ate
One flower a day
And was cute and full of charm.
Then Piggystein, Piggystein, had an accident,
Piggystein fell in a waste treatment plant!
He turned purple and green,
and started to scream,
and went on a crazy rampant!
He ate and he ate and became VERY fat,
He ate hundreds of flowers, perhaps more than that!
He even ate the family cat!
Even the strongest army
couldn’t defeat Piggystein.
They were killed left and right
for they weren’t very bright
nobody could defeat that swine!
By the end of the year,
humans had lost all cheer,
for being slaves of all pig-kind
Not a human was spared
in this piggish nightmare,
all thanks to PIGGYSTEIN.
91-Interesting…
73- Good suggestions, thanks
76- I like it, especially the message it sends. I like the line about “I dare you to pity me.”
79- Oh, I like Cherry Tree a lot, and the end of the one in your other post, My Lullaby, is really good too.
83- Haha, I love how it changes to toys and sandcastles!
90(Man, it seems I’ve only been talking to Agrrrfishi here)- I’m quite the opposite. I prefer to write with a pencil and type it later. I don’t like writing on the computer, I’m a slow typer.
ah, might as well post guardrails here, to.
Guardrails
Guardrails are like rubber bands
They sit there in the sands
But when a car comes falling
They never go off crawling
Or slink away down a hill
And make the car take a spill
Instead they forgive and bend
Stopping the crashing trend
And preventing nasty hospital bills
Guardrails are never unfair
Just ‘cuz the cables were made without hair
They know they all have certain
Jobs they must do to attain ((and yes, i know that rhyme is iffy))
The safety of automobiles everywhere
And even the occasional hare
They laugh all the while
They giggle and smile
As their legs are strained by the weights
Strong-post Ws are never mad
Nor do they feel it is terribly bad
When Weak-post Ws are used in their stead
For they only wand drivers safe in their bed
No matter the chosen ‘rail
‘Cuz it’s no quest for the Holy Grail
Safety is the objective at hand
Not being popular and grand
Or even top of the class,
Guardrails just hate to break glass
Ol’ Jersey Barriers are shields
The power to divide the wield
Cables and Triple-beams the same
Though not like the Ws in fame
Guardrails are wacky weird wonderful
Wizards of our roads, however colorful
Or gory, saving the careless
From becoming the hairless
Guardrails: the barricades of the highway
Guardrails don’t care when taken for granted
The just stay where they’re planted
Guardrails are shrines
They sit in their lines
Content, for they know
They keep cars from becoming a no-go
A guardrail’s only wish –
And this is a fine kettle of fish –
Is a guardrail to stop bad driving
93-well thanx for all comments
the greenest field
in winters seen
is all I cannot
let carreen
my mind to those drifts
wooly white
that fall in silence day and night
on Christmas Eve,
no snow is come
in other’s town, there
is quite some
for snows of pine are what I see
on prickling grass to be set free
oh woe is me
for all I know
is green the night
and oh, no snow.
1~ahhh! My name is Fern!
30~I LOVE YOUR POEM!!!!!!! It’s so funny! I laughed so hard I cried!! So did my friend!
Here’s my masterpiece:
I’ll whisper my thoughts to the clouds,
going in your direction.
I’ll cry out my tears into the river,
flowing swiftly away.
I’ll gaze up at the stars and tell them all my dreams.
Then wait for your reply.
Shh!
Is that your voice I hear,
over the miles,
or is it only the wind?
“Oh, to be immortal!†sang the robin to the sky.
“To have a span of infinite years on which this earth to fly.â€
“To wake up every morning to a bright and glorious day.â€
“To have enough time for everyone to say what they have to say.â€
“To have elderly relatives and never have to cry.â€
“To do everything you want and never have to die.â€
Sad, the sky looked down upon this silly little bird.
It closed its eyes, and shook its head and never said a word.
The robin then flew off to find all of its other friends,
Leaving the lonely sky to mourn its impending end.
Again, the sky looked down upon this world in which we live,
And once again it wished that it had more help to give
To us, these strange small creatures who live for many years.
Who hate and love, fight and die, celebrate and shed tears.
So as we tear our world apart while trying to survive,
Killing other people in order to stay alive,
The sky, which lived to see it all
Hung its head
And cried.
One of the only poems I’ve written for fun in the past several months. What do you think? (if anybody’s posting here anymore)
Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.
Mine, said the paper,
mine are the words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.
Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper’s
ethereal lives;
nothing’s so proper
as tattering wishes.
As stone crushes scissors,
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.
-Song of the Powers, by David Manson
This is a poem I am memorizing for Poetry Out Loud. I love how it take a simple concept like Rock/Paper/Scissors and turns into a beautiful poem.
Chained to the ground
Masking yourself
Behind being like
Everyone Else
Wouldn’t you just
Like to be
Yourself?
Everyone dresses
Like you and
Those popular zombies
Just don’t know
Who they are.
Don’t you want to
Let yourself go?
Be someone else
For a change
Be your own
Be free for the first
Time that you have
Ever known.
And your chains
are gone
You can let go
Fly for the first time
Soar over personality
Individuality, and
soon just be
Your own kinda girl
Or guy
Or anything in between.
No hands, but it claps
Loud and clear
So you can hear
No face it has, but
It’s gaze is
Lightnin’ on your path
Never dry, and it can cry
So hard you’d think
The Earth is shaking
Your heart is breaking
The feet beatin’ out
A tune we all can relate to,
To be, and stay,
And let your storm go free.
——————————————–
I woke up in the dawn time night
To find that birds had taken flight
No more the ground around me lay
In flakes of white I’d have to play
I felt a sense of certainty
The rain of Spain not over me
The tales from long a time ago
Told me, I know, that
There’d be snow.
—————————————————-
I hold in my hand
A key to a door
That leads to a world anew
Where kindness and laughter
Are joys ever after
And peace there for me and for you,
I hold in my hand
The key to the world
A world that will soon be free
With love and good tiing
And friendships surviving
For all our eternity,
And in even our world
Where times will be rough
And we sometimes will cry
But we try to be tough,
We’ll be just like a bird
That was uncaged and flew
We will all hold our keys
To a world anew.
———————————————–
I did write those. Any comments?
Oops, I left part of my poem off…
so here’s the whole thing AGAIN. sorry…
I’ll whsper my thoughts to the clouds,
Going in your direction.
I’ll cry out my tears into the river,
Flowing swiftly away.
I’ll gaze up at the stars
And tell them all my dreams.
I’ll tell my hopes to the sunrise,
And my sorrows to the sunset.
Then wait for your reply.
Shh!
Is thet your voice I hear,
Over the miles,
Or is it only the wind?
101-I like that. It’s good.
Muse, of news
With you I tie my shoes
I tripped and got a bruise
I came across a Muse
I did not lose!
That made NO sense.
aggh what is poor little prosy penty doing among all these talented poets. No comments this time because I have abandoned this thread for too long and my post would stretch on for miles if I did comment.
Two poems, one written during English class and the second right now. If you guess what #2 was inspired by you totally win and I will love you forever.
Elegy
This one’s for you
as I raise m empty glass well before midnight.
I remember nothing
not the pizza dinners late at night or the time you showed me your new computer like a baby or the music from your radio and the middle of your mouth or my tears on your face and coming back to haunt me or the time I saw you on the crest of a hill and stopped
or the time
or the time
or the time
“and it all ends somehow”
your hands on my cold shoulder
Cinderella’s ball is over
and you were ashes too.
Strings
artistic i was before you. to build flowers from the air inside my hands and birds from the dirt between my fingers. bug-eyes find the movement so far far away. and flying detonation between my heart. not for music was i ever, dead swallows only singing to me. your play of strings on wood imagination cello. nebula pulls me toward you in past tense, black hole removes shell. hiding in caves looking through strands of red and my fingers’ hunger to sculpt everything. bats go endless spiraling, i want creation. praying to your lack of soul to save my absence. psychology never got better than you and me. to shape your world when i touch my desiring to need you.
I was spacing in English and came up with the beginning of this. My English teacher is amaaaazing. We’re doing a poetry unit right now, and I have to show you some of the stuff she’s given us because it’s just that good. When I can find it.
This Is Why Poetry Is Like A Dump Truck
Take the truck, for an example.
Here is its back, the gaping hole where the garbageman loads what’s left of everything in on Mondays.
Packed and compacted and waiting to be burned or buried or both,
some old witch-trial from sexism’s identical twin.
(Dunk it in the bathtub to see if we still need it.)
Turning the corner, something falls out, is moved far away from the other fast-food wrappers and into the realm of banana peels.
That in itself would be poetry, finding the newness even in rancid,
but at the incinerator landfill stanza
the back of the truck tips over and spills out its heart,
leaving only spare crumpled words and stench behind
They might tell a story if they could get together and agree on it.
Then again, I can find all sorts of things in a poem that I couldn’t in a dump truck
(if I cared to look)
I do hope you’re not hiding there between the soda cans,
but I see your face lurking in every word I read.
97- I love it. It was just what I was in the mood for reading, too… sweet and sad.
98- Oh, that’s a good poem. I wish we were doing poetry in school… alas, not till february.
Comment on the rest later… I have to go now.
in spanish how I wrote in originally then translated to english
Paper Mache Sharkbait
peces colorados
brillantes y feliz
todos diferentes
mucho color
y felicidad
pero todo no es feliz
no hay luz sin sombra
los peces sepan que todo el tiempo
el tiburon puede comerlos
los ojos del tiburon se miran
los peces
de muchos colores
viviendo una vida
agridulce
colourful fish
happy and bright
all unique
many colours and
much happiness
but not all is well
there is no light without shadow
the fish know that at any time
they could be eaten by the shark
the shark’s eyes are watching
the fish
of many colours
living a life
bittersweet
There was a poem writen on the wall of the bathroom a few days ago… it got washed off, but I memerized it first. I don’t know who wrote it, or even if it was student written, but I thought I’d post it here anyway.
“A soul of water
a sould of stone
a soul by Name
a soul alone
though time disolves
our flesh and bone
a soul is all
and all alone.”
One of my friends did a project where she wrote poems in Spanish and English. It was cool.
Here’s a poem I wrote for poetry class. I’m rather fond of it. I’d like suggestions, though. It’s an object poem…we had to choose an object and write about it. My object was a dutch shoe.
The Klompen
The porcelain replica
of the Dutch klompen
sits silently in a farmhouse.
Flowers dance along the sides of the shoe,
vines of fairy dust
sprinkled onto a pale white face.
A Kinderkijk windmill
turns in the wind,
creating energy
for the Dutch farmers.
Blue canvas sails
capturing the wind
like a young child
netting butterflies.
Swirls of wind
glimmer in the chilly moonlight,
swarms of fog spinning
around the peaceful farm.
Black-crowned Night-Herons flock
around the misty windmill,
specks of blue
darting across star-filled silence.
The house bears a family.
Nine little children,
already cozy in bed,
fall asleep to the creaky groaning
of the windmill’s turns.
The shoe sits inside this house,
perched atop the mantlepiece,
glowing quietly above the crackling fire.
While we’re having fun with Spanish, here are some lyrics:
There could be mistakes, as I C&P’ed them off of a site. You get the gist of it. Translating it would kill it.
Isabel, by Il Divo
Volar
Caer
Al fondo el dolor
Sonar
Perder
Imperios de ilusion
Hoy no tengo nada
Si no estas
Mi corazon se apaga
Isabel
Si te vas
Tu Dios se enfadara
No dejes que este amor
Muera asi
Llorare
Iloraras
Sufriendo en soledad
Vuelve a mi y yo te hare
Feliz
Isabel
Buscar
Sentir
La gran pasion de amar
Tratar
de huir
a ese tiempo que vendra
Escapando del pasado
Tu y yo
Siempre enamorados
Hoy no tengo nada
Si no estas
mi corazon se apage
Isabel
A donde iras sin mi
yo no sabre vivr
sin ti
Isabel
a donde iras si mi
yo no sabre vivir
sin ti
Isabel
Si te vas
tu Dios se enfadara
no dejes que este amor
muera asi
Llorare
Iloraras
Sufriendo en soledad
Tu vuelve a mi y yo te hare
feliz
Isabel
Sweet Melpomene – that was really good, thanks for posting it. My spanish is not very good, but I think I got the main idea.
I typed these up because e~a and SM asked me to type them up. They are poetry assignments I was given in Poetry class. I typed 3 before I grew tired of doing it. Here they are!
Poem Assignments from Poetry Class:
Live Word Poem:
As we discussed in class, one of the differences between poetry and other kinds of writing is its emphasis on individual words. Because poems are compressed, that is, shorter than prose, poets want each word to do more. Poets pay attention to the sound of words, the emotional energy they give off, their various connontations.
In short, poets are constantly searching for words that are fresh and alive, not deat and flat on the page. Of course, poets avoid clichés.
Though there is no science to this, you have absorbed enough language already to know which words bore you and which ones stir you up, make you fee, pay attention. For this assignment, I would like you to make a list of at least 25 live words. Try especially to find nouns and verbs (these are the meat and potatoes of poetry) include some adjectives and adverbs (the garnishes). Take your time with this list – don’t make it off the top of your head. Dig deep into your experiences with language. Your list could include words that sound good, jazzy, sweet, or thundering. They could be words that call up images and feelings that appeal to you. They could be words you just love to say, to feel in your mouth.
Remember, just because a word is long doesn’t mean it’s more alive.
When you are finished with this list (by the end of class today), swap with a classmate. Take your classmate’s list of words and write a poem that uses at least ten of his/her live words. It should be a poem that: makes poetic sense, not nonsense, is between 25 and 35 lines, is titled!
List Poem:
Your next poem will be a list poem. Perhaps some of you have written them before, and if so, you know that they can be very enjoyable to write. A list poem is literally a list of ideas and images on one subject.
The idea behind list poems is that they can generate surprise–surprising connections between things we never put together before, surprisingly concrete ways to experience abstract ideas. Such surprises, not the usual way of using language and seeing the world, are why we read and write Poetry.
Making a list poem forces you to get beyond the abvious associations we make with things. For example, if I say ‘night” many of you would probably say “dark” or “fear” or “stars.” But what about, “cold food, homework, and hair?” or “wallets tossed from cars?” These are just some of the connections C.D.Wright makes in her poem, “Elements of Night.: List poems help us get beyond obvious connections and get to the more quirky, individual, specific, unusual connections–the ones that lead us to see the world anew.
I want you to write a certain kind of list poem: Write a poem on abstract or general subject, listing concrete images that are associated with it. As we talked about, abstractions are ideas, experienced through the mind, and concrete images are experienced through the senses.
Part Two (gosh, these assignments are long). (You should be thanking me for typing all these up just for you).
Persona Poem:
As we discussed in class, every poem has a speaker, a voice. But the speaker of a poem isn’t precisely you, the living poet. Rather, the voice is a version of you, a created self on the page. William Butler Yeats, a poet from the beginning of the twentieth century, called these versions masks. In writing a poem, a poet puts on a mask, adopts a persona who speaks the poem.
The words person and persona both come from the latin word for the mask ancient Roman actors wore in when they were acting. These masks served both as a costume and as a megaphone to project their voices to the crowds in the ampitheaters.
Costume and megaphone. I think this is a good metaphor for what actually happens when we write poetry. We at once conceal ourselves in a voice other than our everyday speaking voice and revel our ideas, perceptions and emotions to many people.
The mask apoet wears is a tone, a particular voice. Have you heard any sarcastic voices in the books of poems you are reading, or tender voices, or frightened, or praising?
This kind of poem–a poem in a voice of a character–is called a persona poem. I’d like you to write one. Imagine the voice of someone other than yourself. This can be a “famous” poem (like Spiderman or George Washington) or an ordinary person (dead or alive) who interests you. Imagine a situation in which they would need to speak. What would they say? What kinds of words (diction) would they use? Two important requirements: The speaker must be a person–not a dog or inanimate object. The poem must make clear to an outside reader exactly who is speaking (titles to this job nicely). 35 words minimum.
CURSES I have been long away from this thread and ALAS I have missed many good poems which is not okay. They’re all so good I can’t comment on them all afjadkgvada Iloveeveryone. ;___;
(103) The Narutard hidden in the depths of my lonely soul wants to say the second one is about Deidara but it’s so not, don’t hurt me. D:
If it is thought afkjnvkadja I love DeidaraIn any case I like them both lots. Your structure (or lack thereof hurhurhur) is always great.(108) Ah~ I like the simple images of this one. It has a very peaceful feeling to it. I think you did a great job, from what the assigment appears to be.
(111) Why am I not in your class. My teachers have NEVER done something as fun as any of those assignments. T_T Thanks for typing that up though, I want to write now. :O
112 (Axa)- OHNOEZ I’VE BEEN FOUND OUT. -glomps to death- yesyesyesyesyesitis. -more glompage-
Structure? I do believe you are mistaking me for someone else. Penty does not do structure. But whatever. -gloooooooomp-
111 (Panda)- Ooh, I like those. We should all make live word lists and trade and do a bunch of Museblog live word poems.
Hmm, I’ve always wanted to write a list poem. Maybe I will see where the typing-in-a-box creative juices take me. Although knowing me, it will degenerate into something completely different from anything resembling a list.
rain
water, falling,
tongue extended, cold cold drops,
that one smell you could never name.
dancing, sloshing wet over your jeans,
pretending you were little, laughing at rushed businesspeople running for shelter, forced to take a bath afterwards.
acid in more ways than one, caustic in two,
those scenes in movies where people fall in love,
funereal.
trudging through puddles, natural shower, bring the shampoo,
coat stuck to clothes and clothes stuck to skin,
wanting to be inside and outside all together, both at once.
visibility barely there or needed, laughing at the drink of your open mouth,
free for you at last.
darker than day, brighter than night, missing every star.
a cage, staring glumly out the window, umbrella blown out and useless, soaked through, out of hope, in of life, the key.
Well that didn’t suck too badly. Where have all my capital letters gone?
(113) HAHAHA WIN. okay that’s really awesome I heart Deidara. XD
And I love your imagery! It really reminded me of third grade when I stopped using umbrellas and started getting soaked. Such fun. 8D
My muse died in a horrible gasoline-fight accident. D8 no srsly. Its dead now. But you guys have more than enough creativity to sustain the thread so -watches-
Here’s the list poem I made for class. The topic was Spring.
Spring
Sitting under a river, water trickling above me, twinkling brightly, drumming a soft melody. Bunnies prancing in tall grass, their parents basking in foggy heat. Gray daffodils singing to the birds while elephants spray crystal water onto their backs. Sparklers flaming, lighting up the eyes of delighted three-year-olds as they hold the warm wood in their hands. Holding family circus events and accidentally trampling through the flower garden. Fireflies appearing early, their bodies glowing in the warm darkness. Shoe elves mending leather through the night. Snow blizzards covering hopscotch boards, snowmen suffocating frozen blossoms. Eating popsicles while sitting on baking cement. Symphonic crickets starting their music early. Jumping in leaf piles. Fresh laundry hanging on thick ropes stretched across the patio. Lunch in the park. Picnic milk. Bike rides with Dad. Dashing through the sprinkler, trying to get wet, and not trying to get wet. Rolling down hills, dandelions and brown grass sticking to you as you tumble down the cliff. Taking down Christmas decorations, finally, just in time for Easter. Taking two down blankets off of your bed. Dinner on the porch, no bees yet. Sprinting up to the tree house, escalating branches at lightning speeds. Grapes ripening, cherries blossoming, fragrance climbing up your nose, itching your sinuses. Spice so strong your eyes sting. Cinnamon buns steaming next door. Dryer lint evaporating into the soggy air. Florescent bulbs stuffed into dirt, roots worming through dry soil. Rain. Purple peonies peeling playfully in the phosphorous soil. Choir concerts, a capella sound ringing through aromatic parks. Cucumber salads fill the table with plenty of green. Stilt walking through muddy baseball fields. Sprints across soccer fields, the winner is the first to smash into the fence. The I-have-an-allergy-to-school syndrome. Washing tables with dirty yellow sponges. Scaphoids, Lunates, Triquetrals, and Pisiforms rubbing together while impatient distal phalanxes tap on tables, itching for school to be over. Practicing I’m Flying instead of taking a math test. Sticky plastic bus seats. Ice water begins to be served at breakfast. Cotton pillow cases replace flannel ones. Birds pecking at leftover acorn shells, discarded by spoiled squirrels. Singed marshmallows lie in the fireplace, still frozen from winter’s sharp beak. Bears wake up after a long winter’s nap. Street-corner musicians dust off their instruments. Monochromatic carpeting nailed to dull hillsides. Jumping in rain puddles while wearing yellow boots. Easter egg hunts. Jump roping in the sandbox. Playing soccer in the rain, water seeping through your shoes, soaking your metatarsus.
i wrote a poem a couple days ago because i felt like it. which i believe is a first. i write poems when ppl tell me to, but i’ve never actually sat down and written one just because. it was pretty bad…i was majorly pissed and slightly depressed and also re-reading 1924 at the time. EEEEEMO. But yeah. i could see it as a song i guess. i’d type it out for y’allz but it’s upstairs somewhere and i’m too lazy to go find it right now.
penty the dump truck thing was amazing. i’m stalking you home and joining your class. english this year for us is such a joke.
103- I LOVE YOUR POEM STRINGS!!!! It’s amazing and I love the imagery especially the imagery at the begining.
geez… I need to write something new.