I posted a poem on the writing thread, but it seams to have died… may it rest in peace, but according to FS, It can’t die, which is all very confusing, especially how death can die, how is that possible? Is it symbolism thing? because I’m not good with that, my teachers take simple lines out of a poem that seem to make literal sense and say it is full of symbolism.
For example:”Stopping By the Woods on A Showy Evening”
“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep.
and miles to go before I sleep.
it makes perfect sense:He has a long way to go before he gets home or where ever he plans to sleep that night, so he can’t stay long to watch the snow fall, right?
no, according to my 8th grade english teacher it has some deep meaning about having an important life to live before he dies. If he meant that, why didn’t he just come out and say it?
FrigidSymphony is quoting the Necronomicon, a fictional book in H. P. Lovecraft’s horror stories. You can find out more about it on/in/at Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu .
don’t you ever laugh as a hearse goes by, for you might be the next to die…first they wrap you up, in a big white sheet, and bury you down about six feet deep…they put you in a big black box, and cover you up with dirt and rocks…and all goes well, for ’bout a week, and then your casket starts to leeaaak…the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout…they eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes…your liver turns an emerald green, and pus pours out like yellow whipped cream…
talk about entertaining!
0
0
Milady the Most Honourable Kiki the Wholesome of Deepest Throcking says:
(2) Your teacher isn’t entirely wrong. The beauty of a lot of Robert Frost’s poems is that they can be taken on a both literal and metaphorical level. As you said, it does make sense in that it’s about a guy stopping by woods on a snowy evening. But the general analysis of that particular poem is that Frost was also talking about life, and the way our lives are often unnoticed in the grander scheme of things, but we go on anyway. But then, you don’t have to accept the general analysis.
My writing teacher this year is really into poetry. He reads a poem everyday, more or less. I’m kind of too brain dead to think about any of them though.
(7) nice. I like the first stanza the best. The last line of the second one is a bit redundant. You always have nice poems though.
I posted this poem on the last thread, but I didn’t get many comments, since the thread was basically dead. So I’m going to post it here. I wrote it in poetry class. We were supposed to write a poem about an object, and I wrote it about a Dutch shoe. Can people give suggestions, etc. to improve it?
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.
103 on previous thread(Penty-chan)- Those are good! I like them a lot. As e~a said, the imagery was really good. “Strings” made me think of a girl sculpting clay in a basement somewhere…beautiful sculptures she didn’t share… very good imagery, again.
0
0
Countess Pentatonikk the Unctuous of Leighton Buzzard says:
Do you want to hear a poem I wrote to submit to my school book?
Well here it is:
Wish it here
Whish it there
Wish it gone
Wish it fair
Wish it down low
Or wish it up high
Wish it away
Or wish it nigh
Wish it where dead
Wish it back alive
Wish it would struggle
Wish it would thrive
Wish it would lose
Wish it would gain
Wish it would snow
Wish it would rain
Wish it was better
Or wish it for worse
Wish it just like you
Or wish it diverse
Whatever you wish it
Don’t sit back and sigh
Get out there and do it
Don’t ask “Why oh why?â€
Did you ever think as the hearse goes by,
That you might be the next to die?
The worms crawl in and the worms craw out,
in your stomach and out your snout.
Your eyes fall out,
your teeth decay.
And that’s the end of a perfect day!
11 – the design on them looks like the design on these
(GAPAs: sorry about the link. You can zap it if you want…I just wanted to show what the shoes looked like).
[No worries. I tweaked the code to show the image without a link. –Robert]
10- that’s pretty good, I’ve read old books where they talk about shoes like those. They are usually wooden, they don’t sound very comfprtable, but it’s better than nothing.
and, I posted a poem on the last thread, right before it died, so I’ll post it again
Warning, it’s a little long… but it’s REALLY good (if I do say so myself)
Here is the story of Johann and Jack,
They both flew their planes, they flew to attack.
Johann is 19 and Jack just the same,
They know that their fighting is not just a game.
They think of their families at home and afraid,
they think of the price that s many have paid.
They both get their orders, their orders the same,
Fly for your country in you’re fighter plane.
Jack’s in a strange land, Johann’s near to home.
Jack goes to Danzig, and sees the ocean’s foam.
He looks out the window; can he drop his bomb?
He hears a mother yelling, “Oh, Tom, Where’s my Tom?”
He can see the faces of the people he’s to kill,
They’re on a boat over the Baltic Sea’s chill.
He knows there are hundred’s of people aboard.
Over the boat Jack flew and soared.
He knows these people are innocent civilians,
they’re just part of the millions.
Jack looks down at the burning town,
drops his bomb and turns right around.
He’ll not forget the sights that he’s seen.
Johann’s assignment is to destroy other planes,
He hopes he can tell Americans from the Danes.
There’s the first plane that Johann spots,
he shoots at the wings and there it drops.
Johann had killed the man in the plane,
he couldn’t help think ‘is this really a gain?’
He’ll not forget the sight’s that he’s seen.
The next plane he saw just happened to be Jack’s.
Both men saw the other and couldn’t relax.
They knew that their duty would be to stay,
and kill yet another “enemy” that day.
Both thought, ‘not another, i can’t kill no more’,
they’d both had their share of blood and gore.
Jack looked at Jahann and Johann at Jack,
they flew by each other and never changed tracks.
Neither felt guilty for passing the other,
they were just glad that they didn’t kill another.
22- I like it but the last line needs another to accompany it, either before it or above it. The rest is wrtten in couplet form, it feels weird to end it on a single line. I liked the story and the names you chose.
22- Aren’t you 22?
21- I think it is fantastic. It created a nice, vivid picture in my mind. I have to wonder though, how low are they to the ground? It says he can see the people’s faces.
11- absolutely awesome. I, for some strange reason, like sad, remorsefull poems. Kinda weird that way.15- think the last line is a little off topic but other wise is reall cool. 21- totollay awesome, agree with 22 though, need another line to go with last one. Well here goes my poem. Give feedback porfadora.
Eyes like burning embers,
Claws like deadly knives,
Mice take one look at him,
then scamper for their lives.
His body built so fluent,
His teeth so sharp and white,
His pealt it glints so golden,
As he pads through the sunlight.
But deep within his lion heart,
an awfull sadness lies,
And though he tries to ignore it,
It’s constantly paining his mind.
For he is but a zoo lion,
He’ll never get to run free,
He’ll never get to roar to the jungle,
“You, just try and defy me!”
He’ll simply just sit there,
and stare back at me.
For he is a lion,
A powerfull lion,
But a lion who’ll never run free.
(11 Jadestone) Cool! You know, its almost like a song. I like the quazzi-refrain thing you have going.
(15 capricious) Just alter it a bit so that it isn’t so repetetive. You wanna a keep a poem unexpected, so the reader won’t know how the next line is going to begin before they read it.
Hope that helps!
(19 e~a) yay, another cool mysterious poem! My suggestion would jest be to add a bit…more. Some of the lines seem a bit…terse..is that the right word? Anyway, just more words so that it flows better. But nice.
(21 Elizabeth) That’s good! The rhyming worked out well, and I the refrain was nice. And the message was good too.
(26 Pink panther) I like the first stanza! My suggestion would just be to work on your rhyme and meter structure a bit…it’s a little akward at points. But nice anyway.
OK, so I really haven’t written any poetry as of late but this I came up with completely randomly the other day when I was woken up in the early morning by the sun through my window.
skipper’s poem
a slender grey stick
wavers in the morning wind
while its leaves make make a sound like the tail of the snake
coiled, cold
on the rocks below
the sun rises
surfing on the crest of a wave of heat.
0
0
Countess Pentatonikk the Unctuous of Leighton Buzzard says:
I have a poem. And critique for you beautiful people shall come later.
Not really sure what it’s about. You tell me. and my capital letters are still mia btw.
driven snow
to take your arm and run freer
that you think would make us something
though of course it’s the staying that counts.
(beginning middle end)
second is favorite when its hands reach
out into your concept of forever
when foresight is held my voice would falter.
how has mine changed and how will you move on,
this i would wonder if paradise were not ours for the taking.
my hands are rough
bleed from eternity of grasping at straws
what lotion do you use to keep them so soft
purity should be a sin
unclean i am for thinking of it.
a gift for you:
oceans would freeze and i
would to walk across them
global warming turns to slush
and my mouth fills of its own volition with regret and apology.
never quite biblical
lightning in arrows from the sky
hail like the diamonds from the mouth of innocence.
introspection extroversion
think before you speak
step into the grave you dug with laughter
that it was mine will hurt more than it should.
take away the feathers of angels
all you have are dead men with trumpets between rotting lips
harps in skeletal hands
drumbeat heartbeat morendo.
vesta takes the coals in burnt hands oozing ichor
you wear them like a badge of honor on your heart
divinity infuses scar tissue.
reinventing the wheel can’t be that hard
creation with broken fingers
they toss up snow as they rattle onward
white then greyer greyer
you weep it as your face dirties.
sleepers, wake
you pound the organ’s keys with weakening fingers.
At Forensics of Thursday, Mrs. S. brought along a Shel Siverstein CD and everyone got to listen to it. I like the poems, but I’m not so sure about how he reads them. It’s very expressive, but rather strange. This one’s my favorite. I have it taped to my bedroom door, aolong with several muse articles and some pictures I’ve taken.
Invitation, by Shel Silverstien.
If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher a liar,
A hoper, a prayer, a magic bean buyer,
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
22- I did one line at the end of each person’s stories, then at the end of the entire story, it’s like a 3 part story
23- I got that part from a story my grandma told me about her sister, she was on this boat by the burning city and the reason she didn’t drown was that she had just gotten on and hadn’t gone below yet. She floated around in the Baltic sea for days before a ship found her. And she lived and came to America… but she said that she could see the pilot’s face before he dropped the bomb, it gave me this idea
26- I like it, and the way you can tell it’s some kind of cat before you actually read that part. However, the lines “He’ll never get to roar to the jungle, ‘You, just try and defy me!'” Didn’t seem to flow as much as the rest. Not sure how you’d change that, though.
29- I decided not to use capitals in most of my poetry last year. The teacher said it would be a style preference and we wouldn’t get points off. Plus when I do capitalize it enunciates the words more. I like the line “drumbeat heartbeat morendo.”
30- Ah, I like that poem. I like a lot of poems on here. I think I’m going to print some out (both muser-written and not) and tape them into my asignment notebook.
cascading
a melody flows
from my fingers
but lands cruelly
upon deaf ears
26- That actually almost made me cry.
My star sign is Leo. Poor lion! Actually, they’re quite happy in the zoo, and are exercised to fit their natural needs.
When we get to the poetry unit I am definatly printing out some muser-writen poems and using them to prove to all the “Ohmehgawd I am so good at poetry: I rhymehed ‘love’ with ‘dove'” idiotic popular people in my class that they are NOT that great. Grrrrr… They shame us all. Esspecally all the quiet ood writers who never get a chance to speak over them. Meh.
28 (SN)- I really like the way you use words here, though I have no idea what the poem is about. I noticed the contrast between cold and heat–was that intentional? It’s lovely in either case.
33 (Jadestone)- Ooh, very pretty and simple. Me gusta!
38 (JS)- That poem does remind me a bit of e~a’s, but it also has a distinctly Jadestoney air to it. I’ve been reading Muser poetry for so long that I can tell the style differences between all the regs.
41 (JS)- Show them mine and give them cookies if they can tell me what the heck it means. ^_^
43 r u new ?????????? if so then PPPPPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Its Pentatonikk….. She’s not new at all.
Sorry if that sounded like a dis….. It wasn’t meant to be one.
Nope. Penty is (as I’ve seen and heard) quite old. Is this true?
42- Okay, Sally R. Got it. Though he said at the begining of the year that we’d do poetry in feb, but we havn’t yet so I’m going to have to ask when we’re doing it again…
33- I really like that one. Concise, yet meaningful
21-this one’s good too. Although I agree with sock monkey, I think that the repeated line needs another to keep the couplet going. But on the other hand, I can see how the single line adds emphasis.
Listen to me, my friend,
While I tell of the joys of solitude and silence.
Listen to my tales of the wondrous things I see
Because I walk alone.
For in the jostling, uncomfortable crowd,
Many things are lost that should not be.
The clamor of loud voices covers the sound of silent pleas,
The sight of darkness and death smothers the sense of invisible hope.
So walk on the banks of the river, and not in the current,
So that you are not swept away.
For in the silence and solitude
I hear many things not heard before—
The crackling of brittle leaves beneath my feet
The singing, high and keening, of moonbeams and stars
The whispery beat of a fairy’s wings
As she flits amongst the fallen flowers and dewdrops.
The slow, ponderous rumble of the Earth as she turns
The mysterious, pulsing energy of the universe as it moves
In its cosmic dance across the endless skies of time—
All this I hear because I walk apart from the mob, from the herd, from the mindless and empty.
I hear your voice whisper in protest—
“Alone†you offer up to the air. “Isolated†“Maroonedâ€
No, I am not lonely; for there are others in my quest
Ones who think, and speak with care, and do not live dark, but light;
For though I am individual, separate, unique,
I am never lonely.
49- I like it, esspecally the message it sends. If you like LotR, you should check out the songs Robert wrote. Hewas quite a fanatic, too. Learned the launguage too, correct?
49- that’s beautiful, don’t worry about long! I’d like to write something longer sometime myself. It reminded me a lot of Charles de Lint’s books, you might want to read one sometime, I’d recommend starting with Someplace to be Flying.
50- post some here! I’d like to read it. (with a translation)
53- ooh, Ilike the bittersweet feeling that it gives. I really like your poems. Post more!
two poems written fairly recently in my writing notebook
twilight
soothing as autumn mist
falls. mysterious, the half-light
of the fading day
grey secrets hidden in the mist
unanswerable riddles
their existance bittersweet
as the setting sun
in the dusk,
pondering these questions, I sit
and watch the sunlight fade
———————————
crystal facets of multi
colors
glinting in the breeze
glimmering in the gloaming
out of half-forgotten crannies
few bend to retrieve them
-too busy with rushrushrush to take a
breath-
of shining color
When bored I begin to doodle aimlessly and write random stuff on the world map of my school planner. One day, to my amazement, something that could be considered free verse appeared from my hand on Russia during lunch one day. I’m not much of a writer, but seeing the posts here reminded me of it. It’s short. Criticism?
i feel lonely all alone
in this giant place
without a friend
he left me (all alone)
i miss him
This really isn’t it’s place, but there isn’t anywhere better. It’s edited slightly here.
WOW! There is a LOT of good poetry on here! Does anyone here have a literary magazine at their school? In other words, do you have something where any kid in the school can submit poetry or writing or something and it all comes together in one big book or magazine? My school does, and I think ALL of these should go in! Too bad you guys don’t go to my school!
So! Let’s talk poetry! (wow…that was cheezy… :wink:)
I truly and honestly (after reading this entire page) must say that there is NOT a bad, horrible, or even almost bad poem on here! THEY ARE ALL AMAZING! Seriously you Musers, you are aMUSEing! (well considering that’s a word I’ll go right ahead and change my pun…:sad: JK )
e~a, your poems are awesome. I love the imagery–I can totally see it in my head.
curious and questioning–I like your poem’s simplicity and broken language. THe parenthesis remind me of a Walt Whitman poem in my Lit. book. I’ll see if I can find it and post it here.
And I agree with Poet Maniac–all the poems here are AMAZING!
53- I like it. Shows how you can’t have everything (very smart robot with no feelings v. people with feelings but limited mental capacity)
55- Good, I agree with PP, you could add a line or two of description, like of the place. City? Baren landscape? Or you could leave it as is and let the reader imagine the setting.
60- I like it, they way you changed tense in the ‘remember’ lines was a nice touch.
glass beads
scattered across the floor
like memories
you rush to pick them up
and drop them back into the dusty jar
but it tips—
and they come poring out again
66- It was in the style you normally write in again. I decided to try writing in styles I don’t normally do.
Let’s see if I can do another on-th-spot one…
I hide
behind a smiling mask
my cheerful facade lets nothing show
and no one knows
I am dieing inside,
and still-
I hiide behind this smile.
Meh. Not so good. I feel like I need to write a good poem, but this one didn’t work. I am alternating between depresion and insanity at this moment,,, changes every few minutes. Be glad you are not living with me right now… I’d pity your heads. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow.
67- I liked it. And I like that idea of writing in a different style only I don’t know what style to try. I think I’ll try a poem like Penty’s in twenty-nine. I’d like to try writing something longer than what I usually write.
We say
“I do not like this poem.”
Can a fish swim?
Can a bird sing?
Thus our thoughts swim and sing and come out
as our own, no matter what the words.
Our hearts have the talent
To pour feelings onto paper–
And so each time we write
It is our hearts’ good words.
70- oooh, I like the sing-song rhymes and the rhythm in it. very cool.
e~a’s version of a longer poem:
A Cup of Tea
widdershins widdershins widdershins
turning rapidly switiching
overandoverandoverandover
eyes pouring a pool of daydreams
turing turning
will you make a wish, sir?
find a set of (almost-not)
wings leaping towards esoteric beliefs
wandering wild into the gloaming
dream lights the dusk
step through the haiku clouds
of thought present wrapped with polka-dotted bow
put on your stargazing-hat
your bird-mask
jump to the sun of half-forgotten whimsies
put away your outer adult, sir
will you take a leap, sir?
and drink a cup of stardust tea with me?
ok this is kinda pathetic, so i was doing this african american history challenge bowl thing (vegas!!!) and my mom was quizzing me and she made up this song.
(clap to rhythym)
john brown who was subsequently hanged
john brown whose decendents are all farmers…
(repeats over and over and over)
my fingers fly across the keys of an unnamed instrument
prodegy, their lips form the empty word again, along with the other
they love not me but what I make
cold emptyness, cold metal
how can somthing forged from fire and flames hold no heat
how can the heart that pumps warm blood trhough bone
me made of chipped stone and ice
the notes come high and sharp, echoing what I do not feel
strings and springs bind me, I am but a puppet to the master’s dreams
my body moves and apears to live,
what I can find of myself longs for peace
my eyes are hollow as are my words, no more shall I speak
when no one hears me anyway
the only peace I can find lies hidden between notes
rushing noise cool scielence then the music – a moment –
then back to roaring normalicy
they watch me shut myself inside and do nothing
was I made this way or was it you who made me like this?
I send my mind away, perhaps to search
for what I have not lost.
*corrections. Prodigy, not prodegy in the first line; through not trhough in the 6th; be not me in the 7th; silence not scielence(really bad, I know, sorry) in the 15th.
I need to read what I type before I post more often. Hum.
76- I love the line “I am but a puppet to the master’s dreams” and I also love the last line. Cool piece, makes me feel slightly uneasy in a good way if that made sense at all.
There once was a pig named Pat,
Who was rather large, at that.
She would sit in the hay,
and gobble all day,
and soon she became very fat.
There once was a farmer named Benny,
who was very lean and skinny,
he owned fat Pat,
and a farm, besides that,
and he wished for food by the plenty.
Benny passed Pat’s pen,
and soon he began to grin,
he looked at her thighs,
and thought “pork chops tonight!â€
and ran to set butter a’ sizzlin’.
So Pat came to a gruesome end,
which I shall not relate again,
and Benny grew fat,
on ham and all that,
and never went hungry again!
THE END
No time for lots of long comments because I have math homework. So–
@Jadestone: I can really see a huge improvement in your poetry from previous threads, which I re-read last night. Before it was good, and now it’s amazing. A lot of your work seems like it should be put to music and sung, which I love. My only criticism for you would be to watch your length; sometimes I think you get too caught up in your words and miss a good ending. But your poetry’s awesome anyway!
@e~a: I want to be able to write metaphor like you. -swoon- And I think that’s all there is to say.
@Elentari: Nice to see some capital letters around this thread again. -guilty as charged- Stick around the thread so I can get a better idea of your style, and then I will praise its awesomeness.
85 (SN)- Try writing some random words or phrases that you like, and then build a poem around them. From what you said, it doesn’t seem like the contest has that many guidelines other than the standard school-appropriateness nonsense.
My school’s literary magazine is taking submissions. I’d like to submit some poetry since none of my prose is in any way fit to see the light of day, but I don’t really know which of my poems I want to send them. Same thing with a poetry contest my library is hosting. If you could look through my stuff, or have a poem of mine you really like, and help me make some decisions, I would love you forever and give you a cookie. Or more than one.
Two new poems. Because I actually have time for once. Known in my mind as “Penty has Some Very Weird Fun with Formatting” and “Capital Letter-induced SHOCK!”
e.c.l.i.p.s.i.s.
each p.o.int of blood needlestick in paper hand…
scrawl-scratched name pulls away to further
down…taken underwater red ribbons unfurl
from the dead to the prison of being.s. why
make a key for the blooded birds. their dear has
better things to do.
no one ever talks about meteoric fall but…
shattered bones of shattered dinosaurs attest despair
the moon burns orange. what…what devotion
to poetry.s. dripping .a.way into exoskeletons
of cicadas changed to ants
and marching down…the page
like black lines of the regimented dead.
Love Song for Armageddon
-ehhh, never mind, I’ll post it later. But it does have capital letters in it!-
86- Yeah… I always do them way to long. I try not to, but it just happens anyway.
I’ll look through the word document I have of almost all the threads except most of this one and the first one… I’m doing sort of a collection of muser poetry ort of thing, no reason but I felt like it. I’ll scan for your name and read your work though, you have some good stuff if I remember correctly.
I liked e.c.l.i.p.s.i.s., the subtle rhyming was nice, it didn’t stand out but you could catch it.
This one I had to write on the Holocaust (for English). LUV the rhythym.
All is darkness, all is death
All is gasping, stuttered breath
All fall down, but few will rise
Here in the horror that is our lives.
We are beaten, we are weak,
Our days are numbered, our outlook bleak
We walk like shadows, living in fear,
Robbed of all that we held dear.
We do not hope—how could we dare—
To offer up a wish or prayer
Our God had left us long before
That One we used to so adore.
The aching pain goes to the core
As we mourn the ones who’ve gone before
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Dying in the fires of the unjust
All we wish for, all we need,
Is to be released, to be freed
All we want is liberation
Freedom from our pain and desperation.
And O! the tears that we have shed!
And how we seem—the living dead!
Like skeletons writhing amongst demons of Hell—
The screaming, shrieking, vile death knell.
And come now darkness, come now death,
We have breathed our final breath!
And all now fall and none now rise,
Here, in the horror, at the end of our lives!
Wups almost forgot
Pentatonikk–thanks for your constructive criticism of everyone. I kind of like criticism better than praise, because then you can learn.
Also your poem ROCKED! It was just connected enough in meaning to create a very deep, philosophical picture (if that makes any sense).
88 (Elentari)- I lovelovelove your rhyme scheme. I can’t rhyme, so I’m very appreciative of people who can. Maybe fewer exclamation points, though? They make the poem seem kind of in-your-face, which I’m not terribly partial to. Maybe it’s just a personal thing, though.
And thanks.
90 (PC)- Aw, c’mon, you’re not inferior! Just because your style is different doesn’t mean it’s worse. Post your poetry and let the huddled masses decide.
88- That;s really good! And sad, but how could one on that topic not be sad? The rhyme scheme is very good, and the words rhyme compleatly, unlike some of the rhymes i do where you have to use your imagination to hear themm… very nice.
92- Ha, I do that to sometime. Rhyme without meaning to. It’s a good effect, though, it really works.
90- Aww, I’m sure they’re fine! … just post one or two? Please?
Hee hee thanks for your praise but I cheat. I use rhymezone.com.
*blushes*
And I do agree with you, Pentatonikk, the exclaimation marks are a little much. I’ll remember that in el futuro.
I like Shel Silverstein in terms of funny little children’s poems, but if I’m looking for a more in-depth imagery poem, my favorite poet is probably Stanley Kunitz.
((Slightly edited from the original version, which I wrote a couple years ago. I’m thinking of extending it into a longer one.))
To make a magic carpet, pluck two moonbeams from the sky,
And knit a cloth of silver from the air where eagles fly,
Then take a pinch of stardust, rub it well into the weave,
And gather up a sunset on a late Midsummer Eve,
Spin the sunset into thread and embroider what you wish,
(Though I have found the best design is one gold flying fish)
Finally you soak it in the echoes from a bell,
And, holding your hand over it, speak this magic spell;
“By sun and moon and starlight, slumber ye no more,
Carry me from world of men to long-forgotten shore!”
Then, in a flash of silver light, the carpet’s off the ground!
Step on and soar beyond what’s known, where wond’rous things abound.
((braces for responses))
Adagio
It was a beautiful sound:
dying slowly
the long aria of a cello cutting through uncertainty.
We knew what was happening.
The beauty of you was always the pain,
exhilaration, intoxication,
the knowing that we had something that would soon be over.
The cello played on,
background for this act of our lives.
Lived in adagio, slow love songs under honey-pouring skies.
The curtain falls, but it will rise again.
The smell of antiseptic and hospital and rain is not quite gone.
It keeps singing, alone.
Somewhere, a fire burns.
The good thing about this one was the end;
it tapered off until I forgot it had ever been there.
I thought the best thing would be for us to live forever
or die together.
Now I see that it was what happened:
standing here and listening to the final strains of our adagio.
I like this one too…
Born Again
She comes back at last,
comes back to the place she tried to forget.
I let dirt fall through my fingers
like some sort of waterfall,
but warmer, as alive.
That shouldn’t be right;
what happened to the bones?
What happened to them?
Even the dead die again.
I thought I knew that.
Trusting in hope killed them.
I cannot be so weak;
I am the only one they have now.
Death cannot change that.
She swears, on the living graves:
that she will avenge them.
They nod;
they still watch me.
While I abandoned them,
they still need me.
Comfort, somehow.
And you…
You trusted me.
You loved me,
but you lie here,
and I move on.
Such is life, and such is death.
They truly are mirrors of each other,
It would seem, at least.
So she remembers,
so she vows,
so she speaks,
so she weeps.
Trusting in hope killed me,
and falling in love brought me back.
But, it seems, it cannot do the same for you,
or else you would be standing here,
watching me with him.
There are others I like to, though. Plus I’m still glancing through old threads.
98- I really like it! more on that later, sorry I’ve been super busy this past week. I really wish I could comment on more, this thread has blossomed lately ^_^
88- ooh, the haunting rhythym is excellent. very good. *has troubles writing with a specific rhythym*
and… I’ll comment on others’ later! must go!
shadows of flickering dreams
in sight – and out again
reaching reaching
but never catching
always watching
the twinkle-flickering
the patches of light moving in and out of existance
dreams, hopes, wishes you once
had, held, touched
but have now lost
the tales and adventures of childhood
romances and fancies of adolescence –
all lost
go through your pockets again
search for a hidden whim, a forgotten fantasy
and keep your wayward wishes safe
Here’s a poem I wrote. I don’t know how good it is, but maybe you guys could give me some tips. It’s called Footprints.
Footprints
Pressed
Into the wet sand
Winding
Twining together
Like they could never be apart
Like cinammon and sugar
Like butter and toast
They belong together
They need not fear
Separation
Because for them
Togetherness lasts
Until the tide comes in
And they are filled with sand
Together
again, on 98- I like how you give instructions. I’ve attempted to write an instruction poem but not succeded. mayhaps the time is right (or write – forgive the pun I’m in an odd mood right now) for me to try again.
oooh… ooh… ooh… I like your poem in 86! the imagery is really cool and the use of .s also. …s too
83- I like it especially the message it sends.
whew. that felt good to comment on all of that. finally. I might not be done commenting still though.
103- I like it. I like the forever but with the waves idea. post more! I’m not quite as fond with your food metaphors for some reason but maybe that’s just me being persnickety^_^
oh, and PP thank you for mentioning your favorite poet! (sorry, forgot his name but bookmarked a site found from a google search after reading a few of his poems) could you guys recommend poets? I really only started enjoying (and writing though I’d written some before) poetry this summer. I’d like some suggestions on what poets’ work to read.
I, too like e.e cummings, Shel Silverstein (silverstien? which way) and Lewis Carrol (how many ls and rs?) I also like Billy Collins (which I think I can spell…)
105- I’ve never heard of Billy Collins. Care to post one of his? I think it’s spelled “Carroll” but I’m never sure on spelling with anything including letters.
The Hollow Men
by T.S. Eliot
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer —
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Sorry, seaching for that poem ound me some other good ones to post.
Sort of a spin on “Row row row your boat…”
Life is But A Dream
Lewis Carroll (that is the right spelling, by the way)
BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–
Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;
Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?
Unsure on this title, but it’s by e.e. cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
who know’s if the moon’s
e.e. cummings
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
In the first poem, the first line should start with “A”: “A boat, beneath a sunny sky…” If you read the first letter of each line downward, they spell “Alice Pleasance Liddell” — the name of the real Alice, Lewis Carroll’s boss’s daughter, for whom he made up the story of Wonderland while on a boat with her and her two sisters.
“Still she haunts me, phantomwise, / Alice moving under skies / Never seen by waking eyes.” Those lines have haunted me ever since I was Muser-age.
The lines quoted in 109 are from “The Garden of Proserpine” by the Victorian poet Algernon Charles Swinburne. You can read it all here: http://www.bartleby.com/42/737.html .
For sheer music, it’s hard to beat Swinburne. I think Musers would like him.
Praralius Canix, what did I tell you? You are amazing! Your metaphors and imagery are perfect for subject, and you even managed to rhyme all of it! Awesome job.
Jadestone and e~a–both of yours have the same ethereal, fantasy-like quality. I envy your poetry’s breeziness–mine’s too heavy sometimes.
Cat’s Meow–I love your emphasis of the “together”. All of the lines have something to do with that.
And Robert, those lines are indeed haunting. In fact, they inspire me to write a ghost poem. More to come.
Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O’Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.
Other comments are more offhand, dismissive –
“Nonsense.” “Please!” “HA!!” –
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
why wrote “Don’t be a ninny”
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls “Metaphor” next to a stanza of Eliot’s.
Another notes the presence of “Irony”
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.
Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
“Absolutely,” they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
“Yes.” “Bull’s-eye.” “My man!”
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.
And if you have managed to graduate from college
without ever having written “Man vs. Nature”
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.
We have all seized the white perimeter as our own
and reached for a pen if only to show
we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages;
we pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.
Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria
jotted along the borders of the Gospels
brief asides about the pains of copying,
a bird singing near their window,
or the sunlight that illuminated their page-
anonymous men catching a ride into the future
on a vessel more lasting than themselves.
And you have not read Joshua Reynolds,
they say, until you have read him
enwreathed with Blake’s furious scribbling.
Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents’ living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page
A few greasy looking smears
and next to them, written in soft pencil-
by a beautiful girl, I could tell,
whom I would never meet-
“Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.”
sorry for the double post, but I was in the audience when Billy Collins read a few of his poems once. It was really cool. He’s this rather laid back looking guy in a sweater (and poet laurate (spelled that wrong, didn’t I) I think right now)
Okay, I don’t know how many people are familiar with the legend of La Llorona, but here we go. And does anyone have suggestions for the last line of each stanza? “Pale-faced maiden of lore”–ick.
La Llorona, La Llorona
Walks beside the shore.
La Llorona, La Llorona
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
A girl, she lived a simple life
Walks beside the shore
Sending men to grief and strife
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
As beautiful as sun and sky
Walks beside the shore
All other men did she defy
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
Then came the cow herder Luis
Walks beside the shore
One look at him and she was his
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
A day, a month, a year did pass
Walks beside the shore
She lay with him upon the grass
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
And then he left her, gone away
Walks beside the shore
Never to see him another day
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
With child in arms she did go down
Walks beside the shore
Taking her baby there to drown
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
Now silent her baby child, her son
Walks beside the shore
She realized now what she had done
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
In grief she stayed there day by day
Walks beside the shore
Starving until there she lay
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
But not to die, not to fade
Walks beside the shore
There in the rushes she has stayed
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
She walks beneath the darkened skies
Walks beside the shore
With tired face and tearful eyes
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
La Llorona, La Llorona,
Walks beside the shore
La Llorona, La Llorona,
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
The manatee is harmless
And conspicuously charmless.
Luckily the manatee
Is quite devoid of vanity.
From whence arrived the praying mantis?
From outer space, or lost Atlantis?
I glimpse the grim, green metal mug
That masks this psuedo saintly bug,
Orthopterour, also carnivorous,
And faintly whisper, Lord deliver us.
I’ve never seen and abominable snowman,
I’m hoping not to see one,
I’m also hoping, that if I do,
That it will be a wee one.
Thos are poems by Ogden Nash, from the book You Can’t Get There From Here.
117- Instead of the”pale-facd madin of lore” line? Hmm… I think it’s fine, but if your looking for another…um, howsabout… “Wepping, now, andevermore” hmm, maybe. Not my best. Sorry, I can’t really think of anything good right now…
Okay, for this poem I wrote about my own experiences at school.
Our Classroom
Frogs croak
The rock I sit on
Is warmed
By the afternoon sun
The air is fresh
Filled with the smells of springtime
Flowers emerge
Birds fill the trees with song
Children laugh
Explore
Learn
Because this is our classroom
And we are the students
Of the world
125-I love that! Can I just make a suggestion, though? First, I’m sort of unsure about the puncuation The only other thing I’d do is instead of the lines “But there’s no/Where I can call home” I’d switch it to “But there’s nowhere/I can call home”. It just sounds better that way.
thx Jadestone and CM!
CM and grnqween–luv da poems. Although grnqween, I would keep the “no-where” split up, but with “where” uncapitalized. Unless you’ve already made up your mind.
125- I like the split nowhere, but that’s a style preference. Otherwise, I think the second comma in the “My heart cries,
To, settle down.” line is off…(the one after the “to”).
(125) I like the way you’ve broken up the lines. The fragmented first line works well.
I wrote this for the school poetry contest:
The Painter
her hands move as music moves
her fingers sing a silent song
can you see this? they cry
come and see and share our joy
for it was we who created it
and it has not been done before
if her eyes are mirrors
the all the world is naught
but a maiden, gazing in the glass
and idly combing the golden locks
theat someday (quite soon perhaps)
will turn grey
but if her eyes are rivers
then all the world may flow though
pooling on the canvas
to form a primordial sea
new life bubbling to the surface
from those fingertips
a world, concieved
in the crossing of our life
and hers eyes
shall spring
130- Very nice. I like the first stanza the most, I have to say. “her fingers sing a silent song.” I like that line a lot, also the imagery you put in.
I wish I was half as good as these Muse Bloggers…
x.x I tried to do a haiku while bored during school one day… XD I don’t think I even got most of the numberings right (575 and all)
133- ooh haunting. I really like it! I like the contrasts in the lines, the usage of tears then laughter
I submitted 5 of my poems to my schools literary magazine (the prizm) it comes out once a year at the end of the year. I’m nervous/excited about it and glad I submited them.
souls
it was crystal perfection
no blemishes
smooth and round
on the outside
between the crystal
(so fragile)
walls nothing but shards of mirrors
lost in the confusion
on the inside
others were shattered throughout
their insides a vast wasteland
some cracked surfaces concealing fields of sunflowers
encircled by barbed wire
some mend, break, mend again
the smooth shell hiding the turmoil inside
a glowing inside shines through a cracked surface
who are we to judge what we see?
can anyone see through
the surface?
^^ 134- that was deep. To me, anyway. Really liked the questioning final stanza.
Does that sound right? I’m not usually good at accessing other’s work.
134- Lovely, and deep as Evie said. Slightly haunting also. “some cracked surfaces concealing fields of sunflowers/encircled by barbed wire” I got really good imagry out of that line, probably because throughout the poem I was thinking mostly glass&mirrors and transparent stuff, then all of a sudden yellow and green. Very good.
I’m not really good at judging my own writing, so I’m looking for some feedback on this poem.
High school
A twisting, turning
lonely road to
nowhere
Hard to live
when I know
everybody hates me
Depressed
dying inside every day
wanting to end the pain faster
or at least find a way
out
Love
My way out
Hoping
Dreaming
Needing
someone to be near me
someone to hold me
Help me survive
I met him
one person
so much like me
but so much more
Love
a force
always eluding me
before
it tricked me again
The dream shattered
because
while I’m walking a lonely road
he’s walking one that isn’t straight
Now my heart is aching
more than breaking
it’s being destroyed from
too much pain
it’s driving me insane
Nothing but a black hole left
and I can’t get past it
I’m falling faster
into an abyss
of pity
and deeper depression
You say
it will get better
You say
I will find someone else
I say
There is noone else
I felt a connection
True understanding
A connection I need
A strength to complete me
and rebuild my shattered mind
138-Thats good. I feel that way a LOT.
This is a new poem from the story of my life. Please, comment your hearts out.
Imagine
There is a way to escape from the world
Not many can know it exists
For their minds are to clogged with the world outside
That sadness will be their life’s jist
All you must do is to close up your mind
And reach then into the mundane
To watch then the clouds of your worry and hurt
Relax, fade away, start to wane
And as you close your eyes, to the mind you can see
Everything will begin to make sense
And you will fall away into darkest abyss
And as you float away you will hence
Become more aligned with the world now at hand
And realize that it’s true
In the world, no matter how far you will search
There is no better calmness than you.
138- Oh… sad. I can see the emotion you put into it.
write a Poem
the tell us
so we all go home
and most take
a pen and paper
and ink and
fiddle around for a bit
and use Rhyming Dictionaries
untill they have some
squiggley lines and then
they hand it in just
like that
well I have no need
of paper and ink
and Rhyming Dictionaries
all I need is to take
a pinch of the music
in my mind and hold
it in my hand and
when the ime is right
open it up for just and instant-
and show the world what
it is like to be me
for a moment
This is a rough draft of a poem I thought up in Chemistry. If anybody knows what I’m talking about, I will love you forever.
Cloud E
I calculate the odds so carefully,
but each time, the dice rolls against me,
and you slip through my fingers again.
We’re all like that, really.
Drawn toward the center,
but never quite able to reach it.
We zip around in endless circles.
Waiting for some change, a burst of energy
that will hopefully rocket us higher,
and not send us crashing into somebody.
Because, you know, crashing hurts,
and it’s a long way down from up there.
Eventually, the towers we stand on become too unstable,
and we fall, knocked of into space,
or if we’re lucky,
we fall toward the center.
Only to stop, propelled in yet another circle.
I reach out to you across the gap,
but I am stuck in orbit,
hoping the next change will bring me to you.
Sweet sorrow
It comes so often
So little time
To compromise the
True meaning
Of that kind
Of pain
Like the
Loss of a friend
So dear
Your anger
Made it so
Like a flower
Picked from the earth
For you
Only
To wilt and then
Have nomore
Beauty
To share with’ Everyone else
Like a life
So lived
That the hourglass
Shatters
Into a milion
Little pieces
Never to return
To be
To grace the
World
With that unique talent
Or smile
Or heart
You have sorrow
Without them.
The reason I like this thread is that other places, say, at school, I get snickered at for not writing poetry that rhymes. Meanwhile, nearly every poem here doesn’t rhyme.
Sorry for triple post, but I just found two poems that I wrote recently that I wanted to post.
Lost to time
Lost
to time
Just a memory
That nobody remembers
The person
That never really mattered
To anybody
Will this
Be me?
Will I make a difference?
Or will I just sit
Thinking
About what could happen
If I didn’t stand up
And matter?
No Escaping
Why does the light seem so far away?
Why are the shadows closing in?
They’re taking me away
To where?
How should I know?
But I’m not afraid.
The light has always hated me.
And I’ve always hated it back.
The sun always seemed
to glare down at me from the sky
And during the night
The moon and stars
spoiled perfectly good darkness
Now the light is gone
From my eyes
From my heart
And I’m more powerful
Then I ever was before
And now I realize
The light
Is something
To destroy
To dissolve
To devour
And that there
is no escaping
The darkness
i lie here, choking on stardust and bone
and long-forgotten dreams
a child’s plaything, lost and left
and even if you don’t unerstand
you can tell that not everything is right
as the forever dusk turns to dust
and dimming dead moons, the ethereal
light illuminates only what i no longer wish to see
_alone________empty________goodbyes_
the faceless doll of a daughter grown up
discarded, torn
away
158- I like it and the feeling it gives me of a sort of melancholy nostalgia. The line alone__________empty________goodbyes confuses me though with the underscores.
ea – that’s great! I especially like the line-breaks because it makes it seem like a list poem, but then other parts it doesn’t seem like one. That makes the poem really intriguing and interesting to read!
(162 e~a) I especially like the last bit “with the eye of the pen/see their true meaning”
the poem has a feeling instantaity (if thats a word) that I find appealing
I’m still working out what it means.
Really good job. (that sounds lame, but I mean it)
rambling (in a forest)
take care now not to overthink what you write or else it-
the problem see is that if you use to many words you might-
a message is is obscured when too many ideas crowd in and block it out like the leaves in the roof a dusky forest
the mossy floor your thoughts
the trees the meaning- but you see only a few leaves reach the sunlight
break the surface and spread out
basking in the glory of the sun’s recognition
because they are no loner hidden in the forest
-that is, your mind-
they are free to show themselves to the world
but that doesn’t make any sense to you now
because what I was trying to say
was obscured by the words I used to say it
(163)-Right on. It came to me went I was writing notes and abbreviated electron cloud E-Cloud. It seemed like a good name for a poem, but I ended up switching the letters.
(164)- I like it. It really sounds like pure thought, and the metaphors (a horribly overused word) are brilliant.
(158) the imagery is fantastic, you use words well without makeing it feel crowded,
(166) Nice use of refrain, and the descriptions of the animals are good. If you want, you could try breaking it up a bit- maybe have a stanza at the end or beginning that is the same as the others, or a few lines in there that are differen- just to make it not feel to formulaic.
168-Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Do you mean a line inbetween each of the stanzas? And what do you mean by “maybe have a stanza at the end or beginning that is the same as the others”?
169- Haha, I’ve been doing that too. I have almost all of the other threads (not much of this one though… I’m neglecting it) in a word document too. It’s very long.
You write poems in science, while our class eats animal crackers, puts boys hair into ponytails, and throws things. We also look at pictures of naked asian people in the national geographics. (other people did. I was in the front and thus missed out on the action)
176- They could probably list it as an online collection, or something. Lesse… I have done most of the origanal Poems and Songs, P&S v. 2006.2, version 2006.3, v. 2006.4, and v. 2006.5. None of this one, though. Hmm… I need to finish the first one…
(170) Oh, sorry. I think I meant a stanza at the end or beginning that is not the same as the others. I really haven’t been sleeping enough lately. But yes, a line in between each of the stanzas that was different would be nice. Or whatever you want. It’s a good poem either way.
I remember the first Poems and Songs thread. It was created the very first night I stayed up late on Museblog. I really like all this thread.
It’s raining! Really hard! I don’t believe it! Everything is going to smell like creosote in the morning…I love the smell of rain (does anyone else live in the southwest?)
desert rain
a tap-dance tattoo that beats on the roof
a gurgling brook in the gutter
a sweet kiss on your cheek as you stand on the dirt
and watch the watery sky
fall around you
but best of all
the smell that rises from the steaming ground
and permeates the very soul
an aroma of the ethereal beauty
a bridge to another world
the scent you were raised on
like mother’s milk
that laces your dreams in the long dry months
as you await that living liquid
and the smell it draws from the earth
the smell that brings you home
My brother and I (competing as a team) got 3rd place out of 21 teams at the competition. What makes me mad, though, is that I wrote a poem that, believe me, was much less gloomy than some of the ones on here, and they didn’t like it. I guess all the poems were supposed to be like Shel Silversteins.
180- Post it! Shel Silverstein is nice and all, but I don’t really connect to humorous poems. Satire is better, but I like poems that make you think more as opposed to laugh. But, congrats on your 3rd place! Yay! *pies*
Hoping against Hope
Hoping against hope
Dreaming against all possibilities
I close my eyes to wish upon a star
Yet in my heart I know
It won’t come true
Never again can I be like I once was
At your side
Laughing
Talking
Nothing was missing
Now you are
I held you tightly
Yet still
You slipped through my fingers
Like a grain of sand
And left me
Alone
Until one day
I can lift my head
Open my eyes
And learn to live again
And then maybe
Just maybe
Once more
I can call you mine
There’s also another ending that I sometimes use. It replaces the “Once more/I can call you mine” line. It goes “You’ll be proud to watch me/From above the clouds”. Which one do you guys like better?
I also wrote another poem that was inspired by PC’s poem. It’s similar, but not exactly the same.
(183) That’s sad, but a good sad. I guess the word they use is bittersweet. I like the ending you have, it fits with the rest of the poem better. Nice though, I like the bit “You slipped through my fingers”.
(184) I like that a lot of your poems are so clear and articulate, that they say something that everyone feels but doesn’t know how to put in words. You do that well.
My entire history of writing poetry is two poems, one of which is three lines long and the other I can’t remember. But I often find poetry very inspiring and just as often very hard to understand.
183- Wow, those line changes would change the poems’s meaning entirely, almost. Hmm… they’re both good. The first fits with the poem more, as Skipperdoodles said.
We’re fiiiiinally doinf poetry in school. We havn’t written aything yet, though. I don’t know if we are going too. That makes me sad.
I asked though, and he said we’d do some e e cummings poems soon.
I love this thread.
Anyway, I don’t have any of my own poems to post now but I feel like putting something up. This is from The Jungle Book and always makes me laugh (which I feel like I need right now, how about you?):
Here is the funniest poem EVER that I came across yesterday. It’s by Ogden Nash.
VERY LIKE A WHALE
One thing that literature would be greatly the better for
Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and
metaphor.
Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,
Can’t seem to say that anything is what it is but have to go
out of their way to say it is like something else.
What does it mean when we are told
That the Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold?
In the first place, George Gordon Byron had had enough experience
To know that it probably wasn’t just one Assyrian, it was a lot of
Assyrians.
However, as too many arguments are apt to induce apoplexy and thus
hinder longevity,
We’ll let it pass as one Assyrian for the sake of brevity.
Now then, this particular Assyrian, the one whose cohorts were
gleaming in purple and gold,
Just what does the poet mean when he says he came down like a
wolf on the fold?
In heaven and earth more than is dreamed of in our philosophy there
are a great many things,
But I don’t imagine that among them is a wolf with purple
and gold cohorts or purple and gold anythings.
No, no, Lord Byron, before I’ll believe that this Assyrian was actually
like a wolf I must have some kind of proof;
Did he run on all fours and did he have a big hairy tail and a big red
mouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof woof?
Frankly I think it is very unlikely and all you were entitled to say, at
the very most,
Is that the Assyrian cohorts came down like a lot of Assyrian
cohorts about to destroy the Hebrew host.
But that wasn’t fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had
to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them,
With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiers
to people they say Oh yes they’re the ones that a lot of wolves
dressed up in purple and gold ate them.
That’s the kind of thing being done all the time by poets, from
Homer to Tennyson;
They’re always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison,
And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanket after
a winter storm.
Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanket of
snow and I’ll sleep under half an inch of unpoetical blanket
material and we’ll see which one keeps warm,
And after that maybe you’ll begin to comprehend dimly
What I mean by to much metaphor and simile.
For my little sisters birthday I am writing a book of poems, due to a request she made last night. I have, so far:
My sister said, “Write me a hilarious poem,
But it must be truly hilarious!”
I’ll try, but from this day,
On,
I will always say,
Her request was simply nefarious!
These lines are uneven
There is no pattern
Rather like Pi.
(I call that one “Pi-ku”)
I am not a poet, whatever you may think,
Which may be why these poems
Drive you to the brink
Of madness.
See?
Rhyme and meter (is it measure?)
Are things unknown to me!
If there was nothing like pain
There would be no suffering
No breaks or heartaches or
Any stupid one of those things.
But as of now that cannot be
I hate to show the world how
We the Americans can see
They way that we can
Take the pain
Or strain
Of death.
Iraq
China
Any number of those other
Pained places that have
Gone the distance
Have seen the light
And lived
The world seems so safe
When you’re alone surrounded by
Family and friends
But then you see the other side of where the
Path bends
The pain of a loss can be
So much more than
We
The innocent
The students alive
Can think to see.
——————————————————-
It might be bad but at least it’s my goodbye. Comments?
194- I like it. Poetry is often an excellent form of expressing the emotions and the questions that we ourselves have inside ourselves; especially at times like these. My last poem is actually about Matthew Shepard (after seeing the Laramie Project) but could be applied to Virginia Tech
(194) Really emotional. I think we should have a thread to discuss the Virginia Tech shootings, like we did on Katrina.
This is a poem I wrote in english class, and also my first attempt at writing truly disturbing poetry. I did a little tweaking of capitalization
after initially writing it out. I hope it’s not to hard to understand.
children Of happiness
Pain
is what We need
tears Squeezed
from dry eyes
to Convince the world, that We too, have Suffered
we Cut ourselves
and Suck blood
from the torn flesh
(private vampires)
Agony equals Salvation
we Hold the gas
in Our lungs
as long as We can
until We choke
and the breath
(dead souls)
escapes from Our mouths
I just wrote this poem as my tribute to the Virginia Tech tradgedy.
So much
Pain
So many
Headlines
About something
That
Never
Should have happened
So much anger
So many emotions
Held in
Until blood
Was the only comfort
That would be accepted
33 lives
33 souls
Too many
Too late
OOPS I DIDNT WANT TO DO THAT! ok sorry that I HAVE to dubble post
Heres a poem of rain
Theres a pitter patter on my rooftop
It seems to come from outer space
\Why doesn’t it just happen
In some other gloomy place?
Are the souls in heaven crying
For the loss they have sustained
Of life and limb and family time
It must make them feel quite pained,
And it makes me wonder somehow
Why not all over the world?
For surely it doesnt happen
Just over one small girl.
Him.
It was the smile
To anyone he would beguile
Nice to all
Straight and tall
Raven hair
That curled so small
But his smile
It made you weak at the knees
To think about evn
The birds and the bees
You liked him, didn’t you?
You liked the way he smiles
And stands
And walks
And… is.
But he chose her, not you,
And that nearly threw
Your heart to the floor
And split it in two
They danced as a couple
And evryone knew
They were together
And they were two
And you felt
As though the world
Couldn’t take
The weight
Of your sorrow
But sometimes
Around the corner
Ther’s hope
For your love
Tomorrow.
(206) Lovely rhyming, and the ending with a question is cool.
(209) It works well that you tell a story, especially because it’s filled with so much beautiful imagery.
(210) The second verse echoes the first one well
(213) Cryptic, but cool nonetheless. I like that you paranthesized (that probably isn’t a word but oh well) the last stanza.
(214) Normally, I’m not one for love poems, but this one is nice…sweet and sad and not over the top. I like the description of “him”
the prose musician
dylan had the muses
singing in his ears
his mind was ink, strings, rain
flowers, trees, paint and gears
how many roads must a man walk down…
I wonder what the answer was
that he heard blowing in the wind
another one
she wore overalls
and her hair, piled like whipped cream
on the top of her head
it swayed and tilted precariously
(unbidden,
the tower of pisa appeared in our minds)
a little elastic struggling to keep it in place
and her hearings jingled
as her head shook in laughter
and we wondered whether she was real
she told us a story
we can’t now recall the words
but afterwards
we all agreed that it was deep
which we surprised us
on the surface, she seemed shallow
like a clear island lagoon
and only later did we realize
the ocean that lay beneath
a poem danced on her lips
while her fingers strummed an invisible guitar
and her voice sang us a sculpture
that shimmered like a flock of butterflies
and drifted away on the wind
who are you?we asked
and again she laughed
(those absurd earings
tinkeling and twinkeling like
the twenty fourth of december)
and she said
The first show
The first act
The first pang of
Fear
Rises in your stomach
The first heat
The first feet
Stepping on yours in the
Wings
the first guest
The first guy
The first classmate
That you spy
Why?
The first note
The first clap
The first line
And it’s all
Yours
The first smile
On your face
You realize
That it’s not about
The first
Or the last
It’s about having
The time of your
Life.
219- Thanks! I stayed up really late last night listening to my dad’s old Bob Dylan albums, so that’s what inspired it.
218- yay for refrain! That worked really well. And I like the message/theme too, because the audience can relate to it. If you wanted advie, I would only say, see if you can make the lines a little less short, sometimes they get a bit choppy. But that also can be an nice effect. Good job.
220-Thanks very much. I was in a play a few days ago and that was how it felt to be backstage. I had some of the first lines too.
I live to love
For love alone
Without this love
I’d ne’er be grown
To bask in passion
Through and through
And have some bond
With me and you
But when this love
Is what you lack
Reverse yourself
And change you back
for a loveless life
Thru which painlessly grown
Can ne’er harbour
Some one for one’s own
Can ne’er compare
Laughing Skulls: Ode to the Great Actors Around Us.
Many people are superb actors,
playing their roles religiously,
never letting on that they’re faking.
They grin and joke, always
staying in their happy character.
Nobody realizes that they’re only acting,
putting on a facade of joy,
screaming for help from behind their masks.
The black wells of their eyes swallow them.
They stare into the darkness of their own souls.
Some may escape, become their characters,
take off the laughing skull and smile.
Others let the blackness consume them and
die, die, die.
This poem is dedicated to the latter.
I just wrote that. I was reflecting on how terrible depression can be.
Math is hard
And school is yucky
The weather outside
Is wet and blucky
There is no hope
For students restrained
Till the end of the day
When freedom is obtained.
222- Wow, that slightly reminds me of me when I’m around people sometimes. Only I’m not usually quite that morbid… I was going to write a poem along those linesa while ago, but the only line I liked out of the few I started with was ‘she hides behind her smile’ and varitaions of it. Maybe I should atempt it again…
Hey, I like that poem. It’s not meant to be morbid, it’s meant to portray how some people might feel. The brother of a dear friend of mine committed suicide recently, so that partially inspired that.
The Great Auk’s ghost turned round three times,
Sighed thrice, and three times winkt,
And turned and poached a phantom egg,
And muttered, “I’m extinct.”
I know a certain creature
That soars upon the sky
That floats o’er the billowed clouds
And never asks me why
Why do I dream
And never play
(But while I work I sing)
I answer anyone who asks that
If I keep it
Up I can
Do almost anything.
Thunder
is the footsteps of a giant
He stamps and crushes rain out of the clouds
Lightning
Is the language of the lightbeams
That sizzles in a bolt onto the ground
Rain
Is the teardrops from the heavens
that echoes from the peoples past and gone
Wet
is the feeling that is cold upon our skin
And the reason for the raincoats that we don.
Ahhg. For my book report I’m writing poems and explaining why thy relate to the book. I have been procrastinating on it… I tried to start one earlier, but it didn’t really go anywhere. Meh.
Okay, here’s one I wrote for my report. The book is Peeps, by the way. It’s about vampires, except they’re not ‘vampires’ they’re infected with a parasite that is… different. It drives them mad and makes them un away from the things the used to love, and has a lot of ‘explanations’ for all the old stories. Read the book, it’s good. Here’s the poem, though, it’s from the point of view of one of the peeps (parasite-positve, aka vampireish thing)
infected, we are
to watch the world go by quickly faster
as we reep out of sight and mind and being
pulling away from what we once yearned for
scorching our fingers on unobtainable dreams
we are the pipers leading the dance and songs,
they follow us always
our dark slaves, masters, keepers binding us together
and apart from the world
no peace, no rest, forever chaining our minds
against what it whispers in very blood, sings us to wakeful slumber
we hide, your eyes burn us with memories
and wishes and thoughts
by far better for us to stay in the dark damp and deep
away from blood and dreams and apples
say goodbye to the light
and wishes
and ends.
look into the mirror
and find the reflection of the love and the hate you hold within you
would you love? is that what is real?
what will you see when it is reflected back to you?
in the mirror, will you find your truth?
or will it be clouded by your own lies?
Plugged in, you wail a song
about drugs or politics or war.
You screech and slide and moan
as if your vocal chords have escaped.
I listen with plugged ears and squinted eyes
and think:
This isn’t music. It’s sound.
What happened to the fast songs,
the good songs,
the ones that filled your soul so completely
you had stand up, dance, move
Just to release the electricity?
Or the songs that filled you with such a peace
that you felt like you were floating,
like you could be Ghandi and Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama
all at the same time.
I know you like your music.
You think it’s cool to scream.
But I choose to wander away from the din,
In search of true song.
Yay! People looked at this thread! And look at all the amazing poets here!
A seahorse saw a sawhorse, but the sawhorse could not see.
Said the seahorse to the sawhorse, “You’re a horsey just like me.”
Said the sawhorse to the seahorse, “If I had eyes then I could see,
Whether we might be related, in the manner you have stated,
Or merely may be mated,
Etymologically.”
By Mary-Ann someone or other.
Say it out loud! It’s fun!
Sorry I don’t post my own poems here, but I’m not really much of a poet.
lies.
you tell them to protect yourself
from that which is know — yet unknown the
truth.
you feel can hurt you
it is not real you must drown in
lies
to prevent the fears you have invented
fears of the innocent and of the shadows in your soul
from entering and showing you the
truth.
of love and of compassion to yourself
and to those that you do not quite see
do not quite understand
you blanket yourself in
lies.
and hope never to see the
truth.
240- “to prevent the fears you have invented” – That line there really hit me. Congrats, you have just won a quote of the day space in my asignment notebook.
Or, you will when I can find a day without something by Douglass Adams on it…
I would like to be a poet
to capture such abstract creatures
as love
hate
beauty
and death
with a finely woven net of words
to make my thoughs dance as gracefully
on the page
as a swallow at sunset
but, so far I have not been a poet
so far I’ve just pretended
“…And untill the stars have shined their last,
Wherever on this earth you walk,
he will arouse, excite, inspire,
my Valentine, my one dark fire…”
Last lines of a book series (The Fire Within, Icefire, Firestar) I just re-read out of boredom. The first one was good, sweet if below my reading level (I started it because it had a dragon on the cover- I ♥ dragons), then the second one was a bit sad and the third one’s ending depressed me.
I didn’t find the second one sad. Actually, I can’t remember what I thought of it, it’s been so long. The first one was a tad sappy and definitely below my reading level, but I liked it enough to read it out loud to my sister. I haven’t read the third one yet, but if it’s depressing may be I shouldn’t.
Well, the first one was sappy, the second one not so much sad as different fromt he impression I had of the books from reading the first (I hadn’t known it was a series when I read the first one). The third one is a tad depressing at the end.
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again – and they’ll be gone next day!
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining’s wet and warm – don’t you ask no more!
If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you “pretty maid,” and chuck you ‘neath the chin,
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie –
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by.
For some reason I quite like that. It reminds me of Treasure Island and the High Seas trilogy.
we are the watchers
hollow eyes and empty voices
you send us away
the flickers of your imaginings
in the corners of your eye
in the dark, we hide
away from those who would see us
awaygonedead
you fear us and what must come
(though we do not control that)
we are not quite dead
and not quite alive
so of cource we cannot feel
we arewasisambeing ones
we only watch
and listen
and wait.
Silently ships go sailing, sailing stormy seas,
The tides tell twisting tales to the timless things we take to be,
Whispering ways we wish to wander will not wait and see,
Fools for feigning fake fidelity, for the false shall flee
I have absolutly no idea what it means, but it sounds cool.
since feeling is first
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
–the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
I haven’t been on this thread for so long…I’m so sorry.
I should re-read it, too. Forgive me~ -___-
I just wrote this…I need to write more, honestly.
—
something which cannot be protected against.
The chipped ceramic,
backwards glances
broken windows and
muddled signals- this is it
I said, unprotected and
buffeted by the wind
And I wonder, sometimes
If I could stay awake to break time and
live by light, again?
who are you? I wondered, groggy
Head to cold cement, eyes closed, smile
smile!
The most beautiful night sky is a clouded, starless one
’cause you know we love things we can make up beauty for
that we can say “pretty” even if it’s just a wall of
mist, something that shrugs away, or swims away
or cannot be protected against.
People say I can’t write a poem,
But they are wrong, I wrote a poem,
I wrote this one, I wrote this poem,
And the name of my poem is titled “my poem”,
so shut up. The end.
Scratching
Screaming
Red and raw
You’re bare as bones without your laws
Of gaping mouths and stinging tongues
You’re not the only one who defeats with words like claws
But you never win
Running
Gasping
Toxic air
You shouldn’t think you’re getting anywhere
With their dilated eyes at drooling words
So parched yet sure that the dances that transfixed their cares
Are what they’ve always been
Lashing
Moaning
Your sweat flies
From the smoke of petals you breath with sealed eyes
Yet illicit that vice which graffitis your soul
With which you roll and wrestle while your apparitions sigh
Their heat has got you pinned
Bleaching
Denying
All the stains
All the bleeding battle wounds and pains
But behind your spattered mask of sneers
And the breezy-bright veneer you dread as many losses as your gains
It shows through on broken skin
Sorry, forgot to mention that I had to write that for a class, and that I gave into an absurd impulse to rhyme it and put rhythm into it. It had an epigraph, from Much Ado About Nothing: “Scratching could not make it worse, twere such a face as yours.”
278- Nice. I like the way the last line in each verse rhymes, and how you have the thre words starting each verse. A different (in a good way) sort of effect
Thanks
I don’t usually rhyme my poetry, or give it any sort of rhythm…that’s too restraining.
So I shall perhaps post some of my other stuff on here soon…
Are Wild Strawberries really wild?
Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?
Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?
Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?
Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?
Will a litterbox work or would they leave a mess?
Can we make them a Cowberry, hearding the cows,
Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,
Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,
Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,
And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,
Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?
Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,
Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,
Anyhow, you’ve been warned and I will not be blamed
If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed.
284- I memorized a lot of his poems, but I can’t remember any of them right now. That one was C&Ped from some random site.
I don’t write poetry much, and as a result, I have nothing new to post.
Wow, I really enjoy reading this. You guys pwn hard.
But I have never liked Shel Silverstein. In fact, I’ve had a burning hatred for him ever since I first had the highly unfortunate experience about that idiotic falling up stuff in the second grade. I think the pictures in his books made me hate him and his poetry even more. I find him neither amusing, nor cute, nor clever, but merely stupid. Anyone who writes “for children” is probably an idiot.
This is coming from the kid who read Island of the Blue Dolphins in preschool, and the majority of LOTR in the summer between fourth and fifth grade. Needless to say, I find “juv. lit.” exceedingly condescending/patronizing. And not remotely cute or clever.
And personifying fruit in the manner Silverstein did is just annoying. Annoyingly absurd, in the worst possible way.
265- I heart cummings.
I have a song contribution.
Me and Mia by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:
As I was walking through a life one morning
the sun was out, the air was warm, but
Oh, I was cold
And though I must have looked half a person,
to tell the tale, in my own version,
It was only then that I felt whole
Do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to get a little self-control
I know how hard you try. I see it in your eyes
But call your friends, ’cause we’ve forgotten what it’s like to eat what’s rotten
And what’s eating you alive might help you to survive.
We went on as we were on a mission, latest in a Grand Tradition
And oh, what did we find?
It was Ego who was flying the banner, and me and Mia, Ann and Ana
Oh, we’d been unkind
But do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to get a little self-control
I see it in your eyes, I see it in your spine.
But call your friends,
’cause we’ve forgotten what it’s like to eat what’s rotten
And what’s eating you alive, might help you to survive.
And even the nights, they could get better
And even the days ain’t all that bad
And after a week of fighting, as more and more it seems the right thing
But do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to gain a little self-control
Won’t anybody here just let you disappear?
Not doctors, nor your mom and dad, but me and Mia, Ann and Ana
Know how hard you try. Don’t you see it in my eyes?
Sick to death of my dependence, fighting food to find transcendence
Fighting to survive, more dead but more alive
Cigarettes and speed for livin’, and sleeping pills to feel forgiven
All that you contrive, and all that you’re deprived
All the bourgeois social angels telling you you’ve got to change
Don’t have any idea. They’ll never see so clear.
But don’t forget what it really means to hunger strike
when you don’t really need to
Some are dying for a cause, but that don’t make it yours.
286- I didn’t even try reading Island of the Blue Dolphins until I was twelve. I kinda forgot about it. I read The Hobbit at age seven or eight, and LOTR when I was nine/ten, but you’re far ahead of me.
I need to write poems BAD!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Those who are in misery
Take trust in which they cannot lie
All you who are depressed
Take no faith in what can still die
The sun will ev’r reign once more
In when we do what e’er we like
That flows like an endless river
Or more sturdy than the strongest dike
Individuals we always are
And we take pride in what we will be
So do not be blind to your wants
But begin to need what you can see
Enjoy the joys of life unending
And remember to your dying day
Where ev’r there be the sunlight of truth
There will be your strongest way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Good, eh? I wrote it Olde English style!
287-I read all of the Laura Ingalls Wilder Books at age six, and they are each at least two inches thick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Is there really a difference between right and wrong?
Take that step
Is there a large gap between truth and a song?
Take another step
Is there a way we can stay the same?
Is there a lie without the blame?
Is there a road between you and me?
Is that the way it will always be?
Can you step once more over that long line
So I can be yours?
So you can be mine?
Will you take that step?
Can you see who we could be
Together?
To tie a knot that they’ll never sever?
Can you walk the line? Can you talk the talk?
Can you split our differences
To walk?
Can you take that step
Walk this way
Don’t listen to all
That your friends say
Come to me, and you will see
All that we could truly be?
Will you take that step and walk the line?
So I can be yours
And you can be mine?
288- I loved them both, especially the first. I liked the subtle rhymes and the genral message. In the second, I liked the rhythm of the “take a step” lines. both are quite splendid. Excellent job.
Eh, I got paranoid about people stealing my poems and then I stopped posting. I have written about… 5? since I last posted. Maybe I’ll post my acrostics…
Dare to take a leap; to journey to parts unknown; to
Reach out and grasp a falling star imagine
Elsewheres of endless possibility
Awaiting your touch to
Mold them
————–
Rising above the world – into the sky
Arching around the earth resplendent
In every color all hues
Not only a few –
Black and white – more shades than grey
Once hidden by clouds, now emerging to envelop the
World
————————-
Many eyes view reflections – are they
Illusions – only what we wish to view, not what is
Really there – how do we know illusion from
Reality? Where do we find the truth?
Observe deeply inside your eyes maybe (if eyes really are the windows to the soul) they’ll
Reflect the truth
errg… MB won’t let the Observe deeply inside your eyes to windows to the soul) they’ll be one line. But it is.
I like them, e~a, especially the first. I made one of those but I can’t post it yet. It’s top secret. I’ll post it eventually though. It ended up slightly nonsensical, because I had twelve lines to fill up and they were awkward. It’s better than some of my other, more self-centered works, though. By self-centered I mean that the poems are actually talking about themselves, rather than the more important subject.
290- Awesome job. I really love those.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silence
is a thick wall
that separates you from me
it is a deep fog
that sets no expression free
it is a barrier still
that yet I cannot seem to sev’r
it is a wall of feeling
that keeps me from you forever.
~~~~
Doesn’t it seem
that we are so close
and so far away
What would I give
to let you know who I am
today
You might never know me
As long as our lives we live
But it seems we are
connected
by the sharing that we each may give
these word on a white computer screen
are all you will ever see of
me
but by using our small voices
do we make out who we can truly
be.
~~~~
We stare
Through the windows
That will now become our lives
But never
did we imagine
The day that our love dies
Looking through these panes of glass
we are close
But far away
Across the way that separates us
we will look
But always stay
And so, my love
Does it seem we are so close
and far away
How I only wish I could break this glass
And be with
You
today…
Hazel eyes
whispy hair
Try to catch me
if you dare
in the shadows
of the wood
i hide beneath
a velvet hood
very short poem, yet it has stuck with me ever since
who knows
what may come
this the past
has always done
we can only
do our best
to make the world
better, lest
we might lose
everything
all that’s good
birds that sing
flowers in bloom
hope never lost
these things are
without cost
That is not dead which can eternal lie/and with strange aeons even death may die
I posted a poem on the writing thread, but it seams to have died… may it rest in peace, but according to FS, It can’t die, which is all very confusing, especially how death can die, how is that possible? Is it symbolism thing? because I’m not good with that, my teachers take simple lines out of a poem that seem to make literal sense and say it is full of symbolism.
For example:”Stopping By the Woods on A Showy Evening”
“These woods are lovely, dark and deep,
but I have promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep.
and miles to go before I sleep.
it makes perfect sense:He has a long way to go before he gets home or where ever he plans to sleep that night, so he can’t stay long to watch the snow fall, right?
no, according to my 8th grade english teacher it has some deep meaning about having an important life to live before he dies. If he meant that, why didn’t he just come out and say it?
as I said I’m not good with the symbolism thing…
(1, 2),
FrigidSymphony is quoting the Necronomicon, a fictional book in H. P. Lovecraft’s horror stories. You can find out more about it on/in/at Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cthulhu .
Speaking of Lovecraft, there was an interesting article in the New York Review of Books. Not that negative, in the end…
don’t you ever laugh as a hearse goes by, for you might be the next to die…first they wrap you up, in a big white sheet, and bury you down about six feet deep…they put you in a big black box, and cover you up with dirt and rocks…and all goes well, for ’bout a week, and then your casket starts to leeaaak…the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, the worms play pinochle on your snout…they eat your eyes, they eat your nose, they eat the jelly between your toes…your liver turns an emerald green, and pus pours out like yellow whipped cream…
talk about entertaining!
5- And er, where’s that from?
I made a poem in skool, but stupidly I forgot to bring it home. Meh.
random poem I just wrote:
walking to my friend’s house
I smell the air of spring in the winter
walking from school,
I smell fall in spring
the seasons have shifted
they are no longer in place as they used to be
one moves into another’s time taking it’s place
(2) Your teacher isn’t entirely wrong. The beauty of a lot of Robert Frost’s poems is that they can be taken on a both literal and metaphorical level. As you said, it does make sense in that it’s about a guy stopping by woods on a snowy evening. But the general analysis of that particular poem is that Frost was also talking about life, and the way our lives are often unnoticed in the grander scheme of things, but we go on anyway. But then, you don’t have to accept the general analysis.
My writing teacher this year is really into poetry. He reads a poem everyday, more or less. I’m kind of too brain dead to think about any of them though.
(7) nice. I like the first stanza the best. The last line of the second one is a bit redundant. You always have nice poems though.
8- thanks. It was written on the spot in an effort to write something different than what I’ve been writing and just to write something.
I posted this poem on the last thread, but I didn’t get many comments, since the thread was basically dead. So I’m going to post it here. I wrote it in poetry class. We were supposed to write a poem about an object, and I wrote it about a Dutch shoe. Can people give suggestions, etc. to improve it?
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.
YAAAAAAY!!!!
Shweet. I was just meaning to ask for one of these, too. *choklit to GAPAs*
10- I’m unsure of what Dutch shoes look like; does it have pictures on it or somthing? That’s what it seems like from what you described.
Revised version of a poem I posted on previous thread-
I’m standing here surrounded
yet I’m sitting in the dark
I just want to hold together
and instead I fall apart
strings, strings,
unraveling
remember all the little things
strings, strings,
untwisting,
hours, minutes, long.
we stand next to each other
and still we drift away
we can’t hold together
no matter what we say
twines, twines,
see the signs
if you look now what will you find?
twines, twines,
all unwind,
the ending of the song.
love is like a window
or maybe it’s a door
I don’t know what’s going on
I can’t do this anymore
threads, threads,
the things we dread
don’t give in, we’re not yet dead
threads, threads,
the things we said
going, going, gone.
Hmm. ‘Tis okay, I guess. Comments?
103 on previous thread(Penty-chan)- Those are good! I like them a lot. As e~a said, the imagery was really good. “Strings” made me think of a girl sculpting clay in a basement somewhere…beautiful sculptures she didn’t share… very good imagery, again.
5 (ES)- 1. Your name makes Penty cry. In tears 2. If I understood what this was supposed to be about, I’m sure I could find something to say about it.
7 (e~a)- I really like the beginning, but the end seems a little weak. Maybe use some of that beautiful imagery you’re so good with?
10 (PP)- I’d start the poem a little stronger, with more of a hook. ‘The porcelain replica’ just doesn’t do it for me, y’know?
new thread haiku:
there is a new thread
computer and vid games
requested by me
w00t!
Do you want to hear a poem I wrote to submit to my school book?
Well here it is:
Wish it here
Whish it there
Wish it gone
Wish it fair
Wish it down low
Or wish it up high
Wish it away
Or wish it nigh
Wish it where dead
Wish it back alive
Wish it would struggle
Wish it would thrive
Wish it would lose
Wish it would gain
Wish it would snow
Wish it would rain
Wish it was better
Or wish it for worse
Wish it just like you
Or wish it diverse
Whatever you wish it
Don’t sit back and sigh
Get out there and do it
Don’t ask “Why oh why?â€
I know it is lame. Give me critique!
5- I heard it like this:
Did you ever think as the hearse goes by,
That you might be the next to die?
The worms crawl in and the worms craw out,
in your stomach and out your snout.
Your eyes fall out,
your teeth decay.
And that’s the end of a perfect day!
Someone tell me how I can improve!!!!!!!!
11 – the design on them looks like the design on these
(GAPAs: sorry about the link. You can zap it if you want…I just wanted to show what the shoes looked like).
[No worries. I tweaked the code to show the image without a link. –Robert]
15 – I like it! The anaphora is cool.
feed the birds
of imagination
they will fly
and take you with them
to half-forgotten places
hidden
between the folds of life
Wow cool! Thanks Robert!
10- that’s pretty good, I’ve read old books where they talk about shoes like those. They are usually wooden, they don’t sound very comfprtable, but it’s better than nothing.
and, I posted a poem on the last thread, right before it died, so I’ll post it again
Warning, it’s a little long… but it’s REALLY good (if I do say so myself)
Here is the story of Johann and Jack,
They both flew their planes, they flew to attack.
Johann is 19 and Jack just the same,
They know that their fighting is not just a game.
They think of their families at home and afraid,
they think of the price that s many have paid.
They both get their orders, their orders the same,
Fly for your country in you’re fighter plane.
Jack’s in a strange land, Johann’s near to home.
Jack goes to Danzig, and sees the ocean’s foam.
He looks out the window; can he drop his bomb?
He hears a mother yelling, “Oh, Tom, Where’s my Tom?”
He can see the faces of the people he’s to kill,
They’re on a boat over the Baltic Sea’s chill.
He knows there are hundred’s of people aboard.
Over the boat Jack flew and soared.
He knows these people are innocent civilians,
they’re just part of the millions.
Jack looks down at the burning town,
drops his bomb and turns right around.
He’ll not forget the sights that he’s seen.
Johann’s assignment is to destroy other planes,
He hopes he can tell Americans from the Danes.
There’s the first plane that Johann spots,
he shoots at the wings and there it drops.
Johann had killed the man in the plane,
he couldn’t help think ‘is this really a gain?’
He’ll not forget the sight’s that he’s seen.
The next plane he saw just happened to be Jack’s.
Both men saw the other and couldn’t relax.
They knew that their duty would be to stay,
and kill yet another “enemy” that day.
Both thought, ‘not another, i can’t kill no more’,
they’d both had their share of blood and gore.
Jack looked at Jahann and Johann at Jack,
they flew by each other and never changed tracks.
Neither felt guilty for passing the other,
they were just glad that they didn’t kill another.
They’ll not forget the sights that they’ve seen.
what do you guys think?
22- I like it but the last line needs another to accompany it, either before it or above it. The rest is wrtten in couplet form, it feels weird to end it on a single line. I liked the story and the names you chose.
22- Aren’t you 22?
21- I think it is fantastic. It created a nice, vivid picture in my mind. I have to wonder though, how low are they to the ground? It says he can see the people’s faces.
23- yes, oops…
anyone have commentary on mine? (19)
24- Good, par usual. More specific- like the last two lines.
No comments on mine? *snibble* Working on another, anyway.
11- absolutely awesome. I, for some strange reason, like sad, remorsefull poems. Kinda weird that way.15- think the last line is a little off topic but other wise is reall cool. 21- totollay awesome, agree with 22 though, need another line to go with last one. Well here goes my poem. Give feedback porfadora.
Eyes like burning embers,
Claws like deadly knives,
Mice take one look at him,
then scamper for their lives.
His body built so fluent,
His teeth so sharp and white,
His pealt it glints so golden,
As he pads through the sunlight.
But deep within his lion heart,
an awfull sadness lies,
And though he tries to ignore it,
It’s constantly paining his mind.
For he is but a zoo lion,
He’ll never get to run free,
He’ll never get to roar to the jungle,
“You, just try and defy me!”
He’ll simply just sit there,
and stare back at me.
For he is a lion,
A powerfull lion,
But a lion who’ll never run free.
19- that was kinda cool but a little to deep for me.
(11 Jadestone) Cool! You know, its almost like a song. I like the quazzi-refrain thing you have going.
(15 capricious) Just alter it a bit so that it isn’t so repetetive. You wanna a keep a poem unexpected, so the reader won’t know how the next line is going to begin before they read it.
Hope that helps!
(19 e~a) yay, another cool mysterious poem! My suggestion would jest be to add a bit…more. Some of the lines seem a bit…terse..is that the right word? Anyway, just more words so that it flows better. But nice.
(21 Elizabeth) That’s good! The rhyming worked out well, and I the refrain was nice. And the message was good too.
(26 Pink panther) I like the first stanza! My suggestion would just be to work on your rhyme and meter structure a bit…it’s a little akward at points. But nice anyway.
OK, so I really haven’t written any poetry as of late but this I came up with completely randomly the other day when I was woken up in the early morning by the sun through my window.
skipper’s poem
a slender grey stick
wavers in the morning wind
while its leaves make make a sound like the tail of the snake
coiled, cold
on the rocks below
the sun rises
surfing on the crest of a wave of heat.
I have a poem. And critique for you beautiful people shall come later.
Not really sure what it’s about. You tell me.
and my capital letters are still mia btw.
driven snow
to take your arm and run freer
that you think would make us something
though of course it’s the staying that counts.
(beginning middle end)
second is favorite when its hands reach
out into your concept of forever
when foresight is held my voice would falter.
how has mine changed and how will you move on,
this i would wonder if paradise were not ours for the taking.
my hands are rough
bleed from eternity of grasping at straws
what lotion do you use to keep them so soft
purity should be a sin
unclean i am for thinking of it.
a gift for you:
oceans would freeze and i
would to walk across them
global warming turns to slush
and my mouth fills of its own volition with regret and apology.
never quite biblical
lightning in arrows from the sky
hail like the diamonds from the mouth of innocence.
introspection extroversion
think before you speak
step into the grave you dug with laughter
that it was mine will hurt more than it should.
take away the feathers of angels
all you have are dead men with trumpets between rotting lips
harps in skeletal hands
drumbeat heartbeat morendo.
vesta takes the coals in burnt hands oozing ichor
you wear them like a badge of honor on your heart
divinity infuses scar tissue.
reinventing the wheel can’t be that hard
creation with broken fingers
they toss up snow as they rattle onward
white then greyer greyer
you weep it as your face dirties.
sleepers, wake
you pound the organ’s keys with weakening fingers.
At Forensics of Thursday, Mrs. S. brought along a Shel Siverstein CD and everyone got to listen to it. I like the poems, but I’m not so sure about how he reads them. It’s very expressive, but rather strange. This one’s my favorite. I have it taped to my bedroom door, aolong with several muse articles and some pictures I’ve taken.
Invitation, by Shel Silverstien.
If you are a dreamer, come in.
If you are a dreamer, a wisher a liar,
A hoper, a prayer, a magic bean buyer,
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!
30- I love that poem too! A quote from it is on my door…. scary, we’re bedroom-door-twin like things.
and I wrote a poem lately, a non written here one. I’ll post it here sometime and find time to comment more.. eventually. Silly junior year homework…
22- I did one line at the end of each person’s stories, then at the end of the entire story, it’s like a 3 part story
23- I got that part from a story my grandma told me about her sister, she was on this boat by the burning city and the reason she didn’t drown was that she had just gotten on and hadn’t gone below yet. She floated around in the Baltic sea for days before a ship found her. And she lived and came to America… but she said that she could see the pilot’s face before he dropped the bomb, it gave me this idea
26- I like it, and the way you can tell it’s some kind of cat before you actually read that part. However, the lines “He’ll never get to roar to the jungle, ‘You, just try and defy me!'” Didn’t seem to flow as much as the rest. Not sure how you’d change that, though.
29- I decided not to use capitals in most of my poetry last year. The teacher said it would be a style preference and we wouldn’t get points off. Plus when I do capitalize it enunciates the words more. I like the line “drumbeat heartbeat morendo.”
30- Ah, I like that poem. I like a lot of poems on here. I think I’m going to print some out (both muser-written and not) and tape them into my asignment notebook.
cascading
a melody flows
from my fingers
but lands cruelly
upon deaf ears
26- That actually almost made me cry.
My star sign is Leo. Poor lion! Actually, they’re quite happy in the zoo, and are exercised to fit their natural needs.
29- I really liked your poem. The no capitals works. Good job! I like the imagery especially of the dead musicians.
(29) wow Penty. That’s fantastic. I’ll have to read it again to decide what it is about.
ok, I know my poem was boring and short but has anyone noticed it?
19 and 24- I adored it. It was just my style.
26- I like sad poems too. Dunno why, but I really do.
28- I enjoyed it, I liked the aliteration(intentional or not) with the “coiled, cold” bit. Those words sound like each other to.
Jadestone is trying a new style of poem-writing, sort of like e~a’s but not as good. Here’s one from today:
The words form in my mind,
my heart,
the want to rush forth,
grow, escape,
fills all
and yet my tounge stumbles
the words are fragmented,
broken,
and seem to mean so much less
when spoken aloud
Eh. Okay, for somthing new I suppose
i once wrote a 15(?) page long poem sort of a ballad (it was kind of inspired by Eragon’s poem in Eldest)
38- “sort of like e~a’s but not as good.” *blushes* thanks
40- Well, it’s true.
When we get to the poetry unit I am definatly printing out some muser-writen poems and using them to prove to all the “Ohmehgawd I am so good at poetry: I rhymehed ‘love’ with ‘dove'” idiotic popular people in my class that they are NOT that great. Grrrrr… They shame us all. Esspecally all the quiet ood writers who never get a chance to speak over them. Meh.
41- cool! if you want to credit mine under a real life name use Sally R. Oh, and tell me what they think!
28 (SN)- I really like the way you use words here, though I have no idea what the poem is about. I noticed the contrast between cold and heat–was that intentional? It’s lovely in either case.
33 (Jadestone)- Ooh, very pretty and simple. Me gusta!
38 (JS)- That poem does remind me a bit of e~a’s, but it also has a distinctly Jadestoney air to it. I’ve been reading Muser poetry for so long that I can tell the style differences between all the regs.
41 (JS)- Show them mine and give them cookies if they can tell me what the heck it means. ^_^
43 r u new ?????????? if so then PPPPPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Its Pentatonikk….. She’s not new at all.
Sorry if that sounded like a dis….. It wasn’t meant to be one.
Nope. Penty is (as I’ve seen and heard) quite old. Is this true?
Well, she’s alot older than me by a long shot.
OH thats OK no offence taken
42- Okay, Sally R. Got it. Though he said at the begining of the year that we’d do poetry in feb, but we havn’t yet so I’m going to have to ask when we’re doing it again…
43- Heehee, you got it
Yup, Penty-chan’s been here for a while.
33- I really like that one. Concise, yet meaningful
21-this one’s good too. Although I agree with sock monkey, I think that the repeated line needs another to keep the couplet going. But on the other hand, I can see how the single line adds emphasis.
Listen to me, my friend,
While I tell of the joys of solitude and silence.
Listen to my tales of the wondrous things I see
Because I walk alone.
For in the jostling, uncomfortable crowd,
Many things are lost that should not be.
The clamor of loud voices covers the sound of silent pleas,
The sight of darkness and death smothers the sense of invisible hope.
So walk on the banks of the river, and not in the current,
So that you are not swept away.
For in the silence and solitude
I hear many things not heard before—
The crackling of brittle leaves beneath my feet
The singing, high and keening, of moonbeams and stars
The whispery beat of a fairy’s wings
As she flits amongst the fallen flowers and dewdrops.
The slow, ponderous rumble of the Earth as she turns
The mysterious, pulsing energy of the universe as it moves
In its cosmic dance across the endless skies of time—
All this I hear because I walk apart from the mob, from the herd, from the mindless and empty.
I hear your voice whisper in protest—
“Alone†you offer up to the air. “Isolated†“Maroonedâ€
No, I am not lonely; for there are others in my quest
Ones who think, and speak with care, and do not live dark, but light;
For though I am individual, separate, unique,
I am never lonely.
Sorry its kinda long.
I also write elvin poetry. In Elvin.
I am such a LOTR freak.
49- I like it, esspecally the message it sends. If you like LotR, you should check out the songs Robert wrote. Hewas quite a fanatic, too. Learned the launguage too, correct?
51–sort of. I have an english-to-elvin dictionary and grammar book, so I use that. I havn’t really learned the language that much, though
OK, I couldn’t resist putting another one in. Its my favorite. Again, it’s long.
I am a robot.
All shining gold and glowing steel.
A marvel of modern science
All cog and turning wheel.
I am a robot.
I see the world through fisheye lense.
I hear the birds with hollow ears.
And feel soft velvet and sharp pins.
I am a robot.
I see my body, all wires and parts.
I hear the whirrings of my mind
Feel the cold thing that is my heart.
I am a robot.
I have no soul.
There is no love or hope in here
In my blackened heart of coal.
And though the world may love me
And marvel at my brain
I will never be truly happy
For a machine I will remain.
49- that’s beautiful, don’t worry about long! I’d like to write something longer sometime myself. It reminded me a lot of Charles de Lint’s books, you might want to read one sometime, I’d recommend starting with Someplace to be Flying.
50- post some here! I’d like to read it. (with a translation)
53- ooh, Ilike the bittersweet feeling that it gives. I really like your poems. Post more!
two poems written fairly recently in my writing notebook
twilight
soothing as autumn mist
falls. mysterious, the half-light
of the fading day
grey secrets hidden in the mist
unanswerable riddles
their existance bittersweet
as the setting sun
in the dusk,
pondering these questions, I sit
and watch the sunlight fade
———————————
crystal facets of multi
colors
glinting in the breeze
glimmering in the gloaming
out of half-forgotten crannies
few bend to retrieve them
-too busy with rushrushrush to take a
breath-
of shining color
When bored I begin to doodle aimlessly and write random stuff on the world map of my school planner. One day, to my amazement, something that could be considered free verse appeared from my hand on Russia during lunch one day. I’m not much of a writer, but seeing the posts here reminded me of it. It’s short. Criticism?
i feel lonely all alone
in this giant place
without a friend
he left me (all alone)
i miss him
This really isn’t it’s place, but there isn’t anywhere better. It’s edited slightly here.
55 (c&q) – I like it! Adding an image or two with concrete detail might enhance the poem, too.
WOW! There is a LOT of good poetry on here! Does anyone here have a literary magazine at their school? In other words, do you have something where any kid in the school can submit poetry or writing or something and it all comes together in one big book or magazine? My school does, and I think ALL of these should go in! Too bad you guys don’t go to my school!
So! Let’s talk poetry! (wow…that was cheezy… :wink:)
I truly and honestly (after reading this entire page) must say that there is NOT a bad, horrible, or even almost bad poem on here! THEY ARE ALL AMAZING! Seriously you Musers, you are aMUSEing! (well considering that’s a word I’ll go right ahead and change my pun…:sad: JK
)
YOU ARE ALL WONDERFUL POETS!
e~a, your poems are awesome. I love the imagery–I can totally see it in my head.
curious and questioning–I like your poem’s simplicity and broken language. THe parenthesis remind me of a Walt Whitman poem in my Lit. book. I’ll see if I can find it and post it here.
And I agree with Poet Maniac–all the poems here are AMAZING!
Elvin stuff (with multiple grammar and wording issues):
Ninque fanyar cirith, din nin si quelle,
Im rin norë. Er norë rin nin?
Lisse lin ello iar, lin esse vana mardi,
Im rin norë. Norë rin nin?
Dagnir nai coi, dagnir nai dacil,
Im uva rin norë. Uva norë rin nin?
Translation:
White clouds passed, still waters now dry,
I remembered you. Did you remember me?
Sweet songs of old, sung in great halls,
I remember you. Do you remember me?
Wars to be fought, battles to be won,
I’ll remember you. Will you remember me?
Simplistic, I know. I got it from the song that Char sings to Ella in Ella Enchanted.
53- I like it. Shows how you can’t have everything (very smart robot with no feelings v. people with feelings but limited mental capacity)
55- Good, I agree with PP, you could add a line or two of description, like of the place. City? Baren landscape? Or you could leave it as is and let the reader imagine the setting.
60- I like it, they way you changed tense in the ‘remember’ lines was a nice touch.
Can you sing
as a songbird
to the glorious fading sun
can you laugh
as a child
even when you don’t have fun
do you wish
upon a star
as hopefull dreamers do
can you love
with all your heart
as though someone longed for you
can you cry
like the bitter moon
when you have lost a friend
will you sing
and weep and laugh for me
when I have reached my end?
Another on-the-spot poem. Not to shoddy…
62- reminds me of a song from Les Miserables for some reason. I like it. It seems much better than my on the spot poems.
62–has good rhythm to it, it sounds like it could be a song. Very nice.
Thanks guys.
Another poem in a df=iffrent style:
glass beads
scattered across the floor
like memories
you rush to pick them up
and drop them back into the dusty jar
but it tips—
and they come poring out again
65- I really like it. It reminds me of mine. I like the pause at the end after tips. very cool. The imagery is also cool.
66- It was in the style you normally write in again. I decided to try writing in styles I don’t normally do.
Let’s see if I can do another on-th-spot one…
I hide
behind a smiling mask
my cheerful facade lets nothing show
and no one knows
I am dieing inside,
and still-
I hiide behind this smile.
Meh. Not so good. I feel like I need to write a good poem, but this one didn’t work. I am alternating between depresion and insanity at this moment,,, changes every few minutes. Be glad you are not living with me right now… I’d pity your heads. Oh well, I’ll try again tomorrow.
67- I liked it. And I like that idea of writing in a different style only I don’t know what style to try. I think I’ll try a poem like Penty’s in twenty-nine. I’d like to try writing something longer than what I usually write.
We say
“I do not like this poem.”
Can a fish swim?
Can a bird sing?
Thus our thoughts swim and sing and come out
as our own, no matter what the words.
Our hearts have the talent
To pour feelings onto paper–
And so each time we write
It is our hearts’ good words.
69- So true.
I have one started, but I’m not really getting anywhere with it now. I’ll type it up and see if I can add more…
So you wish to be free
and you wish to be heard
so you wished for a song
but all you got was a word
and you long for an end
o that cold blinding light
so you wish for the moon
and you wish for the night
a silver smile hangs low
in the clear and cool sky
cool flooding relief
(and/open) long pent up sighs
so open your eyes
and inhale sweet perfume
and dance with your dreams
‘neath the light of the moon
the Cheshire cat
has climbed into the sky
andd he’s smiling now smiling
now smiling goodnight
whispered softly
the Star-bird sighs,
goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
the night-breze softly
carreses through your hair
and you havn’t a thought
and you havn’t a care
all you want is to run
and to laugh and to play
durring your only escape
from the chaos of day
the Cheshire cat
climbs higher up in the night
with the sparkling stars
providing snatches of light
and the Star-bird calls gently
as she takes to the sky
goodbye goodbye,
goodbye.
You leap into the air
in a salute of joy
a final atemp to keep night
in, to stop daybreak, a ploy
but dawn answers swifltly,
her fingers creep forth
a burst of energy
you dance for your worth
and the Cheshire cat
is griining still
grining now grinning
as thoughts run amil*
as the Star-bird alights
on a dream of mine,
crooning goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
a final leap, piourette,
a turn-
but it’s over now,
Night’s court has adjourned
and as you wake you hear snatches
of Star-bird sigh,
goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
*same as amuck. I herby invoke my Poetic Licence and create a new word if t is not already one(my computer think’s it’s not…)
70- oooh, I like the sing-song rhymes and the rhythm in it. very cool.
e~a’s version of a longer poem:
A Cup of Tea
widdershins widdershins widdershins
turning rapidly switiching
overandoverandoverandover
eyes pouring a pool of daydreams
turing turning
will you make a wish, sir?
find a set of (almost-not)
wings leaping towards esoteric beliefs
wandering wild into the gloaming
dream lights the dusk
step through the haiku clouds
of thought present wrapped with polka-dotted bow
put on your stargazing-hat
your bird-mask
jump to the sun of half-forgotten whimsies
put away your outer adult, sir
will you take a leap, sir?
and drink a cup of stardust tea with me?
ok this is kinda pathetic, so i was doing this african american history challenge bowl thing (vegas!!!) and my mom was quizzing me and she made up this song.
(clap to rhythym)
john brown who was subsequently hanged
john brown whose decendents are all farmers…
(repeats over and over and over)
70–WOAH that’s AMAZING!!!!! Me gusta mucho mucho!!!
anyone have comments on mine?
71- It reminds me I bit of Lewis Carrol’s work (I ♥ him by the way).
I didn’t entirly finish 70 but I had to get of the comp really fast(grr to parentals), so here’s the way it should be.
So you wish to be free
and you wish to be heard
so you wished for a song
but all you got was a word
and you long for an end
o that cold blinding light
so you wish for the moon
and you wish for the night
a silver smile hangs low
in the clear and cool sky
cool flooding relief
open long pent up sighs
so open your eyes
and inhale sweet perfume
and dance with your dreams
‘neath the light of the moon
the Cheshire cat
has climbed into the sky
andd he’s smiling now smiling
now smiling goodnight
whispered softly
the Star-bird sighs,
goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
the night-breze gently
carreses your hair
and you havn’t a thought
and you havn’t a care
all you want is to run
and to laugh and to play
durring your only escape
from the chaos of day
the Cheshire cat
climbs higher up in the night
with the sparkling stars
providing snatches of light
and the Star-bird calls gently
as she takes to the sky
goodbye goodbye,
goodbye.
You leap into the air
in a salute of joy
a final atemp to keep night
in, to stop daybreak, a ploy
but dawn answers swifltly,
her fingers creep forth
a burst of energy
you dance for you are worth
and the Cheshire cat
is griining still
grining now grinning
as thoughts run amil*
as the Star-bird alights
on a dream of mine,
crooning goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
a final leap, piourette,
a turn-
but it’s over now,
Night’s court has adjourned
and the Cheshire cat
is fading away
fading now fading
as night turns to day
and as you wake you hear snatches
of the Star-bird’s singing sigh,
goodbye, goodbye,
goodbye.
That’s better. I have another one to post too…
my fingers fly across the keys of an unnamed instrument
prodegy, their lips form the empty word again, along with the other
they love not me but what I make
cold emptyness, cold metal
how can somthing forged from fire and flames hold no heat
how can the heart that pumps warm blood trhough bone
me made of chipped stone and ice
the notes come high and sharp, echoing what I do not feel
strings and springs bind me, I am but a puppet to the master’s dreams
my body moves and apears to live,
what I can find of myself longs for peace
my eyes are hollow as are my words, no more shall I speak
when no one hears me anyway
the only peace I can find lies hidden between notes
rushing noise cool scielence then the music – a moment –
then back to roaring normalicy
they watch me shut myself inside and do nothing
was I made this way or was it you who made me like this?
I send my mind away, perhaps to search
for what I have not lost.
*corrections. Prodigy, not prodegy in the first line; through not trhough in the 6th; be not me in the 7th; silence not scielence(really bad, I know, sorry) in the 15th.
I need to read what I type before I post more often. Hum.
76- I love the line “I am but a puppet to the master’s dreams” and I also love the last line. Cool piece, makes me feel slightly uneasy in a good way if that made sense at all.
my fav quote of all time is “A persons a person no matter how small”. guess who said it???
Dr. Suess!!!! Es mi favorito tambien.
Sorry I kinda spanglish a lot. Sometimes a foreign language is more expressive than boring old english.
yay 80!!!! i understand. i heblish alot too
78- Yup, that feeling was ort of what I was aiming for too.
Yay!
I look
and see sky, trees, water,
green things growing
through cracked cement
life goes on
you look
and see peeling paint,
dead grass and broken glass
shatered sidewalks
life is ending
we look upon the same picture
and see different images
so who are they to tell us what to see?
There once was a pig named Pat,
Who was rather large, at that.
She would sit in the hay,
and gobble all day,
and soon she became very fat.
There once was a farmer named Benny,
who was very lean and skinny,
he owned fat Pat,
and a farm, besides that,
and he wished for food by the plenty.
Benny passed Pat’s pen,
and soon he began to grin,
he looked at her thighs,
and thought “pork chops tonight!â€
and ran to set butter a’ sizzlin’.
So Pat came to a gruesome end,
which I shall not relate again,
and Benny grew fat,
on ham and all that,
and never went hungry again!
THE END
(83 Jadestone) Yay JS! I like the line “dead grass and broken glass”
(84 Elentari) That’s funny. And sad. And funny.
My school’s having a poetry contest. What shall I write about?
No time for lots of long comments because I have math homework. So–
@Jadestone: I can really see a huge improvement in your poetry from previous threads, which I re-read last night. Before it was good, and now it’s amazing. A lot of your work seems like it should be put to music and sung, which I love. My only criticism for you would be to watch your length; sometimes I think you get too caught up in your words and miss a good ending. But your poetry’s awesome anyway!
@e~a: I want to be able to write metaphor like you. -swoon- And I think that’s all there is to say.
@Elentari: Nice to see some capital letters around this thread again. -guilty as charged- Stick around the thread so I can get a better idea of your style, and then I will praise its awesomeness.
85 (SN)- Try writing some random words or phrases that you like, and then build a poem around them. From what you said, it doesn’t seem like the contest has that many guidelines other than the standard school-appropriateness nonsense.
My school’s literary magazine is taking submissions. I’d like to submit some poetry since none of my prose is in any way fit to see the light of day, but I don’t really know which of my poems I want to send them. Same thing with a poetry contest my library is hosting. If you could look through my stuff, or have a poem of mine you really like, and help me make some decisions, I would love you forever and give you a cookie. Or more than one.
Two new poems. Because I actually have time for once. Known in my mind as “Penty has Some Very Weird Fun with Formatting” and “Capital Letter-induced SHOCK!”
e.c.l.i.p.s.i.s.
each p.o.int of blood needlestick in paper hand…
scrawl-scratched name pulls away to further
down…taken underwater red ribbons unfurl
from the dead to the prison of being.s. why
make a key for the blooded birds. their dear has
better things to do.
no one ever talks about meteoric fall but…
shattered bones of shattered dinosaurs attest despair
the moon burns orange. what…what devotion
to poetry.s. dripping .a.way into exoskeletons
of cicadas changed to ants
and marching down…the page
like black lines of the regimented dead.
Love Song for Armageddon
-ehhh, never mind, I’ll post it later. But it does have capital letters in it!-
86- Yeah… I always do them way to long. I try not to, but it just happens anyway.
I’ll look through the word document I have of almost all the threads except most of this one and the first one… I’m doing sort of a collection of muser poetry ort of thing, no reason but I felt like it. I’ll scan for your name and read your work though, you have some good stuff if I remember correctly.
I liked e.c.l.i.p.s.i.s., the subtle rhyming was nice, it didn’t stand out but you could catch it.
This one I had to write on the Holocaust (for English). LUV the rhythym.
All is darkness, all is death
All is gasping, stuttered breath
All fall down, but few will rise
Here in the horror that is our lives.
We are beaten, we are weak,
Our days are numbered, our outlook bleak
We walk like shadows, living in fear,
Robbed of all that we held dear.
We do not hope—how could we dare—
To offer up a wish or prayer
Our God had left us long before
That One we used to so adore.
The aching pain goes to the core
As we mourn the ones who’ve gone before
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Dying in the fires of the unjust
All we wish for, all we need,
Is to be released, to be freed
All we want is liberation
Freedom from our pain and desperation.
And O! the tears that we have shed!
And how we seem—the living dead!
Like skeletons writhing amongst demons of Hell—
The screaming, shrieking, vile death knell.
And come now darkness, come now death,
We have breathed our final breath!
And all now fall and none now rise,
Here, in the horror, at the end of our lives!
Wups almost forgot
Pentatonikk–thanks for your constructive criticism of everyone. I kind of like criticism better than praise, because then you can learn.
Also your poem ROCKED! It was just connected enough in meaning to create a very deep, philosophical picture (if that makes any sense).
I thought I was a good poet. Now I feel inferior. All of you seem to be amazingly talented.
Well, Prarilius, why don’t you post a poem so we can find out? I’ll bet you’re just as good!
87 (JS)- Thanks for helping (in advance)!
“Subtle rhyming?” -reads poem again- Wow…I totally didn’t intend that. ^_^;
88 (Elentari)- I lovelovelove your rhyme scheme. I can’t rhyme, so I’m very appreciative of people who can. Maybe fewer exclamation points, though? They make the poem seem kind of in-your-face, which I’m not terribly partial to. Maybe it’s just a personal thing, though.
And thanks.
90 (PC)- Aw, c’mon, you’re not inferior! Just because your style is different doesn’t mean it’s worse. Post your poetry and let the huddled masses decide.
88- That;s really good! And sad, but how could one on that topic not be sad?
The rhyme scheme is very good, and the words rhyme compleatly, unlike some of the rhymes i do where you have to use your imagination to hear themm… very nice.
92- Ha, I do that to sometime. Rhyme without meaning to. It’s a good effect, though, it really works.
90- Aww, I’m sure they’re fine! … just post one or two? Please?
i dont really like poetry, but i LOVE shel silverstien. i used to have ickle me pickle me tickle me too memorized
Hee hee thanks for your praise but I cheat. I use rhymezone.com.
*blushes*
And I do agree with you, Pentatonikk, the exclaimation marks are a little much. I’ll remember that in el futuro.
I like Shel Silverstein in terms of funny little children’s poems, but if I’m looking for a more in-depth imagery poem, my favorite poet is probably Stanley Kunitz.
I like e e cummings a lot, and Lewis Carrol. Compleatly different styles, but both good.
((Slightly edited from the original version, which I wrote a couple years ago. I’m thinking of extending it into a longer one.))
To make a magic carpet, pluck two moonbeams from the sky,
And knit a cloth of silver from the air where eagles fly,
Then take a pinch of stardust, rub it well into the weave,
And gather up a sunset on a late Midsummer Eve,
Spin the sunset into thread and embroider what you wish,
(Though I have found the best design is one gold flying fish)
Finally you soak it in the echoes from a bell,
And, holding your hand over it, speak this magic spell;
“By sun and moon and starlight, slumber ye no more,
Carry me from world of men to long-forgotten shore!”
Then, in a flash of silver light, the carpet’s off the ground!
Step on and soar beyond what’s known, where wond’rous things abound.
((braces for responses))
98- Oooh, that sounds like a good poem you good base a story off of / add into a story. Very nice.
92- Here’s one I like of yours…
Adagio
It was a beautiful sound:
dying slowly
the long aria of a cello cutting through uncertainty.
We knew what was happening.
The beauty of you was always the pain,
exhilaration, intoxication,
the knowing that we had something that would soon be over.
The cello played on,
background for this act of our lives.
Lived in adagio, slow love songs under honey-pouring skies.
The curtain falls, but it will rise again.
The smell of antiseptic and hospital and rain is not quite gone.
It keeps singing, alone.
Somewhere, a fire burns.
The good thing about this one was the end;
it tapered off until I forgot it had ever been there.
I thought the best thing would be for us to live forever
or die together.
Now I see that it was what happened:
standing here and listening to the final strains of our adagio.
I like this one too…
Born Again
She comes back at last,
comes back to the place she tried to forget.
I let dirt fall through my fingers
like some sort of waterfall,
but warmer, as alive.
That shouldn’t be right;
what happened to the bones?
What happened to them?
Even the dead die again.
I thought I knew that.
Trusting in hope killed them.
I cannot be so weak;
I am the only one they have now.
Death cannot change that.
She swears, on the living graves:
that she will avenge them.
They nod;
they still watch me.
While I abandoned them,
they still need me.
Comfort, somehow.
And you…
You trusted me.
You loved me,
but you lie here,
and I move on.
Such is life, and such is death.
They truly are mirrors of each other,
It would seem, at least.
So she remembers,
so she vows,
so she speaks,
so she weeps.
Trusting in hope killed me,
and falling in love brought me back.
But, it seems, it cannot do the same for you,
or else you would be standing here,
watching me with him.
There are others I like to, though. Plus I’m still glancing through old threads.
Also, “Strings on previous thread(103) was really good, and your quetzal one ezcelent also.
98- I really like it! more on that later, sorry I’ve been super busy this past week. I really wish I could comment on more, this thread has blossomed lately ^_^
88- ooh, the haunting rhythym is excellent. very good. *has troubles writing with a specific rhythym*
and… I’ll comment on others’ later! must go!
shadows of flickering dreams
in sight – and out again
reaching reaching
but never catching
always watching
the twinkle-flickering
the patches of light moving in and out of existance
dreams, hopes, wishes you once
had, held, touched
but have now lost
the tales and adventures of childhood
romances and fancies of adolescence –
all lost
go through your pockets again
search for a hidden whim, a forgotten fantasy
and keep your wayward wishes safe
Here’s a poem I wrote. I don’t know how good it is, but maybe you guys could give me some tips. It’s called Footprints.
Footprints
Pressed
Into the wet sand
Winding
Twining together
Like they could never be apart
Like cinammon and sugar
Like butter and toast
They belong together
They need not fear
Separation
Because for them
Togetherness lasts
Until the tide comes in
And they are filled with sand
Together
102-That’s great! I like how it sort of speaks in metaphors.
again, on 98- I like how you give instructions. I’ve attempted to write an instruction poem but not succeded. mayhaps the time is right (or write – forgive the pun I’m in an odd mood right now) for me to try again.
oooh… ooh… ooh… I like your poem in 86! the imagery is really cool and the use of .s also. …s too
83- I like it especially the message it sends.
whew. that felt good to comment on all of that. finally. I might not be done commenting still though.
103- I like it. I like the forever but with the waves idea. post more! I’m not quite as fond with your food metaphors for some reason but maybe that’s just me being persnickety^_^
oh, and PP thank you for mentioning your favorite poet! (sorry, forgot his name but bookmarked a site found from a google search after reading a few of his poems) could you guys recommend poets? I really only started enjoying (and writing though I’d written some before) poetry this summer. I’d like some suggestions on what poets’ work to read.
I, too like e.e cummings, Shel Silverstein (silverstien? which way) and Lewis Carrol (how many ls and rs?) I also like Billy Collins (which I think I can spell…)
105- I’ve never heard of Billy Collins. Care to post one of his? I think it’s spelled “Carroll” but I’m never sure on spelling with anything including letters.
The Hollow Men
by T.S. Eliot
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us — if at all — not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer —
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Sorry, seaching for that poem ound me some other good ones to post.
Sort of a spin on “Row row row your boat…”
Life is But A Dream
Lewis Carroll (that is the right spelling, by the way)
BOAT, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July–
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear–
Long has paled that sunny sky;
Echoes fade and memories die;
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die;
Ever drifting down the stream–
Lingering in the golden gleam–
Life, what is it but a dream?
Unsure on this title, but it’s by e.e. cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
who know’s if the moon’s
e.e. cummings
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
(107),
In the first poem, the first line should start with “A”: “A boat, beneath a sunny sky…” If you read the first letter of each line downward, they spell “Alice Pleasance Liddell” — the name of the real Alice, Lewis Carroll’s boss’s daughter, for whom he made up the story of Wonderland while on a boat with her and her two sisters.
“Still she haunts me, phantomwise, / Alice moving under skies / Never seen by waking eyes.” Those lines have haunted me ever since I was Muser-age.
That no life lives forever,
That dead men rise up never,
That even the weariest river,
Winds somewhere safe to sea.
we should have a thread where we can post our favorite quotes.
110-I think there’s something like that elsewhere on the fanpage. (the non-blog part)
108- Ooops, must havecoppied that wrong. That’s interesting about the name, though. I didnt know that. *gasp of horror* But I do now, so all is well.
I like those lines…
109- I like it. Did you write it? It sounds sort of fimiliar, but not… a very nice effect.
(112),
The lines quoted in 109 are from “The Garden of Proserpine” by the Victorian poet Algernon Charles Swinburne. You can read it all here: http://www.bartleby.com/42/737.html .
For sheer music, it’s hard to beat Swinburne. I think Musers would like him.
Oh, these are beautiful!
Praralius Canix, what did I tell you? You are amazing! Your metaphors and imagery are perfect for subject, and you even managed to rhyme all of it! Awesome job.
Jadestone and e~a–both of yours have the same ethereal, fantasy-like quality. I envy your poetry’s breeziness–mine’s too heavy sometimes.
Cat’s Meow–I love your emphasis of the “together”. All of the lines have something to do with that.
And Robert, those lines are indeed haunting. In fact, they inspire me to write a ghost poem. More to come.
“Marginalia”
Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard, or Conor Cruise O’Brien,
they seem to say,
I would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.
Other comments are more offhand, dismissive –
“Nonsense.” “Please!” “HA!!” –
that kind of thing.
I remember once looking up from my reading,
my thumb as a bookmark,
trying to imagine what the person must look like
why wrote “Don’t be a ninny”
alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.
Students are more modest
needing to leave only their splayed footprints
along the shore of the page.
One scrawls “Metaphor” next to a stanza of Eliot’s.
Another notes the presence of “Irony”
fifty times outside the paragraphs of A Modest Proposal.
Or they are fans who cheer from the empty bleachers,
Hands cupped around their mouths.
“Absolutely,” they shout
to Duns Scotus and James Baldwin.
“Yes.” “Bull’s-eye.” “My man!”
Check marks, asterisks, and exclamation points
rain down along the sidelines.
And if you have managed to graduate from college
without ever having written “Man vs. Nature”
in a margin, perhaps now
is the time to take one step forward.
We have all seized the white perimeter as our own
and reached for a pen if only to show
we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages;
we pressed a thought into the wayside,
planted an impression along the verge.
Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoria
jotted along the borders of the Gospels
brief asides about the pains of copying,
a bird singing near their window,
or the sunlight that illuminated their page-
anonymous men catching a ride into the future
on a vessel more lasting than themselves.
And you have not read Joshua Reynolds,
they say, until you have read him
enwreathed with Blake’s furious scribbling.
Yet the one I think of most often,
the one that dangles from me like a locket,
was written in the copy of Catcher in the Rye
I borrowed from the local library
one slow, hot summer.
I was just beginning high school then,
reading books on a davenport in my parents’ living room,
and I cannot tell you
how vastly my loneliness was deepened,
how poignant and amplified the world before me seemed,
when I found on one page
A few greasy looking smears
and next to them, written in soft pencil-
by a beautiful girl, I could tell,
whom I would never meet-
“Pardon the egg salad stains, but I’m in love.”
billy collins poem
sorry for the double post, but I was in the audience when Billy Collins read a few of his poems once. It was really cool. He’s this rather laid back looking guy in a sweater (and poet laurate (spelled that wrong, didn’t I) I think right now)
Okay, I don’t know how many people are familiar with the legend of La Llorona, but here we go. And does anyone have suggestions for the last line of each stanza? “Pale-faced maiden of lore”–ick.
La Llorona, La Llorona
Walks beside the shore.
La Llorona, La Llorona
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
A girl, she lived a simple life
Walks beside the shore
Sending men to grief and strife
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
As beautiful as sun and sky
Walks beside the shore
All other men did she defy
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
Then came the cow herder Luis
Walks beside the shore
One look at him and she was his
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
A day, a month, a year did pass
Walks beside the shore
She lay with him upon the grass
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
And then he left her, gone away
Walks beside the shore
Never to see him another day
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
With child in arms she did go down
Walks beside the shore
Taking her baby there to drown
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
Now silent her baby child, her son
Walks beside the shore
She realized now what she had done
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
In grief she stayed there day by day
Walks beside the shore
Starving until there she lay
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
But not to die, not to fade
Walks beside the shore
There in the rushes she has stayed
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
She walks beneath the darkened skies
Walks beside the shore
With tired face and tearful eyes
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
La Llorona, La Llorona,
Walks beside the shore
La Llorona, La Llorona,
The pale-faced maiden of lore.
112- I found it in one of the Series of Unfortunate Events, but apparently it’s from wherever Robert says it was from.
The manatee is harmless
And conspicuously charmless.
Luckily the manatee
Is quite devoid of vanity.
From whence arrived the praying mantis?
From outer space, or lost Atlantis?
I glimpse the grim, green metal mug
That masks this psuedo saintly bug,
Orthopterour, also carnivorous,
And faintly whisper, Lord deliver us.
I’ve never seen and abominable snowman,
I’m hoping not to see one,
I’m also hoping, that if I do,
That it will be a wee one.
Thos are poems by Ogden Nash, from the book You Can’t Get There From Here.
117- Instead of the”pale-facd madin of lore” line? Hmm… I think it’s fine, but if your looking for another…um, howsabout… “Wepping, now, andevermore” hmm, maybe. Not my best. Sorry, I can’t really think of anything good right now…
Do people write their own poems here, or post other peoples peopms, or both?
The HAWK
Both.
105-Will do! Let me find my notebook.
114-Thanks! I really wanted to point out that, unlike people, they’ll never drift apart.
117-How about “Weeping forevermore” or something like that? I love that legend, even though it’s sad.
Okay, for this poem I wrote about my own experiences at school.
Our Classroom
Frogs croak
The rock I sit on
Is warmed
By the afternoon sun
The air is fresh
Filled with the smells of springtime
Flowers emerge
Birds fill the trees with song
Children laugh
Explore
Learn
Because this is our classroom
And we are the students
Of the world
I fly
Further
And futher away
Yet I feel
Like a bird
Without wings
My soul
Longs
For to stay in one place,
Yet I can’t find someplace for me.
My heart cries,
To, settle down.
But there’s no
Where i can call home.
I need a place,
A place to be free,
I need
A place of my own.
125-I love that! Can I just make a suggestion, though? First, I’m sort of unsure about the puncuation The only other thing I’d do is instead of the lines “But there’s no/Where I can call home” I’d switch it to “But there’s nowhere/I can call home”. It just sounds better that way.
I agree, i typed it wrong.
thx Jadestone and CM!
CM and grnqween–luv da poems. Although grnqween, I would keep the “no-where” split up, but with “where” uncapitalized. Unless you’ve already made up your mind.
125- I like the split nowhere, but that’s a style preference. Otherwise, I think the second comma in the “My heart cries,
To, settle down.” line is off…(the one after the “to”).
(125) I like the way you’ve broken up the lines. The fragmented first line works well.
I wrote this for the school poetry contest:
The Painter
her hands move as music moves
her fingers sing a silent song
can you see this? they cry
come and see and share our joy
for it was we who created it
and it has not been done before
if her eyes are mirrors
the all the world is naught
but a maiden, gazing in the glass
and idly combing the golden locks
theat someday (quite soon perhaps)
will turn grey
but if her eyes are rivers
then all the world may flow though
pooling on the canvas
to form a primordial sea
new life bubbling to the surface
from those fingertips
a world, concieved
in the crossing of our life
and hers eyes
shall spring
130- Very nice. I like the first stanza the most, I have to say. “her fingers sing a silent song.” I like that line a lot, also the imagery you put in.
Thanks!
x.x I tried to do a haiku while bored during school one day… XD I don’t think I even got most of the numberings right (575 and all)
Curled in corner
Shoulders shaking as I sob
Psychotic laughter
Insanity’s joy
Inside of sanity’s pain
Crying laugh aloud
Of the padded walls
All that’s seen is insecure
In security
A smile that trembles
Covers a grin long gone frown
All emotion sinks
All is safe in here
Nothing is ever safe here
Straight jackets restrain
Restraints tear-stained
No rain runs down the faces
Only laughter here
My laughs are just cries
My cries are only laughter
All is disaster
My home- asylum
All remains of locked doors
And barred windows.
133- ooh haunting. I really like it! I like the contrasts in the lines, the usage of tears then laughter
I submitted 5 of my poems to my schools literary magazine (the prizm) it comes out once a year at the end of the year. I’m nervous/excited about it and glad I submited them.
souls
it was crystal perfection
no blemishes
smooth and round
on the outside
between the crystal
(so fragile)
walls nothing but shards of mirrors
lost in the confusion
on the inside
others were shattered throughout
their insides a vast wasteland
some cracked surfaces concealing fields of sunflowers
encircled by barbed wire
some mend, break, mend again
the smooth shell hiding the turmoil inside
a glowing inside shines through a cracked surface
who are we to judge what we see?
can anyone see through
the surface?
^^ 134- that was deep. To me, anyway. Really liked the questioning final stanza.
Does that sound right? I’m not usually good at accessing other’s work.
135- thank you! any comments you have are good! I love feedback of all kinds!
133- I’m agreed with e~a. Haunting.
134- Lovely, and deep as Evie said. Slightly haunting also. “some cracked surfaces concealing fields of sunflowers/encircled by barbed wire” I got really good imagry out of that line, probably because throughout the poem I was thinking mostly glass&mirrors and transparent stuff, then all of a sudden yellow and green. Very good.
I’m not really good at judging my own writing, so I’m looking for some feedback on this poem.
High school
A twisting, turning
lonely road to
nowhere
Hard to live
when I know
everybody hates me
Depressed
dying inside every day
wanting to end the pain faster
or at least find a way
out
Love
My way out
Hoping
Dreaming
Needing
someone to be near me
someone to hold me
Help me survive
I met him
one person
so much like me
but so much more
Love
a force
always eluding me
before
it tricked me again
The dream shattered
because
while I’m walking a lonely road
he’s walking one that isn’t straight
Now my heart is aching
more than breaking
it’s being destroyed from
too much pain
it’s driving me insane
Nothing but a black hole left
and I can’t get past it
I’m falling faster
into an abyss
of pity
and deeper depression
You say
it will get better
You say
I will find someone else
I say
There is noone else
I felt a connection
True understanding
A connection I need
A strength to complete me
and rebuild my shattered mind
138-Thats good. I feel that way a LOT.
This is a new poem from the story of my life. Please, comment your hearts out.
Imagine
There is a way to escape from the world
Not many can know it exists
For their minds are to clogged with the world outside
That sadness will be their life’s jist
All you must do is to close up your mind
And reach then into the mundane
To watch then the clouds of your worry and hurt
Relax, fade away, start to wane
And as you close your eyes, to the mind you can see
Everything will begin to make sense
And you will fall away into darkest abyss
And as you float away you will hence
Become more aligned with the world now at hand
And realize that it’s true
In the world, no matter how far you will search
There is no better calmness than you.
138- Oh… sad. I can see the emotion you put into it.
write a Poem
the tell us
so we all go home
and most take
a pen and paper
and ink and
fiddle around for a bit
and use Rhyming Dictionaries
untill they have some
squiggley lines and then
they hand it in just
like that
well I have no need
of paper and ink
and Rhyming Dictionaries
all I need is to take
a pinch of the music
in my mind and hold
it in my hand and
when the ime is right
open it up for just and instant-
and show the world what
it is like to be me
for a moment
“A poem is an echo asking a dream to dance.”
Err… I may have that quote wrong, actually. It might be “…asking a shadow to dance” or something.
This is a rough draft of a poem I thought up in Chemistry. If anybody knows what I’m talking about, I will love you forever.
Cloud E
I calculate the odds so carefully,
but each time, the dice rolls against me,
and you slip through my fingers again.
We’re all like that, really.
Drawn toward the center,
but never quite able to reach it.
We zip around in endless circles.
Waiting for some change, a burst of energy
that will hopefully rocket us higher,
and not send us crashing into somebody.
Because, you know, crashing hurts,
and it’s a long way down from up there.
Eventually, the towers we stand on become too unstable,
and we fall, knocked of into space,
or if we’re lucky,
we fall toward the center.
Only to stop, propelled in yet another circle.
I reach out to you across the gap,
but I am stuck in orbit,
hoping the next change will bring me to you.
143- A video game, maybe… Luxor? Tetris?
143- Err… a planet around a sun? Or a meteor? Maybe…
Sweet sorrow
It comes so often
So little time
To compromise the
True meaning
Of that kind
Of pain
Like the
Loss of a friend
So dear
Your anger
Made it so
Like a flower
Picked from the earth
For you
Only
To wilt and then
Have nomore
Beauty
To share with’ Everyone else
Like a life
So lived
That the hourglass
Shatters
Into a milion
Little pieces
Never to return
To be
To grace the
World
With that unique talent
Or smile
Or heart
You have sorrow
Without them.
146- I like the part with the hourglass…
thanksssssssss
Two poems that I wrote!
“Sea Spray”
and the unicorns?
they, rushing from the waters,
broke the chains that bound them.
“Mocking”
the fall leaves-
they mock the dying sun.
140- oh, I love it! very true!
143- I really like it. Sorry, my comment creativity isn’t really working, but I liked the metaphores in it.
146- I liked that a lot better than your other one. I like the brevity of your lines and your metaphor of the hourglass.
This is kind of wierd, but I think it would be fun to have a thread on the discussion of movies!!!
144, 145- You are thinking too literally. Try thinking deeper into it.
143- I think I know what you’re talking about. I can’t really put it into words though…
146- I really like it! Sorry, but I have to go so that’s all I’m going to say as a compliment right now. I’ll talk about flow and stuff later.
‘kay I have a poem but I’ll post it later ’cause I have to go eat dinner at the moment.
Okies, I’m back with my poem!
No Hope
From the barnyard hall,
I hear the call of a dove.
No hope, it cries, no hope.
As we march to the train,
I read the words on a man’s lips.
No hope, he says, no hope.
Sitting on the train,
I hear the wails of a baby.
No hope, it wails, no hope.
Walking past the gas chambers,
I see the eyes of the Jews lined before them.
Nope hope, they say, no hope.
As I stand at the door of the chamber,
I hear the shriek of a bird.
No hope, it shrieks, no hope.
Now, as gas fills the chamber,
I know there’s no hope for me.
No hope, I whisper, no hope.
End
This poem is dedicated to the victims of the Holocaust.
I wrote that after reading “The Diary of A Young Girl” by Anne Frank.
153-
139-I really like that. It’s not quite as deep as some of the others, but it’s more optimistic and gentle, in a way.
143-I love your metaphors.
153-That’s powerful…
The reason I like this thread is that other places, say, at school, I get snickered at for not writing poetry that rhymes. Meanwhile, nearly every poem here doesn’t rhyme.
Sorry for triple post, but I just found two poems that I wrote recently that I wanted to post.
Lost to time
Lost
to time
Just a memory
That nobody remembers
The person
That never really mattered
To anybody
Will this
Be me?
Will I make a difference?
Or will I just sit
Thinking
About what could happen
If I didn’t stand up
And matter?
No Escaping
Why does the light seem so far away?
Why are the shadows closing in?
They’re taking me away
To where?
How should I know?
But I’m not afraid.
The light has always hated me.
And I’ve always hated it back.
The sun always seemed
to glare down at me from the sky
And during the night
The moon and stars
spoiled perfectly good darkness
Now the light is gone
From my eyes
From my heart
And I’m more powerful
Then I ever was before
And now I realize
The light
Is something
To destroy
To dissolve
To devour
And that there
is no escaping
The darkness
i lie here, choking on stardust and bone
and long-forgotten dreams
a child’s plaything, lost and left
and even if you don’t unerstand
you can tell that not everything is right
as the forever dusk turns to dust
and dimming dead moons, the ethereal
light illuminates only what i no longer wish to see
_alone________empty________goodbyes_
the faceless doll of a daughter grown up
discarded, torn
away
158-I like it, but it’s sort of confusing in my mind. I like the sound of the line “as the forever dusk turns to dust”, though.
158- I like it and the feeling it gives me of a sort of melancholy nostalgia. The line alone__________empty________goodbyes confuses me though with the underscores.
take a look open your eyes and see
and write
the magic of the quick-
happy
moments
the objects of beauty
a feather
a new penny
and of everyday
a window
a glass of water
look at them now
with the eye of the pen
see their true meaning
ea – that’s great! I especially like the line-breaks because it makes it seem like a list poem, but then other parts it doesn’t seem like one. That makes the poem really intriguing and interesting to read!
143 (Anata)- Electrons.
(162 e~a) I especially like the last bit “with the eye of the pen/see their true meaning”
the poem has a feeling instantaity (if thats a word) that I find appealing
I’m still working out what it means.
Really good job. (that sounds lame, but I mean it)
rambling (in a forest)
take care now not to overthink what you write or else it-
the problem see is that if you use to many words you might-
a message is is obscured when too many ideas crowd in and block it out like the leaves in the roof a dusky forest
the mossy floor your thoughts
the trees the meaning- but you see only a few leaves reach the sunlight
break the surface and spread out
basking in the glory of the sun’s recognition
because they are no loner hidden in the forest
-that is, your mind-
they are free to show themselves to the world
but that doesn’t make any sense to you now
because what I was trying to say
was obscured by the words I used to say it
160- Well the underscores on my paper were actually spaces, but MB deletes extra spaces. I should probably have exlaned that…
164- Good, I like how at the begining you use those two lines to enforce what it is you were saying
I wrote a poem today in science class. It’s really rough, but I think it sounds cool.
Where?
Where is the eagle who soared through the sky?
Where is his nest, his hatchlings?
Where has he gone?
Where is the frog that sat on the banks?
Where is his bumpy green skin, his commanding croak?
Where has he gone?
Where is the dragonfly who rested on a leaf?
Where is his delicate body, his four wide wings?
Where has he gone?
Where is the whale who swam the ocean blue?
Where is his long tail, his spouting blowhole?
Where has he gone?
Where is the man who cared for the creatures?
Where is his passion, his care for the wild?
Where has he gone?
(163)-Right on. It came to me went I was writing notes and abbreviated electron cloud E-Cloud. It seemed like a good name for a poem, but I ended up switching the letters.
(164)- I like it. It really sounds like pure thought, and the metaphors (a horribly overused word) are brilliant.
(158) the imagery is fantastic, you use words well without makeing it feel crowded,
(166) Nice use of refrain, and the descriptions of the animals are good. If you want, you could try breaking it up a bit- maybe have a stanza at the end or beginning that is the same as the others, or a few lines in there that are differen- just to make it not feel to formulaic.
I just copied and pasted all the poems on this thread that are MBer written into a Word document and came up with 27 pages! =o
168-Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Do you mean a line inbetween each of the stanzas? And what do you mean by “maybe have a stanza at the end or beginning that is the same as the others”?
169- Haha, I’ve been doing that too. I have almost all of the other threads (not much of this one though… I’m neglecting it) in a word document too. It’s very long.
171-That’s ironic, because all I have is this thread! How many were there before this one?
I’m going to a poetry contest tonight, and I’m somewhat nervous. Right now I’m occupied with picking which 3 poems are my best…
You write poems in science, while our class eats animal crackers, puts boys hair into ponytails, and throws things. We also look at pictures of naked asian people in the national geographics. (other people did. I was in the front and thus missed out on the action)
171, 169 I still think we should put them on the main fan page page or something.
174-Maybe some of the better ones. (Not that all of them aren’t good)
175- well, yeah, that would make sense as then there wouldn’t be quite so many. also we could have them have their own section in the gaboomba.
172- Around 6 I think…
176- They could probably list it as an online collection, or something. Lesse… I have done most of the origanal Poems and Songs, P&S v. 2006.2, version 2006.3, v. 2006.4, and v. 2006.5. None of this one, though. Hmm… I need to finish the first one…
(170) Oh, sorry. I think I meant a stanza at the end or beginning that is not the same as the others. I really haven’t been sleeping enough lately. But yes, a line in between each of the stanzas that was different would be nice. Or whatever you want. It’s a good poem either way.
I remember the first Poems and Songs thread. It was created the very first night I stayed up late on Museblog. I really like all this thread.
It’s raining! Really hard! I don’t believe it! Everything is going to smell like creosote in the morning…I love the smell of rain (does anyone else live in the southwest?)
desert rain
a tap-dance tattoo that beats on the roof
a gurgling brook in the gutter
a sweet kiss on your cheek as you stand on the dirt
and watch the watery sky
fall around you
but best of all
the smell that rises from the steaming ground
and permeates the very soul
an aroma of the ethereal beauty
a bridge to another world
the scent you were raised on
like mother’s milk
that laces your dreams in the long dry months
as you await that living liquid
and the smell it draws from the earth
the smell that brings you home
178- I wish it would rain here…oh well at least the snow has stopped…
I love the smell of rain. *sigh*
My brother and I (competing as a team) got 3rd place out of 21 teams at the competition. What makes me mad, though, is that I wrote a poem that, believe me, was much less gloomy than some of the ones on here, and they didn’t like it. I guess all the poems were supposed to be like Shel Silversteins.
180- Post it! Shel Silverstein is nice and all, but I don’t really connect to humorous poems. Satire is better, but I like poems that make you think more as opposed to laugh. But, congrats on your 3rd place! Yay! *pies*
180- congratulations! post your poem!
It wasn’t that good anyways, but…here goes.
Hoping against Hope
Hoping against hope
Dreaming against all possibilities
I close my eyes to wish upon a star
Yet in my heart I know
It won’t come true
Never again can I be like I once was
At your side
Laughing
Talking
Nothing was missing
Now you are
I held you tightly
Yet still
You slipped through my fingers
Like a grain of sand
And left me
Alone
Until one day
I can lift my head
Open my eyes
And learn to live again
And then maybe
Just maybe
Once more
I can call you mine
There’s also another ending that I sometimes use. It replaces the “Once more/I can call you mine” line. It goes “You’ll be proud to watch me/From above the clouds”. Which one do you guys like better?
I also wrote another poem that was inspired by PC’s poem. It’s similar, but not exactly the same.
when there’s misunderstanding
uncomprehending, unknowing there may
come fear
when there’s fear – built up almost bursting
why must it release in hate?
when will the world learn acceptance
taking that misunderstanding, distrust, fear
and turn it back
away from hate, violence, anger
why are there so many so caught up in the hate
that they can’t see people as people
but only as objects to destroy?
how can we bring that fear away
reverse it into hope
and love
(183) That’s sad, but a good sad. I guess the word they use is bittersweet. I like the ending you have, it fits with the rest of the poem better. Nice though, I like the bit “You slipped through my fingers”.
(184) I like that a lot of your poems are so clear and articulate, that they say something that everyone feels but doesn’t know how to put in words. You do that well.
183, 185- yes, I like the original ending. (the one you have in your post)
My entire history of writing poetry is two poems, one of which is three lines long and the other I can’t remember. But I often find poetry very inspiring and just as often very hard to understand.
183- Wow, those line changes would change the poems’s meaning entirely, almost. Hmm… they’re both good. The first fits with the poem more, as Skipperdoodles said.
We’re fiiiiinally doinf poetry in school. We havn’t written aything yet, though.
I don’t know if we are going too. That makes me sad.
I asked though, and he said we’d do some e e cummings poems soon.
188-Yes, I know. I couldn’t figure out which one I liked best. Thanks for your advice. ^^
I love this thread.
Anyway, I don’t have any of my own poems to post now but I feel like putting something up. This is from The Jungle Book and always makes me laugh (which I feel like I need right now, how about you?):
COMMISSARIAT CAMELS
We haven’t a camelty tune of our own
To help us trollop along,
But every neck is a hair trombone
(Rtt-ta-ta-ta! is a hair trombone!)
And this our marching-song:
Can’t! Don’t! Shan’t! Won’t!
Pass it along the line!
Somebody’s pack has slid from his back,
Wish it were only mine!
Somebody’s load has tipped off in the road–
Cheer for a halt and a row!
Urrr! Yarrh! Grr! Arrh!
Somebody’s catching it now!
Here is the funniest poem EVER that I came across yesterday. It’s by Ogden Nash.
VERY LIKE A WHALE
One thing that literature would be greatly the better for
Would be a more restricted employment by the authors of simile and
metaphor.
Authors of all races, be they Greeks, Romans, Teutons or Celts,
Can’t seem to say that anything is what it is but have to go
out of their way to say it is like something else.
What does it mean when we are told
That the Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold?
In the first place, George Gordon Byron had had enough experience
To know that it probably wasn’t just one Assyrian, it was a lot of
Assyrians.
However, as too many arguments are apt to induce apoplexy and thus
hinder longevity,
We’ll let it pass as one Assyrian for the sake of brevity.
Now then, this particular Assyrian, the one whose cohorts were
gleaming in purple and gold,
Just what does the poet mean when he says he came down like a
wolf on the fold?
In heaven and earth more than is dreamed of in our philosophy there
are a great many things,
But I don’t imagine that among them is a wolf with purple
and gold cohorts or purple and gold anythings.
No, no, Lord Byron, before I’ll believe that this Assyrian was actually
like a wolf I must have some kind of proof;
Did he run on all fours and did he have a big hairy tail and a big red
mouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof woof?
Frankly I think it is very unlikely and all you were entitled to say, at
the very most,
Is that the Assyrian cohorts came down like a lot of Assyrian
cohorts about to destroy the Hebrew host.
But that wasn’t fancy enough for Lord Byron, oh dear me no, he had
to invent a lot of figures of speech and then interpolate them,
With the result that whenever you mention Old Testament soldiers
to people they say Oh yes they’re the ones that a lot of wolves
dressed up in purple and gold ate them.
That’s the kind of thing being done all the time by poets, from
Homer to Tennyson;
They’re always comparing ladies to lilies and veal to venison,
And they always say things like that the snow is a white blanket after
a winter storm.
Oh it is, is it, all right then, you sleep under a six-inch blanket of
snow and I’ll sleep under half an inch of unpoetical blanket
material and we’ll see which one keeps warm,
And after that maybe you’ll begin to comprehend dimly
What I mean by to much metaphor and simile.
For my little sisters birthday I am writing a book of poems, due to a request she made last night. I have, so far:
My sister said, “Write me a hilarious poem,
But it must be truly hilarious!”
I’ll try, but from this day,
On,
I will always say,
Her request was simply nefarious!
These lines are uneven
There is no pattern
Rather like Pi.
(I call that one “Pi-ku”)
I am not a poet, whatever you may think,
Which may be why these poems
Drive you to the brink
Of madness.
See?
Rhyme and meter (is it measure?)
Are things unknown to me!
What do you think?
192 – great! You could also try and make some really cool acrostics…sometimes those can turn out really funny! Limericks are often good, too.
This is my tribute to the Virginia Tech Massecre.
If there was nothing like pain
There would be no suffering
No breaks or heartaches or
Any stupid one of those things.
But as of now that cannot be
I hate to show the world how
We the Americans can see
They way that we can
Take the pain
Or strain
Of death.
Iraq
China
Any number of those other
Pained places that have
Gone the distance
Have seen the light
And lived
The world seems so safe
When you’re alone surrounded by
Family and friends
But then you see the other side of where the
Path bends
The pain of a loss can be
So much more than
We
The innocent
The students alive
Can think to see.
——————————————————-
It might be bad but at least it’s my goodbye. Comments?
192- I like the ‘pi-ku.’ Hee hee.
194-
194- I like it. Poetry is often an excellent form of expressing the emotions and the questions that we ourselves have inside ourselves; especially at times like these. My last poem is actually about Matthew Shepard (after seeing the Laramie Project) but could be applied to Virginia Tech
(194) Really emotional. I think we should have a thread to discuss the Virginia Tech shootings, like we did on Katrina.
This is a poem I wrote in english class, and also my first attempt at writing truly disturbing poetry. I did a little tweaking of capitalization
after initially writing it out. I hope it’s not to hard to understand.
children Of happiness
Pain
is what We need
tears Squeezed
from dry eyes
to Convince the world, that We too, have Suffered
we Cut ourselves
and Suck blood
from the torn flesh
(private vampires)
Agony equals Salvation
we Hold the gas
in Our lungs
as long as We can
until We choke
and the breath
(dead souls)
escapes from Our mouths
false words
from We
who have Never known
Despair
197- O.o Slightly disturbing, as is what you were going for, but still good.
I’m working on a poem at the moment too. Will post sfter I’m done.
Ach! WordPress error. Will try again… sorry if it double-posts…
197- O.o Slightly disturbing, as is what you were going for, but still good.
I’m working on a poem at the moment too. Will post sfter I’m done.
Ach! WordPress error. Will try again… sorry if it double-posts…
AHHHHH WEIRD PAGE.
Meep! Did anyone else see that? O.o I’m really, really, sorry if this ends up triple-posting, if the thing does it again I’ll just give up.
Yes, WordPress was just being very weird.
I want to write a poem but I can’t think of a topic to write about. Maybe it’s because my brother’s bad singing is suffocating my thoughts. x_X
I just wrote this poem as my tribute to the Virginia Tech tradgedy.
So much
Pain
So many
Headlines
About something
That
Never
Should have happened
So much anger
So many emotions
Held in
Until blood
Was the only comfort
That would be accepted
33 lives
33 souls
Too many
Too late
-jumps on VT bandwagon-
I have so many emotions about this, and I’m bottling them up because that’s what I do best. The poem means something, but not everything.
not even halfway there
one hundred percent and
the awful wait when
in a flash of certainty given to the noosed
you know.
fear tastes absolutely nothing like blood
having swallowed both in
such a short time
your mouth is dust-dry and
there is nothing left.
you have the wolf,
its furry ears slick as silk
in your freezing hands. if
only, if only, you call,
you had held a different creature.
this is infinity,
forever begging
and red red red point three.
blargles. Forgot to close my tag. Fix it OEADs pretty prease? The bolding ends after the first line.
Yes, this is pointless spam but I will take the opportunity to tell y’all that y’all are amazing poets and I love you forever. <3
Penty: Tag fixed.
did I really start the Saga of VT poems? cuz if so then we should all write some and make a tribute thread(GAPAS,HINT HINT ELBOW JAB)
H
OOPS I DIDNT WANT TO DO THAT! ok sorry that I HAVE to dubble post
Heres a poem of rain
Theres a pitter patter on my rooftop
It seems to come from outer space
\Why doesn’t it just happen
In some other gloomy place?
Are the souls in heaven crying
For the loss they have sustained
Of life and limb and family time
It must make them feel quite pained,
And it makes me wonder somehow
Why not all over the world?
For surely it doesnt happen
Just over one small girl.
Just in case youre wonderin the small girl is me.
we all sit and watch each other
noticing things about others
that we don’t see in ourselves
acts of small kindness
annoying character traits
depths of personality we fail to see in ourselves
but would find — if we looked
we all watch
all notice
but none of us mention it
we just sit,
noticing,
too afraid
to speak.
that one’s called “we are all islands” I’m so used to not having titles that I forgot to add it.
206- reminds me of a picture my friend drew for spanish…
207- so true.
Here’s a poem I started a little while ago… lemme see if I can get farther…
the irridescent swan
spreads it’s wings to fly
burning, beautiful
into the smoke-filled sky
beating the air
with shimmering wings
the molten-gold bird
of castles and kings
away and away,
into the blood-stained sky
it’s singing its deathsong
and crying its cry
goodbye, goodbye
the world echos back
white gold feathers
to crimson to black
feathers to feathers,
ashes to dust,
running and laughing
ready to combust
into the sunset
away from the pain
sure there’s nothing to lose
but there’s nothing to gain
you watch and stare
as it flies, flies away
gone, forever,
from where you must stay
looking even as your eyes
start to burn
the world is spinning
away from what we all learn
the imprint remains
scared into your eyes
the echo of the phoenix
crying forever goodbyes
209- ooh, I really like the rhythm and the rhyme in it! Haunting.
*changing a line in 209 now that she’s looked at it again*
I want to alter the ‘feathers to feathers’ bit to be ‘feathers to flames.’
let’s not think in black and white
find the gray between the sides
not quite one
not quite another
let us not think of wrong or right
but what is fair
and kind
Miniature
all the little stones
in eleven little collumns
and three little rows
is enough to break through
all the little windows
and all the little doors
with all their little ribbons
and tear off
all the little blindfolds
that we thought kept us safe
(but what is eleven times three?
to three times eleven-hundred
every little week
of every little month
of every little year)
Him.
It was the smile
To anyone he would beguile
Nice to all
Straight and tall
Raven hair
That curled so small
But his smile
It made you weak at the knees
To think about evn
The birds and the bees
You liked him, didn’t you?
You liked the way he smiles
And stands
And walks
And… is.
But he chose her, not you,
And that nearly threw
Your heart to the floor
And split it in two
They danced as a couple
And evryone knew
They were together
And they were two
And you felt
As though the world
Couldn’t take
The weight
Of your sorrow
But sometimes
Around the corner
Ther’s hope
For your love
Tomorrow.
212- Ooh, nice. I like the not-quite-on-purpose sounding way it rhymes the firls and fith line and the second and seventh.
213- That ones interesting… I like it.
(206) Lovely rhyming, and the ending with a question is cool.
(209) It works well that you tell a story, especially because it’s filled with so much beautiful imagery.
(210) The second verse echoes the first one well
(213) Cryptic, but cool nonetheless. I like that you paranthesized (that probably isn’t a word but oh well) the last stanza.
(214) Normally, I’m not one for love poems, but this one is nice…sweet and sad and not over the top. I like the description of “him”
the prose musician
dylan had the muses
singing in his ears
his mind was ink, strings, rain
flowers, trees, paint and gears
how many roads must a man walk down…
I wonder what the answer was
that he heard blowing in the wind
another one
she wore overalls
and her hair, piled like whipped cream
on the top of her head
it swayed and tilted precariously
(unbidden,
the tower of pisa appeared in our minds)
a little elastic struggling to keep it in place
and her hearings jingled
as her head shook in laughter
and we wondered whether she was real
she told us a story
we can’t now recall the words
but afterwards
we all agreed that it was deep
which we surprised us
on the surface, she seemed shallow
like a clear island lagoon
and only later did we realize
the ocean that lay beneath
a poem danced on her lips
while her fingers strummed an invisible guitar
and her voice sang us a sculpture
that shimmered like a flock of butterflies
and drifted away on the wind
who are you?we asked
and again she laughed
(those absurd earings
tinkeling and twinkeling like
the twenty fourth of december)
and she said
i am you
that you would be
knew you no fear
**”and her earings jingled
(2nd poem, 1st stanza)
not hearings
216-
The first show
The first act
The first pang of
Fear
Rises in your stomach
The first heat
The first feet
Stepping on yours in the
Wings
the first guest
The first guy
The first classmate
That you spy
Why?
The first note
The first clap
The first line
And it’s all
Yours
The first smile
On your face
You realize
That it’s not about
The first
Or the last
It’s about having
The time of your
Life.
216- I like your first one a lot! I like the message and the feeling it gives me.
214- Your poem conveys a certain feeling well!
213- I like the rythym of the repeated use of the word little. Very nice.
219- Thanks! I stayed up really late last night listening to my dad’s old Bob Dylan albums, so that’s what inspired it.
218- yay for refrain! That worked really well. And I like the message/theme too, because the audience can relate to it. If you wanted advie, I would only say, see if you can make the lines a little less short, sometimes they get a bit choppy. But that also can be an nice effect. Good job.
220-Thanks very much. I was in a play a few days ago and that was how it felt to be backstage. I had some of the first lines too.
I live to love
For love alone
Without this love
I’d ne’er be grown
To bask in passion
Through and through
And have some bond
With me and you
But when this love
Is what you lack
Reverse yourself
And change you back
for a loveless life
Thru which painlessly grown
Can ne’er harbour
Some one for one’s own
Can ne’er compare
Laughing Skulls: Ode to the Great Actors Around Us.
Many people are superb actors,
playing their roles religiously,
never letting on that they’re faking.
They grin and joke, always
staying in their happy character.
Nobody realizes that they’re only acting,
putting on a facade of joy,
screaming for help from behind their masks.
The black wells of their eyes swallow them.
They stare into the darkness of their own souls.
Some may escape, become their characters,
take off the laughing skull and smile.
Others let the blackness consume them and
die, die, die.
This poem is dedicated to the latter.
I just wrote that. I was reflecting on how terrible depression can be.
222-kewwwl
sorry to dubble post, nut just to make others post, the Writing V. 2007.1 is open again.
Math is hard
And school is yucky
The weather outside
Is wet and blucky
There is no hope
For students restrained
Till the end of the day
When freedom is obtained.
GAPA’S I’m feeling a little lonely, and we have 226 posts. Is it perhaps time for a new thread?
222- Wow, that slightly reminds me of me when I’m around people sometimes. Only I’m not usually quite that morbid… I was going to write a poem along those linesa while ago, but the only line I liked out of the few I started with was ‘she hides behind her smile’ and varitaions of it. Maybe I should atempt it again…
Hey, I like that poem. It’s not meant to be morbid, it’s meant to portray how some people might feel. The brother of a dear friend of mine committed suicide recently, so that partially inspired that.
The Great Auk’s ghost turned round three times,
Sighed thrice, and three times winkt,
And turned and poached a phantom egg,
And muttered, “I’m extinct.”
By someone that I can’t remember.
I know a certain creature
That soars upon the sky
That floats o’er the billowed clouds
And never asks me why
Why do I dream
And never play
(But while I work I sing)
I answer anyone who asks that
If I keep it
Up I can
Do almost anything.
228- I like it too. I’m just saying it remends me of me, only I don’t think I’m going to ‘let the blackness consume me.’ Nice line, though
330 I like the first part a lot. “That floats o’er the billowed clouds/And never asks me why” Especially those lines
230, 231 – I agree with Jadestone. Very nice!
231,232-Thank you!
Thunder
is the footsteps of a giant
He stamps and crushes rain out of the clouds
Lightning
Is the language of the lightbeams
That sizzles in a bolt onto the ground
Rain
Is the teardrops from the heavens
that echoes from the peoples past and gone
Wet
is the feeling that is cold upon our skin
And the reason for the raincoats that we don.
Ahhg. For my book report I’m writing poems and explaining why thy relate to the book. I have been procrastinating on it… I tried to start one earlier, but it didn’t really go anywhere. Meh.
233- I like it.
Okay, here’s one I wrote for my report. The book is Peeps, by the way. It’s about vampires, except they’re not ‘vampires’ they’re infected with a parasite that is… different. It drives them mad and makes them un away from the things the used to love, and has a lot of ‘explanations’ for all the old stories. Read the book, it’s good. Here’s the poem, though, it’s from the point of view of one of the peeps (parasite-positve, aka vampireish thing)
infected, we are
to watch the world go by quickly faster
as we reep out of sight and mind and being
pulling away from what we once yearned for
scorching our fingers on unobtainable dreams
we are the pipers leading the dance and songs,
they follow us always
our dark slaves, masters, keepers binding us together
and apart from the world
no peace, no rest, forever chaining our minds
against what it whispers in very blood, sings us to wakeful slumber
we hide, your eyes burn us with memories
and wishes and thoughts
by far better for us to stay in the dark damp and deep
away from blood and dreams and apples
say goodbye to the light
and wishes
and ends.
*keep, not reep. Sorry.
look into the mirror
and find the reflection of the love and the hate you hold within you
would you love? is that what is real?
what will you see when it is reflected back to you?
in the mirror, will you find your truth?
or will it be clouded by your own lies?
Music
Plugged in, you wail a song
about drugs or politics or war.
You screech and slide and moan
as if your vocal chords have escaped.
I listen with plugged ears and squinted eyes
and think:
This isn’t music. It’s sound.
What happened to the fast songs,
the good songs,
the ones that filled your soul so completely
you had stand up, dance, move
Just to release the electricity?
Or the songs that filled you with such a peace
that you felt like you were floating,
like you could be Ghandi and Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama
all at the same time.
I know you like your music.
You think it’s cool to scream.
But I choose to wander away from the din,
In search of true song.
Yay! People looked at this thread! And look at all the amazing poets here!
A seahorse saw a sawhorse, but the sawhorse could not see.
Said the seahorse to the sawhorse, “You’re a horsey just like me.”
Said the sawhorse to the seahorse, “If I had eyes then I could see,
Whether we might be related, in the manner you have stated,
Or merely may be mated,
Etymologically.”
By Mary-Ann someone or other.
Say it out loud! It’s fun!
Sorry I don’t post my own poems here, but I’m not really much of a poet.
lies.
you tell them to protect yourself
from that which is know — yet unknown the
truth.
you feel can hurt you
it is not real you must drown in
lies
to prevent the fears you have invented
fears of the innocent and of the shadows in your soul
from entering and showing you the
truth.
of love and of compassion to yourself
and to those that you do not quite see
do not quite understand
you blanket yourself in
lies.
and hope never to see the
truth.
oops, in the third line it should be known not know
238- A very goodquestion…
239- Nice… I like the last stanza.
240- “to prevent the fears you have invented” – That line there really hit me. Congrats, you have just won a quote of the day space in my asignment notebook.
Or, you will when I can find a day without something by Douglass Adams on it…
not-poem
I would like to be a poet
to capture such abstract creatures
as love
hate
beauty
and death
with a finely woven net of words
to make my thoughs dance as gracefully
on the page
as a swallow at sunset
but, so far I have not been a poet
so far I’ve just pretended
(230) I really like the simplicity of that poem
I read lots of other ones on here that are great, but I have to get off now and don’t have time to comment but (241) is also great, e~a!
245-Thank you. It took me a while for an idea that day.
SHORT
Short against the tall
But big against the small
Puny lain against the wall
But better than
No height at all…
246- I like that. It reminds me of Hailstones and Halibut Bones.
“…And untill the stars have shined their last,
Wherever on this earth you walk,
he will arouse, excite, inspire,
my Valentine, my one dark fire…”
Last lines of a book series (The Fire Within, Icefire, Firestar) I just re-read out of boredom. The first one was good, sweet if below my reading level (I started it because it had a dragon on the cover- I ♥ dragons), then the second one was a bit sad and the third one’s ending depressed me.
I didn’t find the second one sad. Actually, I can’t remember what I thought of it, it’s been so long. The first one was a tad sappy and definitely below my reading level, but I liked it enough to read it out loud to my sister. I haven’t read the third one yet, but if it’s depressing may be I shouldn’t.
Well, the first one was sappy, the second one not so much sad as different fromt he impression I had of the books from reading the first (I hadn’t known it was a series when I read the first one). The third one is a tad depressing at the end.
I read the second one first, so I was thinking, “this is weird. Is this the whole plot?” all the time I was reading the first.
A Guinea-pig Song. By Anonymous.
There was a little guinea-pig,
Who, being little, was not big.
He always walked upon his feet,
And never fasted when he eat.
When from a place he ran away
He never at that place did stay.
And while he ran, as I am told,
He ne’er stood still for young nor old.
He often squeaked, and sometimes violent
And when he squeaked he ne’er was silent.
Though ne’er instructed by a cat,
He knew a mouse was not a rat.
One day, as I am certified,
He took a whim and fairly died.
And as I am told be men of sense,
He never has been living since.
Oh, I pity……..
This little thread………
It is to me…….
quite awfully dead……
253- Mwahaha! not dead!
I sing the sound of silver
the meliflous soud
of sweet starshine
of wisdom known
and wisdom gained
of the flight of souls
and a place of your own truth
of a sunlight in your soul
in the birdhouse, if you will,
that you have built for your dreams
to reside in
Smuggler’s Song. Rudyard Kipling
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet,
Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street.
Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie.
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
And watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!
Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play.
Put the brishwood back again – and they’ll be gone next day!
If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
If the lining’s wet and warm – don’t you ask no more!
If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red,
You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
If they call you “pretty maid,” and chuck you ‘neath the chin,
Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been!
Knocks and footsteps round the house – whistles after dark –
You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie –
They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!
If you do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance,
You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood –
A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good!
Five and twenty ponies,
Trotting through the dark –
Brandy for the Parson,
‘Baccy for the Clerk;
Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie –
Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by.
For some reason I quite like that. It reminds me of Treasure Island and the High Seas trilogy.
we are the watchers
hollow eyes and empty voices
you send us away
the flickers of your imaginings
in the corners of your eye
in the dark, we hide
away from those who would see us
awaygonedead
you fear us and what must come
(though we do not control that)
we are not quite dead
and not quite alive
so of cource we cannot feel
we arewasisambeing ones
we only watch
and listen
and wait.
From alliteration thread:
Silently ships go sailing, sailing stormy seas,
The tides tell twisting tales to the timless things we take to be,
Whispering ways we wish to wander will not wait and see,
Fools for feigning fake fidelity, for the false shall flee
I have absolutly no idea what it means, but it sounds cool.
I swear that poem is SO GOOD I could die. It seems really deep, even though I have no clue how.
256- I like that and the simple message it gives. I also like the parenthesis. I like parenthesis.
258- Thank you? It’s just random words, really…Maybe it gives the illusion of deepness… or something… or other…
sing a song, pretty maiden
sing a song, silly girl
sing of birds and butterflies
sing a song to the world
just a simple ditty
just to please this passerby
ignore all but a bit of rythem
sing of the cloulds, the bule sky
sing not a song of life and death
sing just a simple rhyme
sing a song, pretty maiden
sing a song to save mankind
ahh, got to go. I’ll finsh it later, then.
260- Basically. I wouldn’t really die anyways, I was being dramatic.
yes, I liked 257, too!
262- Well I would hope so! XD
since feeling is first
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
–the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
– e e cummings
I love poetry in general, but my current favorite poet is Rudyard Kipling. Natural theology and If are among my favorite poems.
266- I love Rudyard Kipling! Especially the poems that go with Just-So Stories and this one.
The link didn’t work, but I assume you meant comment 255?
268- Yeah.
https://musefanpage.com/blog/?p=693#comment-255
I haven’t been on this thread for so long…I’m so sorry.
I should re-read it, too. Forgive me~ -___-
I just wrote this…I need to write more, honestly.
—
something which cannot be protected against.
The chipped ceramic,
backwards glances
broken windows and
muddled signals- this is it
I said, unprotected and
buffeted by the wind
And I wonder, sometimes
If I could stay awake to break time and
live by light, again?
who are you? I wondered, groggy
Head to cold cement, eyes closed, smile
smile!
The most beautiful night sky is a clouded, starless one
’cause you know we love things we can make up beauty for
that we can say “pretty” even if it’s just a wall of
mist, something that shrugs away, or swims away
or cannot be protected against.
Run-off-the-mill poem:
Bob had a very nice head
but then it fell off of his head
271- That’s not a poem! How, I ask you, is that a poem? It’s two lines long!
272 – You want a longer one?
People say I can’t write a poem,
But they are wrong, I wrote a poem,
I wrote this one, I wrote this poem,
And the name of my poem is titled “my poem”,
so shut up. The end.
(273) Yes, I’d say you’ve sufficiently demonstrated that length isn’t the issue here.
273- Charming.
Okay, okay. 271 and 273 were random bursts of poem-related weirdness.
Has anyone here read Hailstones and Halibut Bones? It’s a very good collection of associative poems about color. It is amazing.
This is my attempt at poetry:
Scratching
Screaming
Red and raw
You’re bare as bones without your laws
Of gaping mouths and stinging tongues
You’re not the only one who defeats with words like claws
But you never win
Running
Gasping
Toxic air
You shouldn’t think you’re getting anywhere
With their dilated eyes at drooling words
So parched yet sure that the dances that transfixed their cares
Are what they’ve always been
Lashing
Moaning
Your sweat flies
From the smoke of petals you breath with sealed eyes
Yet illicit that vice which graffitis your soul
With which you roll and wrestle while your apparitions sigh
Their heat has got you pinned
Bleaching
Denying
All the stains
All the bleeding battle wounds and pains
But behind your spattered mask of sneers
And the breezy-bright veneer you dread as many losses as your gains
It shows through on broken skin
…your torn-up, broken skin…
Sorry, forgot to mention that I had to write that for a class, and that I gave into an absurd impulse to rhyme it and put rhythm into it. It had an epigraph, from Much Ado About Nothing: “Scratching could not make it worse, twere such a face as yours.”
Agh! I should be fined for triple-posting, but the last line of the first verse should be “but your silver turned to tin.”
Geesh.
278- Nice. I like the way the last line in each verse rhymes, and how you have the thre words starting each verse. A different (in a good way) sort of effect
Thanks
I don’t usually rhyme my poetry, or give it any sort of rhythm…that’s too restraining.
So I shall perhaps post some of my other stuff on here soon…
Shel Silverstein is always amusing:
Are Wild Strawberries really wild?
Will they scratch an adult, will they snap at a child?
Should you pet them, or let them run free where they roam?
Could they ever relax in a steam-heated home?
Can they be trained to not growl at the guests?
Will a litterbox work or would they leave a mess?
Can we make them a Cowberry, hearding the cows,
Or maybe a Muleberry pulling the plows,
Or maybe a Huntberry chasing the grouse,
Or maybe a Watchberry guarding the house,
And though they may curl up at your feet oh so sweetly,
Can you ever feel that you trust them completely?
Or should we make a pet out of something less scary,
Like the Domestic Prune or the Imported Cherry,
Anyhow, you’ve been warned and I will not be blamed
If your Wild Strawberry cannot be tamed.
283- yay! I ♥ Shel Silverstein! His poems are quite enjoyably witty.^_^
284- I memorized a lot of his poems, but I can’t remember any of them right now. That one was C&Ped from some random site.
I don’t write poetry much, and as a result, I have nothing new to post.
Wow, I really enjoy reading this. You guys pwn hard.
But I have never liked Shel Silverstein. In fact, I’ve had a burning hatred for him ever since I first had the highly unfortunate experience about that idiotic falling up stuff in the second grade. I think the pictures in his books made me hate him and his poetry even more. I find him neither amusing, nor cute, nor clever, but merely stupid. Anyone who writes “for children” is probably an idiot.
This is coming from the kid who read Island of the Blue Dolphins in preschool, and the majority of LOTR in the summer between fourth and fifth grade. Needless to say, I find “juv. lit.” exceedingly condescending/patronizing. And not remotely cute or clever.
And personifying fruit in the manner Silverstein did is just annoying. Annoyingly absurd, in the worst possible way.
265- I heart cummings.
I have a song contribution.
Me and Mia by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:
As I was walking through a life one morning
the sun was out, the air was warm, but
Oh, I was cold
And though I must have looked half a person,
to tell the tale, in my own version,
It was only then that I felt whole
Do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to get a little self-control
I know how hard you try. I see it in your eyes
But call your friends, ’cause we’ve forgotten what it’s like to eat what’s rotten
And what’s eating you alive might help you to survive.
We went on as we were on a mission, latest in a Grand Tradition
And oh, what did we find?
It was Ego who was flying the banner, and me and Mia, Ann and Ana
Oh, we’d been unkind
But do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to get a little self-control
I see it in your eyes, I see it in your spine.
But call your friends,
’cause we’ve forgotten what it’s like to eat what’s rotten
And what’s eating you alive, might help you to survive.
And even the nights, they could get better
And even the days ain’t all that bad
And after a week of fighting, as more and more it seems the right thing
But do you believe in something beautiful?
Then get up and be it
Fighting for the smallest goal: to gain a little self-control
Won’t anybody here just let you disappear?
Not doctors, nor your mom and dad, but me and Mia, Ann and Ana
Know how hard you try. Don’t you see it in my eyes?
Sick to death of my dependence, fighting food to find transcendence
Fighting to survive, more dead but more alive
Cigarettes and speed for livin’, and sleeping pills to feel forgiven
All that you contrive, and all that you’re deprived
All the bourgeois social angels telling you you’ve got to change
Don’t have any idea. They’ll never see so clear.
But don’t forget what it really means to hunger strike
when you don’t really need to
Some are dying for a cause, but that don’t make it yours.
And even the nights, they could get better.
‘t is about eating disorders.
286- I didn’t even try reading Island of the Blue Dolphins until I was twelve. I kinda forgot about it. I read The Hobbit at age seven or eight, and LOTR when I was nine/ten, but you’re far ahead of me.
I need to write poems BAD!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Those who are in misery
Take trust in which they cannot lie
All you who are depressed
Take no faith in what can still die
The sun will ev’r reign once more
In when we do what e’er we like
That flows like an endless river
Or more sturdy than the strongest dike
Individuals we always are
And we take pride in what we will be
So do not be blind to your wants
But begin to need what you can see
Enjoy the joys of life unending
And remember to your dying day
Where ev’r there be the sunlight of truth
There will be your strongest way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Good, eh? I wrote it Olde English style!
287-I read all of the Laura Ingalls Wilder Books at age six, and they are each at least two inches thick.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Is there really a difference between right and wrong?
Take that step
Is there a large gap between truth and a song?
Take another step
Is there a way we can stay the same?
Is there a lie without the blame?
Is there a road between you and me?
Is that the way it will always be?
Can you step once more over that long line
So I can be yours?
So you can be mine?
Will you take that step?
Can you see who we could be
Together?
To tie a knot that they’ll never sever?
Can you walk the line? Can you talk the talk?
Can you split our differences
To walk?
Can you take that step
Walk this way
Don’t listen to all
That your friends say
Come to me, and you will see
All that we could truly be?
Will you take that step and walk the line?
So I can be yours
And you can be mine?
288- I’d heard all of the Little House books out loud several times by age six, but it’s not the same as reading them yourself.
288- I loved them both, especially the first. I liked the subtle rhymes and the genral message. In the second, I liked the rhythm of the “take a step” lines. both are quite splendid. Excellent job.
Eh, I got paranoid about people stealing my poems and then I stopped posting. I have written about… 5? since I last posted. Maybe I’ll post my acrostics…
Dare to take a leap; to journey to parts unknown; to
Reach out and grasp a falling star imagine
Elsewheres of endless possibility
Awaiting your touch to
Mold them
————–
Rising above the world – into the sky
Arching around the earth resplendent
In every color all hues
Not only a few –
Black and white – more shades than grey
Once hidden by clouds, now emerging to envelop the
World
————————-
Many eyes view reflections – are they
Illusions – only what we wish to view, not what is
Really there – how do we know illusion from
Reality? Where do we find the truth?
Observe deeply inside your eyes maybe (if eyes really are the windows to the soul) they’ll
Reflect the truth
errg… MB won’t let the Observe deeply inside your eyes to windows to the soul) they’ll be one line. But it is.
I like them, e~a, especially the first. I made one of those but I can’t post it yet. It’s top secret. I’ll post it eventually though. It ended up slightly nonsensical, because I had twelve lines to fill up and they were awkward. It’s better than some of my other, more self-centered works, though. By self-centered I mean that the poems are actually talking about themselves, rather than the more important subject.
290- Awesome job. I really love those.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silence
is a thick wall
that separates you from me
it is a deep fog
that sets no expression free
it is a barrier still
that yet I cannot seem to sev’r
it is a wall of feeling
that keeps me from you forever.
~~~~
Doesn’t it seem
that we are so close
and so far away
What would I give
to let you know who I am
today
You might never know me
As long as our lives we live
But it seems we are
connected
by the sharing that we each may give
these word on a white computer screen
are all you will ever see of
me
but by using our small voices
do we make out who we can truly
be.
~~~~
We stare
Through the windows
That will now become our lives
But never
did we imagine
The day that our love dies
Looking through these panes of glass
we are close
But far away
Across the way that separates us
we will look
But always stay
And so, my love
Does it seem we are so close
and far away
How I only wish I could break this glass
And be with
You
today…
And how I felt it beat
Under my pillow, in the morning’s dark,
An hour before the sun would let me read!
My books!
-Elizabeth Barret Browning
New poem, I wrote last night. I’ll try to type it up quickly and get it pposted before I go…
we’re all drowning,
we’re all drowned
we’re all 6 feet
underground
we’ve been trapped
in webs of lies
nothing to show,
nothing to hide
endless droning,
echoes of noise
numbing whines
and broken toys
we replaced humanity
got rid of creativiity
chose safty and security
over dreams and art,
we’re trapped in ‘reality’
tv’s and celebrities
there’s no more anomalies
no more listening to your heart
hollow husks,
empty shells
there’s nothing really left to tell
search our eyes
penetrate our minds
we’re all dead
on the inside
we’re all burning,
we’re all burned
there is nowhere
left to turn
eh, not really done, but I have to leave now. Bye everyone!!
(294) Nice a readable. There is subtle rhyme and meter going on, its quite nice. Good job.
294- I like!
mee 2
294- wonderfull
here’s one i wrote oh so long ago
Hazel eyes
whispy hair
Try to catch me
if you dare
in the shadows
of the wood
i hide beneath
a velvet hood
very short poem, yet it has stuck with me ever since
who knows
what may come
this the past
has always done
we can only
do our best
to make the world
better, lest
we might lose
everything
all that’s good
birds that sing
flowers in bloom
hope never lost
these things are
without cost
298- That first is very pretty and magical.
Has anyone here read The Magic Wood? ‘Tis creepy and magical.
299- thx..no i’ve never read it..another thing i’m going to get at the library…IF we EVER go there
New thread, GAPAs?
(301) You convinced me. That and the long wait for the thread to load. So granted.