Lines poetical and lyrical by the bards of the blog. Continued from 2007.1.
Patience, Please
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Lines poetical and lyrical by the bards of the blog. Continued from 2007.1.
Ooooh, what kind of songs? I have never really been on one of these threads before… *Is lost*
I am working on a poetic project, but can’t post it yet. I will in week or two. In the meantime… *rushes off to hunt down her old favorites*
eee! new one! I could post some of the stuff I haven’t posted yet, couldn’t I?
Oooooh man when I get back…definitely going to keep up with this one. -scuttles off- I need to clean out my poetry folder in my computer anyway…mwahaha yess excellent. Thanks GAPAs!!
Here are some poems I wrote a while ago:
BOB.
Bob had a very nice head
But then it fell off now he’s dead
the end
MY OWN POEM.
People say I can’t write a poem
But they’re so wrong I can write a poem
I wrote this one I wrote this poem
And I gave it the title of “My Own Poem”
So shut up.
the end
5- Um . . . very nice?
I guess this could count as a poem:
Two Trees
Two trees
One tree growing
One tree dying
One tree thriving
One tree failing
In the wild wood they wait
Waiting for their fate
The old knows that its life,
Filled with longing and strife
Will soond end to bring it peace.
The young one anticipates
Its life ahead that soon will be,
the happiness and joy
Yet it does not know
All the sorrows it will face
The joys of the young
The memories of the old
Together they stand
In the wild wood
I know the first verse rhymes and the second doesn’t but w/e
Another:
Best Friends or Not
Best friends forever
That’s what we said
In the old days
Inseperable were we
Kindergarten through third
All the same classes
Laughs and secret smiles
Across the rooma dn recess
Fourth the recipe changed
Only recess and lunch now
Playdates after school
We had new friends
Still very close
Fifth and sixth were the same
Friends forever
we said,
In seventh it happened
The fight
The tears
The taking of sides
What we built over the years,
gone in an instant,
Never to be repaired
More, I got bored in English class this past year…:
9/11
Hot sticky second grade room
boring lecture by teacher
phone rings its annoying ring
teacher picks it up
shock on her face
What happened?
twin toweres were hit
Second grade confusion
Lesson continues
Nobody remembers by the end of the day
Going home
TV on
Dad is crying
Horror
Explanation
Oh my god!
My 9/11
The Peacock
Strutting his stuff
Fluffing and preening
Bobbing his head
Acting like all the world
We gaze intently
His amazing feathers entrance us
The glittery half-circle
It shines in the afternoon light
Bright colors twinkle
Eyes staring at us
He wanders off
Impressing everyone he sees
I think I wrote this in history a few weeks ago.
“Observed”
Snaking shoelaces lick the curb
I shuffle to the grass
Try to keep slow stride
Blind eyes wandering
Blinking
Glancing wildly around
Up at the shadow of the giant
Stand in silence…
Shivering breath
Your hands are cold against the conteurs of my back
We fail at discretion
Shivering
…in the sun
Breath
They’re here
I adore haikus
They are very nice and fun
I make them often
Sun shining above
Calm breeze floats across your face
Peace, tranquility
11) I really like that for some reason…that’s what a haiku is all about, I think.
Pickles are awesome
They are crunchy, crisp and tart
Eating them is nice
There is the pickle-fied haiku. Enjoy. w00t w00t.
At boy scout camp, this was our troop yell one night:
This is a haiku
sometimes haikus are pointless
troop 57.
the big blue sky
that never ends
gives me stories
that it lends
about the ledgends
of days gone past
that father time
deemed not last
a little odd… almost all my poetry is based on stuff like that
15- It has a nice rhythm.
I had a poem that I’ll post later.
“Terrible!†I think. The challenge is here!
A problem that soars high above the rest.
Mrs. Hernandez face parts into a sneer,
A bad situation: a science test.
I hear the clock tick, the scratching of pens.
People are making their choices like manic.
My face turns purple, this test never ends!
I’m getting tense, I’m starting to panic.
My head is spinning. I’ve turned to page two,
The answers are coming, maybe their best!
But I don’t think so because my brain’s turned to goo.
I finish page four and turn in the test.
A week later I pray I did okay.
Well what do you know! My first science A!
its a very short sonet.
Beavo is pwnsome
He is really, really, really pwnsome
And plus he’s pwnsome
8-My mom picked me up from school before the teachers even knew what was going on I think…Where she worked there was a TV close in the same area of the building, and she heard noise or something and went to see and they were watching live as planes were going into buildings!
So she hopped in the car and zoomed me out of school!
Well, this isn’t a poem, so I guess I’ll go away now!
20-Same here. It was picture day, and they had to postpone everyone’s picture because an announcement came on and told everyone to go home and everyone went home and this isn’t a poem either so I’m gonna go take a shower bye
20- I wasn’t even aware of 9/11 for a long time. I was about seven or eight, and we’ve always lived rather . . . apart from society. No TV, I didn’t go on the computer at all at that age, and I didn’t routinely listen to the radio either. Or read the paper. When I did hear about it, it wasn’t very real, it was just some distant thing that I didn’t understand. Some great tragedy far away. Okay, so who cares? (Yes, I’m callous that way.)
I should have added this to my last post:
It’s horrific, but unless it somehow affects me or someone I know, it just doesn’t come home to me. Or even if it does affect me or someone I know, it doesn’t come home to me. If it’s in real life, and not a book, don’t expect me to cry. I just can’t. (So sad and twisted, that.)
But . . . let’s get back on topic.
22-Wow. I think I would have figured out what happned pretty soon. I mean, with everyone running around with worried looks on their face and such…I was aware of what happned from the moment it happned, but I was not really able to grasp the idea of 9/11 until I was ten or so. Maybe eight.
I knew about 9/11 from the minute it happened.
But, they said that pearl harbor would live in infamy. I’m not sure if it’s on December 22 or the 21.
I rise into the forest night,
the hunt is on ,
that mellow beast,
and the wind howls on Avalon Hill.
wind, wind, wash away my footprints,
make me believe that I can fly,
wind, oh wind, wash away my name,
make me believe that I can die.
I watch the moon rise,
I howl the night,
I watch the stars sink,
and the wind howls on Avalon Hill.
wind, wind, wash away my footprints,
make me believe that I can fly,
wind, oh wind, wash away my name,
make me believe that I can die.
-one of my stranger moments, which aren’t uncommon.
(25) Pearl Harbor was December 7, 1941.
27-whoops. hey, it’s eleven-thirty at night here. *lame excuse* *proves point*
7- I like the first one. Especially the first few lines.
I don’t really remember much of 9/11, but I do remember in 5th grade when war was declared.
26- I really like the “wind, wind, wash away my footprints/make me believe that I can fly/wind, oh wind, wash away my name/make me believe that I can die” lines. And the way they repeated.
No new poetry at the moment, sorry all. I’ll try later, I’m in a vaugely poetic mood
26- Lovely.
I’m writing poems. I will post the worst one here. (And god, is it bad.) I wanted to do a whatsit, where the letters running down the side spell something, but I couldn’t think of enough L words that would work, so please forgive the repeat of Lovely. I will fix that, but first I have to browse the dictionary.
Oh! can it really be true?
Parties of possums are telling the news.
A girl is having a birthday!
Lovely! A birthday! And what’s more, on this day!
Is that not a wonderful thing?
Shall we all dance around in a ring?
Eleven she’s turning, eleven I say.
Lovely again! What a happy day.
Eleven! they chorus, pleased with the tidings,
Very good. And they scuttle back into hiding.
Everyone here is having a ball,
Now they blow out the candles, and soon, dark falls.
Okay, and the possums are a tad irrelevant. The whole thing is irrelevant, and the last two lines suck. Help?
29, 30- Thank you.
30- Can I laugh?
26- I like it a lot. It reminds me vaguely of one of those form poems where certain lines are repeated.
31- Go ahead.
Hey this is my first time posting after about half an hour of tryign to find out if there was a way to register. in any case i have a poem that i recently wrote and here it is. hope people enjoy it.
Technology
It helps us
“Save†time
Millisecond
Fast click
Boom!
It’s done
Disconnected
From reality
A culture
With no
Skills but
The knowledge
of how to press
A button,
Flick
A switch
Technology.
The beginning
Or the end?
Poet
Tree
Gather
Around
The poet tree.
Look around and
You will see, growing paper,
Growing tall, Written in an
Inky scrawl. But as the time gently
Flows, the poet tree speaks and grows.
Creatures flock in droves like birds,
Coming here to hear the words. Growing
The thoughts of a poet’s mind. Look hard enough
And
You
Can
Find,
Any
Word
You
Would
Ever Need
All Grown From This Amazing Seed.
Welcome, Kalias! There’s no need (or way) to register, but we do have a little initiation ritual…
*pies Kalias* Lots of newbies nowadays! *pies again*
So, I gave up. I’m doing something else instead.
heh, so im part of the crew now?
38- Yup. Of course, expect to get many more pies today, but by tomorrow you should be safe.
luckily pies taste good so im getting free food at the cost of humiliation, but that doesnt matter because i could change my name in a snap
38 – Yes! MuseBlog is unique because you don’t have to sign up! You just post! *pies*
*pies Kalias* Welcome! Head to the newbies thread to find out all the other rules and welcome crap. *pie, pie, and more pie there can never be enough pie*
40-Changing your name would get you more pies. These would not be so friendly. I don’t get any (even though I changed mine today) because it’s an alternate of my other one… here have a BeavoBar.
*pies with {[=beavobar=]}*
Here is a song I wrote called On the Inside. Hope you like it!!!!
p.s. This is serious!
On the Inside
by Cellogirl26
Standing there/ seeing me/ only seeing/ what you can see/ never looking/ past my hair/ thinking I don’t/ see you there
I am who I am/ I know who I am/ I like who I am/ You can’t change me/ on the inside
All the people/ that I see/ staring back/ from a magazine/ picture-perfect/ super thin/ I try to look/ from the outside in
I am who I am/ I know who I am/ I like who I am/ You can’t change me/ on the inside
In our world/ our world today/ if you’re not perfect/ you have to pay/ people don’t look past your skin/ people don’t look from the outside in
I am who I am/ I know who I am/ I like who I am/ You can’t change me/ on the inside
rain drops falling on the water
ripples and drip drops
and tears are a falling.
I know about the secrets of waters.
Did you have to tell me at all?
How to see past this lie
when rain drops are shattering the reflection.
and a different one-
love-
they said it was beautiful.
love-
they said it was wonderful.
maybe I’m just odd,
but i do confess,
there isn’t anything
beautiful about this picture!
love-
they said we were lucky
love-
they said it was true.
I ran away, i really
couldn’t stay with you.
love-
how dirty is this frame.
how dirty is the moon? It shines on me.
love- how jealous could you have been
to kill an innocent
what did I do wrong?
you knew it wouldn’t work.
and now i’ve dissapeared,
there’s blood on the snow.
swan- how could you lie to me?
you said it was beautiful.
and now, there’s blood on your feathers.
43, 44 great jobs =)
45. thank you.
Crush
Look at him
Is this sink or swim?
Should I ask
Or should I mask
The feelings I hold
I stand out in the cold
He in a warm glow
I go over and say hello
His smile warms my heart
Cupid’s thrown his dart
There’s no stopping now
I’ve got to get through it somehow
So I just blurt it out
Does he want to go out?
He blinks then smiles
And then he says with grace and style
Sure
My heart dances
This is a really stupid poem so beware:
A rabbit’s poem also known as The meaningless poem!
Roger rose to rake the roses
Realizing roses was rather rare he roared with rage
Rebecca reminded Roger rabbits rarely remember raking roses is rare and Rorger ran right to remind himself.
Odd no?
The Stars
Glittering confetti in the sky
When I stare I feel like I can fly
I am intoxicated by their calm glow
When dawn comes it is a blow
But I know the next night will come
The sun makes me glum
But at night I come to life
And I forget all the daily strife
The stars are my warm quilt
And like a scottish kilt
It is my tradition
Man. I was rereading a few poems on the old thread and found a few I said I would go back to and fix but never did. Oh well. Hmm, I sort of feel like writing. We’ll see if something comes out later…
30- Sometimes wierd/bad poems are good because you can use them in stories. You could have a possum singing that to someone.
I have some poems I’ll post here later.
YES! New poetry thread!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a girl from outer space
Who so wants to travel to Earth
My parents don’t quite want to let me go free
We give the place a wide birth
Because of the wars that are going on there
And the hardships the planet has fac’d
For a single new problem to come unto them
Will mean doom for the whole human race
But I swear by my eye
That I use here to see
And ten hands that will help me get out of here free
And I swear by my tounges that
Help me lick a spoon
And antennae that help
To radar the Moon
I think about you, Earth
So far from me today
And promise I’ll see you
And I will fing a way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When I saw the lights from a city sign
And I felt the rain on my cheeks
And embraced a dog, who wagged his tail
And I relaxed for one whole week
And when I smelled the air after a storm
And I heard my first hello
When I saw the goodies in the bakery
And I watched the fairs all come and go
When I heard to myself the birds sing a song
And I stopped there to rest for a while
I tell you that when I did all of these things
I stopped and I looked
And I smiled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friendship is like a bird
That soars over the clouds
Setting ablaze the field of depression
Destroying
Hatred
Violence
Anger
And creating
A bond of
Peace
It is a rope
That is not severed
Like a candle
That burns for eternity
Like a Blooming flower
Sprouting and growing in
Strength
Every day it is
Kept
And the bird
When wings clipped
And tied
To the Earth
Still shall not die
For it lives
In hope.
Dog
Sweet Round black eyes that stare at me?
Do you love me or not at all?
My food or my face do you see?
Are you lonely, sitting by the wall?
This is my heart also my life,
You’ll recieve it if you love me.
You creature with your tooth a knife?
Loyalty is my only fee.
Are you as smart as I would hope,
when whispered secrets in your ear?
I’ll keep you on a short tawt rope,
a chain of suspicion and fear.
A collar you will always wear,
to prove I am owner of you.
I have promised to treat you fair.
Dog, do you really love me, too?
51- I liked the second one
we’re painting flowers in the sky today;
or fire and smoke and sparks
sparkling blooms of radient light
ignighting, lighting, the dark
we’re painting with moonbeams
and sunbeams and smiles
and colors wound out of your dreams,
we’re skething in the sky with a whim but no why
won’t you join us, for a while?
I recently had a poem published in the city newspaper. I think I posted it here before…probably about a year ago…but if I send in a scan of the poem actually on the page (in the newspaper – with my name blacked out) – would you post it? I think everything looks so much cooler in the newspaper
Break out
I don’t know,
I don’t know,
And I ain’t been told-
This is my time and I’m grabbing on,
gasping to keep up and rushing ahead.
This is my time. This is my world.
Watch out, because it’s all my mine.
I’m old enough and not quite.
I’m old enough and not quite yet.
Watch out because this city’s mine.
and I won’t stop because you can’t
go down at the bottom of a pit.
i’m old and and still quite young.
this is my word and my world.
i’m breaking out.
I don’t care what you want.
I am old and yet so young.
This is my world and I’m breaking out.
I don’t know.
I don’t know, I don’t know…
54- Ooh, fun! I’d like to see.
55- I’m not sure about the periods. They make the poem more choppy, and not as flowing. Maybe get rid of some or replace them with commas?
53- I love it!
I think some of the lines in mine may have been turned into two accidentally
We all like to invent – to imagine
never knowing if what we create is real
or only flights of fancy flying too high – too far
if our daydreams turned to reality, where would we be?
would we really be happier?
or would we be lost as newly-hatched birds?
if all our utopias, our imagined loves left our heads
and began lives of their own, would that shock us?
are some actually there all ready waiting for us to discover them?
maybe then we’d be fulfilled
but with nothing else for which to strive
no falling stars to chase
we’d remain lost
having nothing else to contemplate; no worlds to discover
we’d listlessly wander our daily paths not seeing the butterflies
—————————–
maybe we’re all just trying too hard
to fit ourselves (our bodies, our minds, our souls)
into the small box provided by society
but what we really all need to do
(instead of trying to capture our transient spirits in photographs and mirrors)
is break our eggshells instead of walking on them
and find – inside – wings
to step firmly as the self we know ourselves to be
instead of trying to tiptoe in shoes too small
we are trying to squeeze ourselves so much
that we can’t expand and give others room.
we are too afraid of breaking the fragile balance
and falling, crushing our own eggshell lives
I may have posted these already.
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 existence
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
—————————
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?
57- I really like the first one. ( I think I told you that before…). “we’d listlessly wander our daily paths not seeing the butterflies”.
58- I remembe r the second one, but not the first. I still like the second one with the “some cracked surfaces concealing fields of sunflowers/encircled by barbed wire” lines a lot.
Oh dear, no one’s posted in forever… where has my inspiration gone…
I come here every day, but I have nothing to say, so I inevitably leave again.
60- no comments on mine?
yeah, no one’s posted in a while…
61- Sometimes I am soooooooooooooooooooooo lazy I can’t do any more than say, “Oh, that’s pretty/deep/beautiful/nice/lovely/insert more adjectives as they come.” And that’s boring and hardly worth the typing. But since I’ve written all this I might as well comment.
57- I like the second. A lot.
58- Ooooh, nice! I like both of them! e~a, you’re good at this. Keep writing!
And now a rather poor poem I tried to write today.
As you paddle along
You only wish
That you could see just once
A glittering fish.
And then a flash!
And a splash!
And it’s gone.
But it was there.
Ugh, I’m almost to chicken to post that.
The last two lines don’t fit. I had two different poems in my head and I tried to make them into one.
62- Come on, it’s not that bad. Did you get that in your head from the kayaking?
I think it’s just the last line that doesn’t quite fit, the ‘gone’ bit could stay though.
64- Yeah, a bunch of fish were jumping. So I composed that poem. Minus the last line, I suppose it’s alright.
62 (Alice)- Maybe if you tried to make the last two lines rhyme? Although I have no idea what rhymes with “gone”…spawn?
e~a: My favorite of those four is probably the first one in 57, but they’re all lovely. You’re really good with imagery; have I said that before?
My own “work.” This is my take on standard awful emo poetry. Which means, of course, that it makes no sense at all and bears no resemblance to its inspiration. CAPITAL LETTERS ZOMG
hello beautiful people
Scatter roses for the aisle
(lengthens in front) of
you wish that in one
(two three four the quartet plays on)
little minute you could have what you wanted.
Cloaked in night–the stars burn you to ashes
You will laugh until there is no air left in the world
How loved you
(the sky is)
infinite
There is no limit (no stopping
no begging the future not to happen)
as x approaches forever.
Cut here, and here and here and here
Goodbye, America (ere) you be missed
You’re (f***ing) immortals all
Bark and no bite;
fireworks instead of guns;
make love not war.
heart(h) beats.
you swallow yourself,
your hair sticks in your throat
It makes you smile to
(see) Spot run.
You, dancer,
you at the altar,
you deaf and blind and floating,
“Memento mori–”
–bids(bets) you, forget.
66- Oooh, I like it. Esspecally the parentheses. And the lines “Cloaked in night–the stars burn you to ashes/You will laugh until there is no air left in the world.”
*waves journel aound in air* I gots one!! Finally!
Would you speak for me?
as I lay dyeing
speak as I would only truer
truer to who I amiswas not
wo I strive to be
(they hide their faces behind
the pretenses of masks-
how can they see?)
as the clouds cover my eyes
as I fall closer to the stars
wish for me
for my end
for beginings
petals fall thick in dreamings;
who are we really inside
in the deep darklight places
we dare not enter
who are we but continuations
of eachother of
stems of hopes
long for me
take the ashes of my sighs
and scatter them into
every blade of grass
take my heart, pry off the
ivy and give it to the world
I am ending now
and endings taste of rain
sweet and clear
and dancing the morris
as the rosebuds close again
wait for my last whispers,
catcheh them in a net woven of
my sowors and tiwillneverbes
show the they sky
and let them go.
haikus are easy
but sometimes they don’t make sense
refrigerator
Jane sees Spot.
Jane sees Spot run.
Run Spot, run!
Jane sees Spot run.
Awesome! Nonsense Haikus! I want to try!
Snakes eating Cheeseburgers
Mustard’s always yellow, except
when it’s “tickle me pink”.
The wind breaths out a sigh
A toad lets out a low, mournful croak
Cheese falls like small raindrops.
Oh cheese!
Oh CHEESE!
Your creaminess makes my heart flutter!
I yearn for your strong taste!
Oh cheese!
Oh CHEESE!
I long for more,
More of your blessed texture!
Oh cheese!
Oh CHEESE!
Gorgonzola, Blue
Provolone, Chedder,
So many cheeses!
Time to dig in!
73: Haha, that is crazy funny.
I had some sensible haiku, but I cannot find them. I think they are on the other computer…ah well.
72: I like your nonsense haiku, but I’ve always been taught that the first and second line of the haiku is 5 syllables while the second line is 7. Just a thought.
73 nice. r u from omaha by any chance
?
74 DITTO ON THE HAIKU THING oops sorry caps lock was on
Hertha
Algernon Charles Swinburne
I AM that which began;
Out of me the years roll;
Out of me God and man;
I am equal and whole;
God changes, and man, and the form of them bodily; I am the soul.
Before ever land was,
Before ever the sea,
Or soft hair of the grass,
Or fair limbs of the tree,
Or the flesh-colour’d fruit of my branches, I was, and thy soul was in me.
First life on my sources
First drifted and swam;
Out of me are the forces
That save it or damn;
Out of me man and woman, and wild-beast and bird: before God was, I am.
Beside or above me
Naught is there to go;
Love or unlove me,
Unknow me or know,
I am that which unloves me and loves; I am stricken, and I am the blow.
I the mark that is miss’d
And the arrows that miss,
I the mouth that is kiss’d
And the breath in the kiss,
The search, and the sought, and the seeker, the soul and the body that is.
I am that thing which blesses
My spirit elate;
That which caresses
With hands uncreate
My limbs unbegotten that measure the length of the measure of fate.
But what thing dost thou now,
Looking Godward, to cry,
‘I am I, thou art thou,
I am low, thou art high’?
I am thou, whom thou seekest to find him; find thou but thyself, thou art I.
I the grain and the furrow,
The plough-cloven clod
And the ploughshare drawn thorough,
The germ and the sod,
The deed and the doer, the seed and the sower, the dust which is God.
Hast thou known how I fashion’d thee,
Child, underground?
Fire that impassion’d thee,
Iron that bound,
Dim changes of water, what thing of all these hast thou known of or found?
Canst thou say in thine heart
Thou hast seen with thine eyes
With what cunning of art
Thou wast wrought in what wise,
By what force of what stuff thou wast shapen, and shown on my breast to the skies?
Who hath given, who hath sold it thee,
Knowledge of me?
Has the wilderness told it thee?
Hast thou learnt of the sea?
Hast thou communed in spirit with night? have the winds taken counsel with thee?
Have I set such a star
To show light on thy brow
That thou sawest from afar
What I show to thee now?
Have ye spoken as brethren together, the sun and the mountains and thou?
What is here, dost thou know it?
What was, hast thou known?
Prophet nor poet
Nor tripod nor throne
Nor spirit nor flesh can make answer, but only thy mother alone.
Mother, not maker,
Born, and not made;
Though her children forsake her,
Allured or afraid,
Praying prayers to the God of their fashion, she stirs not for all that have pray’d.
A creed is a rod,
And a crown is of night;
But this thing is God,
To be man with thy might,
To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life as the light.
I am in thee to save thee,
As my soul in thee saith;
Give thou as I gave thee,
Thy life-blood and breath,
Green leaves of thy labour, white flowers of thy thought, and red fruit of thy death.
Be the ways of thy giving
As mine were to thee;
The free life of thy living,
Be the gift of it free;
Not as servant to lord, nor as master to slave, shalt thou give thee to me.
O children of banishment,
Souls overcast,
Were the lights ye see vanish meant
Alway to last,
Ye would know not the sun overshining the shadows and stars overpast.
I that saw where ye trod
The dim paths of the night
Set the shadow call’d God
In your skies to give light;
But the morning of manhood is risen, and the shadowless soul is in sight.
The tree many-rooted
That swells to the sky
With frondage red-fruited,
The life-tree am I;
In the buds of your lives is the sap of my leaves: ye shall live and not die.
But the Gods of your fashion
That take and that give,
In their pity and passion
That scourge and forgive,
They are worms that are bred in the bark that falls off; they shall die and not live.
My own blood is what stanches
The wounds in my bark;
Stars caught in my branches
Make day of the dark,
And are worshipp’d as suns till the sunrise shall tread out their fires as a spark.
Where dead ages hide under
The live roots of the tree,
In my darkness the thunder
Makes utterance of me;
In the clash of my boughs with each other ye hear the waves sound of the sea.
That noise is of Time,
As his feathers are spread
And his feet set to climb
Through the boughs overhead,
And my foliage rings round him and rustles, and branches are bent with his tread.
The storm-winds of ages
Blow through me and cease,
The war-wind that rages,
The spring-wind of peace,
Ere the breath of them roughen my tresses, ere one of my blossoms increase.
All sounds of all changes,
All shadows and lights
On the world’s mountain-ranges
And stream-riven heights,
Whose tongue is the wind’s tongue and language of storm-clouds on earth-shaking nights;
All forms of all faces,
All works of all hands
In unsearchable places
Of time-stricken lands,
All death and all life, and all reigns and all ruins, drop through me as sands.
Though sore be my burden
And more than ye know,
And my growth have no guerdon
But only to grow,
Yet I fail not of growing for lightnings above me or deathworms below.
These too have their part in me,
As I too in these;
Such fire is at heart in me,
Such sap is this tree’s,
Which hath in it all sounds and all secrets of infinite lands and of seas.
In the spring-colour’d hours
When my mind was as May’s
There brake forth of me flowers
By centuries of days,
Strong blossoms with perfume of manhood, shot out from my spirit as rays.
And the sound of them springing
And smell of their shoots
Were as warmth and sweet singing
And strength to my roots;
And the lives of my children made perfect with freedom of soul were my fruits.
I bid you but be;
I have need not of prayer;
I have need of you free
As your mouths of mine air;
That my heart may be greater within me, beholding the fruits of me fair.
More fair than strange fruit is
Of faiths ye espouse;
In me only the root is
That blooms in your boughs;
Behold now your God that ye made you, to feed him with faith of your vows.
In the darkening and whitening
Abysses adored,
With dayspring and lightning
For lamp and for sword,
God thunders in heaven, and his angels are red with the wrath of the Lord.
O my sons, O too dutiful
Toward Gods not of me,
Was not I enough beautiful?
Was it hard to be free?
For behold, I am with you, am in you and of you; look forth now and see.
Lo, wing’d with world’s wonders,
With miracles shod,
With the fires of his thunders
For raiment and rod,
God trembles in heaven, and his angels are white with the terror of God.
For his twilight is come on him,
His anguish is here;
And his spirits gaze dumb on him,
Grown gray from his fear;
And his hour taketh hold on him stricken, the last of his infinite year.
Thought made him and breaks him,
Truth slays and forgives;
But to you, as time takes him,
This new thing it gives,
Even love, the belovèd Republic, that feeds upon freedom and lives.
For truth only is living,
Truth only is whole,
And the love of his giving
Man’s polestar and pole;
Man, pulse of my centre, and fruit of my body, and seed of my soul.
One birth of my bosom;
One beam of mine eye;
One topmost blossom
That scales the sky;
Man, equal and one with me, man that is made of me, man that is I.
68- Beautiful. I almost cried, actually. “And the endings taste of rain.”
76- Too long! *hides under the table*
77- Thank you, I modified it later with more parenthises. Will post…
And yes, it is rather long. Only read it if you have time to think about it as you do.
Eep, I didn’t mean to hit ‘Submit’ yet. Oh well…
Would you speak for me?
as I lay dyeing
speak as I would only truer
truer to who I amiswas not
who I strive to be
(they hide their faces behind
the pretenses of masks-
how can they see?)
as the clouds cover my eyes
as I fall (closer) to the stars
wish for me
for my end
for beginings
(petals fall thick in dreamings;)
who are we really inside
in the deep darklight places
we dare not enter
who are we but continuations
conections complexities
of eachother of
stems of hopes
long for me
take the ashes of my sighs
and scatter them into
every blade of grass
waiting for the
stardawn
take my heart, (pry off the
ivy) and give it to the world
I am ending now
(and endings taste of rain)
sweet and clear
and dancing the morris dance
(as the rosebuds close again)
wait for my last whispers,
catch them in a net woven of
my sorrows and tiwillneverbes
show the they sky
and let them go.
What exactly are parentheses supposed to do? Just give more impact, or something?
The opposite, I’d think. More like a soft-pedal, or an aside.
80) To me, writing in parenthesis gives a certain feeling. Certain lines call for it. Like Robert said, it’s almost like an aside….
80- Yeah, sort of read them with a differnt voice, softer and behind the other one. That’s what I do in my head automatically… what Robert said.
thats really good!!!!!!!!!!
“Swim, little fishies!” Sang the heron to the water,
“There’s a nasty crocodile out to get you,
To eat, to kill, to slaughter”
Sanding alone along the beach he cried this news
Proclaiming the little fish’s demise
The croc’ was in his view!
Terrified, the little fish, they swam to where he stood
They fled from the savage beast,
To escape it if they could
Silently, the fish screamed away from it’s claws
Swiming in the shallows for the lives
Into the heron’s waiting jaws.
Now that’s cheerful.
Circling swallow, singing swallow
I’d let you lead if you’d let me follow
you into the sky.
Sweeping swallow, leaping swallow
do you think you could let me borrow
a pair of wings to try?
Fair swalow, free swallow
although I laugh my voice rings hollow
for you’re the one who flies
That was supposed to be a ”
” by the way, not a ” : P”
87- I like that one though. I wish I was good at poetry. *sigh*
I know I do not love you,
I don’t know what love could be
Yet I find myself wishing
that you will notice me
When we talk I long to talk with you forever
I steal glances when you don’t see
I often think of those blue eyes
Oh, how I wish you would notice me
As embarassed as I am
and secretive as I will remain
when I imagine you with another girl
I feel I am no longer sane
Although I will not admit it
because casualty is the key
I still am hoping
that
you
will notice
me
It’;s the book of letters never sent
a book of what could have been
thanks for random kindness
or repentence for a sin
anger at a trivial matter
to the testaker a forbidden hint
perhaps to a dear, foolish friend
after an evening unwisely spent
They are adressed to friends, bitter foes, strangers and even kin
To one grump man of ninety
and a pretty girl of ten
It’;s the life of feelings never told
of joy and thoughts that could have been.
90- Eek, I am in love with the last stanza!!!!
Me too, it really adds to the poem.
20- i didnt know what happened until we got home. my teacher said: “your parents will tell you.” my mom watched the towers being hit over and over and over again because she had all these apointments that day. thats all i remember, it was a long tim
Falling
I don’t know where I began
or when this little crack in the land
turned into a chasm; unplanned,
we dived in
or maybe we fell?
Someday
we’ll land on soft grass,
sigh with relief in a
medow of dreamings, for
not all of us who are lost
want to be found
right away
Dancing,
we hold onto each other with threads
and although they could break
they havn’t yet
even though we’ve stretched them
we’ve dreamed ourselves closer
Sighing
thugh we can’t nessicarily go back now
and maybe we don’t remember the way
we are never far
in our wanderings
in this little cave of ours
I wrote these two for english last year. There were various formats that we had to follow, which may explain why some of them are kind of weird, but yeah. The first one was a recipe poem (we had to do certain things for each line, not sure why called recipe) and the second was a crayon poem (we picked a crayon, free-associated, wrote poem). yeah. Feedback?
———————
Sueño
So as to touch the stars, I leapt above la agua,
high above the deep blue sea
but wondered, ¿es un sueño?
But is this just a fantasy, not real, a dream?
I wondered, feared
and then whispered, “but I am realâ€;
and a million suns blazed in the sky, at once both
giant flaming balls of fire
and pinpricks in the velvet curtain of the night,
la noche that folded itself around me, turning the “but†to “andâ€.
——————–
sea-green
Stand here upon the sand
as the cold water splashes roughly
filling your mouth with the taste of salt
and the wind mixes my hair with yours;
I will walk with you
and our pockets full of summer
will hold the cry of the seagull,
a lonely violin in a dark silent room,
and embrace the wide endless reaches
of the ocean, smooth as a pebble.
Wow. I ought to visit this thread more, really.
94- I like it. It seems almost optomistic, even though that’s a completely irrational conclusion. I especially like the last line of the first stanza; it’s just . . .
95- It’s really odd reading your poetry, because it doesn’t seem like something you would write at all. And yet it’s really nice. I like the second one best.
I was looking through the last thread (or maybe the one before that) and I found a poem by Jadestone that I really liked, and it was funny because it reminded me of one I wrote and may or may not have posted at sometime.
Poem by Jadestone (I hope you don’t mind me re-posting this)
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
Skipper’s Poem (from a while back)
Sing silly songbird,
Sing a song for humankind
Sing sweetly so to sooth
The sickly sallow skies
Soot, smoke, sweat and smog
Your song can set it all aside
And saturate the city’s air
With silky satin sighs
Sing silly songbird,
Savor this so long it lasts
So when spring is stiff and still
We can think of your songs past.
Wow. They are rather similar. But they’re both very good. I wish I were a poet. I have a few I could post if anyone wants to make fun of me.
96 – yeah, I like the second best also.. out of curiosity, what would you think I’d write?
98 – post!
97- Wow. They are very similar. I hope I didn’t unknowingly steal it, because I dind’t intend to, but they seem too similar for my tastes. *sigh* I remember you posting yours a while ago. Curses. *mumbles darkly*
98- Post!
Oh Gosh, these are great let me try one.
Settle it *
It has been so long
I thought maybe I had forgotten
How the wood felt beneath my fingers
Like an Old Friend
How the music danced from me
Through the wood
And onto the paper leaving behind a trail.
99- I have no idea what you would write. Something a little darker, maybe? Am I being weird?
Fine, I’ll post. Let me go dig it up, it’s on the other computer.
101- Ooh, pretty.
Here. Most of them are talking about how bad I am at writing poetry, because it’s the subject that I found most easy to write about, considering that’s what I was thinking while writing. However, I made a slightly pathetic attempt to stop a few days before my sister’s birthday, and what I came up with just as bad as what I writing before. But amusing, if you like laughing at people. I’ve posted some of these, too.
(Opal is my sister.)
Write me a Hilarious Poem
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!
Pi-ku
These lines are uneven
They have no pattern
Rather like pi.
What Happens When I Try to Write a Poem
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!
Finally, A Poem About You
Oh! can it really be true?
Parties of possums are telling the news.
A girl is having a birthday!
Lovely! A birthday! And what’s more, on this day!
Is that not a wonderful thing?
Shall we all dance around in a ring?
Eleven she’s turning, eleven I say.
Lovely again! What a happy day.
Eleven! they chorus, pleased with the tidings,
Very good. And they scuttle back into hiding.
Everyone here is having a ball,
Now they blow out the candles, and soon, dark falls.
Jumbled and Scrambled
Jumbled,
And scrambled,
And all mixed up,
This poem makes no sense.
It never will if you rearrange it,
Because a sheep cannot jump a fence.
Celery makes no pretense.
And this wins a prize for ridiculousness.
Why Not Prose?
Oh woe is me, my dear sister,
That I would choose to write you this;
When I could’ve written a story,
With lots of int’resting twists.
Mathematicality
There are poems that bemoan my lack of talent,
That insist that they will make you lose your balance.
And it’s true.
But I feel that their ought to be,
A little mathematicality,
So this one
Will sing my praises.
Or not.
I remember yuo posted a few of those a whle ago.
I still like Pi-ku.
No poems yet… maybe soon.
The butterflies danced through her hair
Laughing, smiling together,
we ran through the feilds
mindless of our statues
of our torn and muddied clothes
We were young,
as so many have voiced it,
but it was more than youth that
kept us going
Her eyes are a storm
We grew apart, I was indoors
with lace and cakes and
sipping sweet tea from
porcelen cups
But I still looked outside
through the window, seperated
from that feild
those flowers
His hair is wet sand, dark and corse
You worked in the sun
it tinted and scorched your skin
untill it was to dark for polite company
such as mine
You weilded a hammer
and iron and flames
instead of paper
and drank only water
Her fingers stir with memories as she arranges a vase, petals fall from the stems of flowers she can still name
I am left to wonder
was it love? friendship?
or just the joy of running
together through that medow
I am left alone
as my skin is hidden from the sun
by others who know not my heart,
by others who know not
He lfet the mannor house for the sea
You are gone now
and I am more alone even with
the memories we did not share
seeping in through the wood
You have the water and waves
and the spray and salt
and you will know danger
fear it perhaps
There is all to much danger lurking under the sky of her eyes
No danger lies here
no words
no worlds
no feelings
I have not heard of you now
for years, they say ships were
taken by the storm
and you were on one
Perhaps he was
But I will never know.
105–I can feel the imagery in this one very clearly. It makes me think of white gingerbread houses, red hot metal, and cloudy skies on a cliff by the sea. What a beautiful, sad poem.
Here is one that I especially like:
Dusty old shoes
Canvas and rubber rags.
Dirty, ancient treads
Like old tires.
They accompanied me through fine days and rain,
To the playground,
To the dance,
To the day I fell in the river and they turned a mossy, slimy green.
To my first date where they hugged my feet
and reminded me to cross my ankles, not my legs.
To the end of the night, when one lifted off the pavement, close to another pair,
Smiling their rubber, crocodile grin.
And finally to the hospital, the only pair
my frantic husband could find
Amongst the panic and cries
Stuffed on my feet, and immediately thrown off in the car
As they witnessed a new life, a new shoe-wearer
Coming into being.
And now, on a shelf,
twin empty sarcophagi,
patiently waiting.
Old shoes, old friends,
Worn down to their souls.
Hello, Elentari. Mae govannen! It’s always a pleasure to see a Generation One.
106- Hello! Thank you for the comment.
I like the way you told that poem, not mentioning events but only eluding to them.
(57-58)-I applaud you, E~A, and your ability to make pretty metaphors from just about everything.
(66) I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I really like your poetry. Its so complicated and a fun to say, its like eating dark chocolate. A lot of them would work out splendidly as rock songs.
Here’s a little couplet that I was planning to make a song out of, but it never got anywhere.
A little boy went fishing, but all the fish died.
Because the sea was too salty, from the tears people cried.
26-That’s awesome!
66-Also awesome!
I used to write poetry. I’m going to try now, though I’m a bit rusty so don’t expect much.
Frozen shattered icicles crash to the ground
Fighting and squealing all the way down
So clear you can’t tell
The ice from the wind
Where water ends and the air begins
Spearing through spirit
Slashing at souls
Sent spiraling downwards
Digging deep holes
Into the frozen Earth
Where no flowers grow in Winter
Just the snow and my sister
And the fallen icicle
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That’s about when I was visiting my Grandma’s when I was little. I wanted an icicle so I threw a stick at one and it landed on my sister’s head. It’s been 5 years and she still hasn’t forgiven me.
Thanks, Robert. I like to be here!
Mina Baka Desu, your simile is perfect, it is like dark chocolate!
–a small morsel, half sweet and half sad.
If that poem is like dark chocolate, your couplet is like bittersweet baking chips
Is it ok if I use your couplet to write a song?
Yes you may, since I can’t. Please give me a tiny bit of credit, though.
Here’s a poem I wrote yesterday. I don’t really want to explain what’s it about exactly; I like to let my poems speak for themselves.
the world is crying
The letter was printed in black ink, but
it might as well be written in blood.
You’ve seen the headlines, read the papers, watched the news.
WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME EARLIER!
-but the words die in your dry throat.
(so different from you wet eyes)
above the signature (written with a rubber stamp)
“our condolences’
but their lies are
so shallow
you can feel their veiled hatred
how does it feel to have brought Death into the world?they wisper then turn away(“that’sthemisn’tit?”)
And the only thing
that remains of yesterday,
are those pictures on the wall.
He looked so innocent then.
urgh. the spacing’s not right. I’ll try and put in -s GAPAs, ignore the previous post of that one. Everyone reading it, ignore the -s
[Poem removed by request of author. –Admin.]
66- I’m in love with that. Thank you ChinTsu for pointing that out when I wasn’t paying attention! (and it is like dark chocolate^_^)
Thank you all who commented on mine!
106- I love that one and how you (pardon my pun) show the soul in the shoes.
Thx Mina Baka Desu, here it is. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on publishing it or anything.
Into Thin Air
(inspired by Mina Baka Desu)
A boy went fishing, but all the fish had died
The sea was too salty, from the tears the world cried
They say it’s gonna get better, and it’ll be okay
But the tears keep comin down, comin with the rain
(Chorus)
How long is it until Judgement Day?
When the sun will shine and the clouds will roll away
Oh, life ain’t easy, and it sure ain’t fair
But you and me, we’ll just climb into thin air.
A man went searching for the Fountain of Youth
Nobody ever thought to tell him the truth
Oh, he searched every single day that he was alive
And died a poor man before he could arrive.
(Chorus)
(Bridge)
Oh the summit seems so far away
I know we won’t reach it for many days
But it’s not the finish, it’s the journey there
So just keep climbin’, climbin’, into thin air.
So yeah it’s a little disjointed and I’m not really sure what the point of it is…I just like the verses. Tell me how to improve it.
I just wrote this, in about a half hour. It’s a reel, and I wrote it while listening to a Chieftains song (Up Against the Buachalawns). It helps if you can listen to just a bit of the song so you can get the tempo and tune, here’s a spaced out link that will play part of it if the GAPA’s allow. There’s not really a site I could find that had all of it.
[Sorry, but snip! It’s not too difficult to find by searching for the title. –Rebecca]
walk away, run away,
dancing into the sky today
if she or you or I today
would it be a loss to die?
singing all the day away,
to run and jump and laugh and play
life’s a shell, hear the ocean say
dance me into the sky.
The world is turning, round and round
lift up your feet, salute the ground
embrace the drum’s deep pounding sound
the fiddle carries on
We’re shantying, prancing,
the whole world is dancing
the music’s in us, so we sing
to be part of the song.
There life is life and death is death
here we make no such aclaims
some people drift their way on through
we can’t say we do the same
for if there’s really no other side
where we may stake a claim
no place to run and laugh and hide
no place to dance our dreams
No swirling, shifting ocean tide
no chasms deep and dark and wide
no stretching, spinning, long and lithe
why shouldn’t we live now?
the world is here for all to enjoy
a place to love though it’s not our toy
if we live fully, spreading joy
living life out loud.
The stars and spinning in the sky
here we’ve no need to ask the ‘why’s’
we fight and drink and laugh and lie
but only enough for fun
The world is turning, round and round
through back your head, forget the ground
all we need are our lovely sounds
the fiddle carries on.
We’re dancing, chancing,
The world is ours, hear the ocean sing
life’s just a little, tiny, thing
we’ll laugh untill we die
We’ve danced all night and day away
life’s a world hear my people say
spin me, catch me, steal my breath away today
kiss my till I cry
We’re dancing in the sky.
116–Wow that’s AWESOME!!!!!!!!!! I really love it. Sign a record deal.
On a side note (no pun intended) do you compose instrumental music as well?
hmm.. lesse what i have on my computer…
War
Go forth, my troops, to battle fly!
So that the dust rise to the sky,
And waves come crashing down!
Take up your weapons for the crown
And never pause to wonder.
And though we all are sure to die,
To send our spirits soaring high.
And though the grief does way you down
Do not stop or pause to frown
And never halt to ponder.
When the battle makes you cry
Go forth, go forth, and dry your eyes.
Though everything is turning brown
Don’t hang your head, don’t be a clown
And never stop to wonder.
that was for some stupid assignment.
Titanic
They called it indestructible,
The great ‘Titanic’ ship.
It won’t be resurrectable,
The builders made a blip.
The night was calm, the night was still,
The water like a mirror,
But up ahead, just straight ahead
An iceberg looming nearer.
Crunch! The night was filled with cries,
The ship was torn in half,
And those who thought the news all lies
Threw their heads back to laugh.
The frenzied captain sent off flares,
The first mate did Morse code.
The women and children stayed not there,
The lifeboats they would load.
At last the ship went roaring down
Into a sea of flames.
The bodies there will always frown
For we know not their names.
They called it indestructible,
The great ‘Titanic’ ship.
It won’t be resurrectable,
The builders made a blip.
that too.
112- your name means mina is a moron right?
115- you wrote that?????? that is AWESOME!!!
117- No, sadly. I can get tunes going in my head I would like to put down onto paper, but the problem is while I can hear them in my head I’m a bit tone-deaf so I can’t actually figure out the notes unless I have my flute out playing them at the same time.
anyone have comments on 113?
whoa. you guys can write songs? that is amazing! aaah, I don’t think I could very easily. I’m just not very good at rhythms and things…
I decided that instead of moaning about how I was so bad at poetry, I would actually try to write some. But my attempts seemed so pretentious, like I was trying so hard to write something beautiful and bittersweet, and it wasn’t really because I was inspired at all, but just because I wanted to create something moving.
I don’t know. I have a piece that’s ben floating around in my head for a while, just snippets and scraps of words and feelings, and it could become poetry just as easily as it could become prose, if I could get over my qualms about the pretentiousness of writing in free verse.
What you guys write doesn’t seem pretentious.
Ugh. Later.
113–Sorry, widdershins! I totally meant to comment on your poem, it just slipped my mind. I really loved it, actually. The spacing makes the reader pause and think, and you end up in a quiet place at the end, just like the poem says.
I write these things called “morsel poems” that paint pictures in three lines. They aren’t meant to go together, they just stand by themselves. Read them slowly, one by one, to get the best effect.
Small chocolate bunny
Lies decapitated on cutting board.
Head has bite marks on it.
Uninspired toenails
Suddenly made brilliant
Red polish against green summer grass.
Yellow daffodils
Like sunshine made solid.
Shine in a midnight-blue vase.
Hot summer morning
Feel the energy in the air
Mist burns away.
Early bath, clear-as-light water
Icy cold, electric up your spine
Yell makes birds scatter.
Hot summer day
Sit on the veranda
Ice clinks softly in lemonade.
Evening colors
Purple, red, orange
Paint the hills in watercolor.
Morning rises
Newly-minted light
Feel the promise of dawn.
Pumice is like
Nature’s styrofoam, or
volcanic spun sugar.
Obsidian is like a secret
but it doesn’t want you to find out.
Sits hot and glittering in the sun.
122- Origanally 116 was only ‘walk away, runaway hmm hum hmm today’ and scrolling through a cd. The little fragments you have at first are the hardest to get in my opinion.
116- Wow. That is really, really, good. I like the lines that rhyme like that.
123- I like those. The images are very sharp and clear, like that photo that you know must be possible to snap, but you never can.
I wrote a song, but it has no words.
126–Very profound.
in
life
whirls
are hidden
found
forgotten
often more
(important)
remember
to (twist) inside out
and sing with all of you
Some-a song lyrics I wrote:
Into the darkness and shadows you fall
Everything you learn just seems to pull you to a pall
You try to get along and live but you seem to try and stall
It starts inside of you and works its way out until you have to crawl
Falling into a pit of black,
Reaching for your life
It’s impossible to turn back
Once you face the strife.
The weight of the world grows and builds up inside your head
You continue with your life but your limbs start to feel like lead
You hear what people say but can’t remember what they said
You drag yourself along the street and try to get ahead
You start to think that everything you hear is a lie
You don’t think it matters, you don’t even try
You start wondering what things are supposed to imply
You don’t look or care, but your life starts to go awry
You realize things you’ve known so long over and over again
Looking back you wish things were like they were then
When someone makes a promise or a threat, you forget to wonder ‘when?’
You stop believing in things like magic light or Zen
Falling into a pit of black,
Reaching for your life
It’s impossible to turn back
Once you face that kind of strife.
Your eyes that saw color vibrantly now wield a shade of grey
All the things you though were important from your mind go away
You’re begin to not be concerned whether it’s April, June, or May
You look at the fakers, the liars and posers and your hands grow cold as clay
Nothing anymore is ever executed, nothing is ever meant to be
The people that surround you that fill your head with noise can’t see
You lose interest in emotions of others; you lose the feeling of ‘me’
You’re upset so easily, provoked in a flash then find no need to plea
You think that everyone you’ve met has constantly lied
You decide that the people who failed to help never really tried
Everything you say and create seems to be denied
No one anymore is on the inside, there is only outside
Falling into a pit of black,
Reaching for your life
It’s impossible to turn back
Once you face the strife.
Once you face that kind of strife.
(( How happy! :D))
I wrote some poems while I was supposed to be watching that cheesy movie in Freshman Trans. They’re sort of about the movie and sort of about nothing in particular. Here goes.
North
South
East
West
Bored.
On the screen
A cheesy drama plays out
A suicide
TWO suicides
Bored.
I doodle compass roses in my book.
So it sucks, but I wrote it out of sheer boredom in the space of two minutes.
And another one, even worse:
The movie’s almost over
How many will be dead before the end?
Two have died
One has tried
But now–
They’re talking about travel.
(130) I like them, Alice. They make me feel as if I had been there.
131- Gee, thanks.
Honest, you don’t want to have been there. We had to sit through an hour and a half of watching hysterical actors and actresses sob over their family dramas, and this was AFTER we had watched two depressed teenagers shut themselves in the garage and start the car, then proceed to make bad puns in the most emotional way, while dying.
Sorry, got a bit carried away there. On the bright side, I made some lovely compass roses.
(132) Sounds like you made good use of your time.
133- Much better use of it than if I had actually watched the movie, that’s for sure.
Cold
Clear
Blue-green sea.
The waves come rushing
Dancing
Roaring
Up the beach towards me.
The foam swirls ’round my ankles
‘Round my ankles and my
Knees
The hem of my skirt is sopping wet, and I laugh at the cold green sea.
Hmm. I didn’t mean for that to happen; I had a very different image in my mind when I started out. But it’s very good.
Here’s a poem that belongs on the romance and relationships thread:
Why am I as happy as a dove in the spring?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why do I hide my dark feelings and sing?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why does my voice have a nonchalant ring?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why do I live like it’s and average thing?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why do I seem so false to you?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why is my vision slowly turning to blue?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why do I seem to follow and pursue?
Because I only have half of my heart.
Why is it that only my gladness shines through?
Because I have half of my heart.
Ooh, I like that, Capricious, the “I have half of my heart” is a nice twist from something banal like “someone’s stolen my heart or something. Sounds like a song to me.
137 – I might end up actually making it into one. Most of my poems sound like song lyrics, which is good for me, since I have the power to make them into songs. It just takes a little extra effort.
136- I like it also. SOme of my poems are song-like too, but I can’t really add music to make them songs…
No one read mine?
No pressure, of course.
140- I did read it! It painted a great picture and really brightened my day. Great job.
141- Thank you.
140- i did. ’twas good
I miss you
so much
but
in my heart
there is no
hole
where you
used to
be.
I saw you
go,
you leaving me
or
me leaving you?
I don’t know
why
I can’t find
you.
Sometimes
I’ll miss
you,
but mostly
you’re just
a
memory
in the fog
in my head.
Mabe someday
we
could have been
something,
but now I
know it
can’t
be.
I’m slowly
forgetting you.
forgetting a memory
of how
you controlled me
or how I
adored you.
Mabe someday
we
could have been
something,
but now I
know it
can’t be.
I have to tell you about a brilliant new singer-songwriter I heard last night at a house concert in Washington. Her name is Anais Mitchell, and she’s from Vermont. She’s got an unusual voice and stage presence, and she’s SMART. Watch for her; I have a hunch she won’t be playing in living rooms for long.
144- You’re in WASHINGTON? And you’re not coming to visit ME?
Or do you mean DC?
The District of Columbia, I’m afraid.
If she’s the person I found on i-tunes, then she sounds amazing. In a little while you can be the one who’s predicted that she’ll become famous…
146- Bother.
It wasn’t your time to go;
Your clock wasn’t supposed to stop ticking.
How suddenly the cogs came undone,
How quickly the springs fell to pieces.
The face of it melted like wax under the sun
As your face grows hazy with the passage of time
though I see you in my dreams,
walking under clear skies.
I’ll see you again someday,
If what they say is true;
but for now–
I can only watch my clock turn,
And miss you,
And hold my breath,
And wait for the chime.
words tumble from my mouth like tears
(catch them as they fall,
a green glass bottle can hold more than messages)
towards the waiting grey sea
roaring, crashing so loudly
no one catches what I have said
the surf thunders in a milion voices,
each one a different lauguage
’till sound becomes noise
(and the words you waited so long
to let free are lost)
sand shivers through my fingers
the crumbled lives of shells and stones
(all reduced to dust)
f a l l i n g
as a bottle-green glass floats away
I lay in my room
And try to sleep
But I can’t stop
My heart tries to leap
As I close my eyes
I can’t help but wonder
If you’re thinking of me
My heart begins to sunder
I try to use tape
I try to use glue
It seems that all this I try
Leaves me without a clue
It’s not going to happen
As hard as I try
I have to accept
That it’s all just a lie
I push and I pull
I shove and I tug
The seemingly effortless
Like pulling a plug
They don’t understand
As much as they try
They won’t understand
These tears that I cry
It isn’t a problem
It goes without saying
They’re careless and selfish
Yet I sit here praying
With all my might
With all my hope
Throughout the night
I try hard to cope
In the very end
It will be alright
After we’re gone
We’ll regain our lost sight
((((>>> It’s not finished…
I like what you have so far, Cappy. Be sure to post the rest when you finish.
150- I love that. Especially the first stanza! Whee!
Do lyrical narratives count as poems? I’ve got one that’s a little under a page long.
Also does anyone get Cicada? I’m going to be published there (my first published work! Yay!). It will be in the Jan/Feb. 2008 issue. Although if I tell you which one it is, eveyone will know my real name…hm. Let me think on this one.
154- This is how I see it. I don’t get cicada, but you can’t be sure that I don’t get it. (even though I DON’T) But the thing is, what creepy adult stalker would want to read a kids (right?) literature magazine?
The reason I thought this is cuz’ when I send MY letter to MUSE, I’ll tell you guys about it, because if any of you are creepy stalkers, your probably not even reading MUSE in the first place!
154- really?! I’m going to start subscribing and I’m sort of curious how you go about submitting things to it….
156–They’re closed for submissions right now (I guess they had too many people submit!) but if you go to the Cicada website and look at “The Slam” you can submit stuff there, and other readers will critique it. I actually kind of like putting it there better than publishing it, I like hearing feedback. Good luck!
Ok so I’m not sure if this is a poem, but I don’t know what else it is. Here goes.
I am a watcher, a waiter, a wisher, a learner. I am a thinker, a philosopher, a doer, a leader. I am wind, I am fire, I am electric, I am energy. But mostly, in my heart, my soul, my mind—I am in love.
I watch the clouds change forms in the sky, then take the angle of the sun by its color and intensity. I like to follow the curve of a river, then dive and watch the minnows dart like silver turning. Nature abounds, it lives, it loves; why shouldn’t I?
People’s faces are made of clay. I sense the tiny scratches and tick marks that stretch and change an expression. I like to search for the fingerprints of the sculptor, then make my own mark on the wet material. Will someone like me find my marks later, and read them, and know why I left them? Will they know my feelings, read them in someone’s surprised and slightly awestruck expression?
If I watch the birds, will I learn how to fly? If I turn with the transforming flowers, will I find beauty? The leaves change colors like me, but fall to the ground in autumn; I sail on frozen creeks to bare branches and silent fields, where I learn peace. I can feel the light dancing, the earth turning, and the singing of the seasons, and so I dance and turn and sing until I am a part of it. How long was I lonely before I knew these subtle things?
You ask me why I am the way I am; I can tell you, it is for the thing that has left me with a wildly galloping heart, split my mind into a billion cartwheeling pieces, torn me to shreds and built me back up again: love, burning and filling, turning me from stone to glancing, laughing light. I can feel the blood flowing through my veins like fire and the joy exploding in my soul like fireworks. Oh, I am alive, I am turning, I am singing, I am dancing, I am flying; and for good or ill, better or worse, war or peace: I am in love.
Tell me what you think, and mostly what you would call it. It’s not really a narrative or a story or a poem; maybe a soem or a ptory?
Don’t everyone speak at once now
sorry, Nthanda! I really liked it! I haven’t gotten a chance to read it all, though so I’ll add more comments when I’m less busy!
154- Cool! We got it for a while, but not anymore. I’d like to submit something to it as I have a story written and I’d like to do something with it, but we don’t get it anymore. Maybe I should renew…
157- I really liked that. It’s sort of prose-ish in a way, but I don’t remember the exact difference between poetry and prose (it was on one of the threads…) so I’m not to sure. But I liked it a lot, I can relate to it but thinking I could also reltae to one written in the oposite. I feel like that (yours) when I’m outside in our yard, but when I’m surrounded by people or in school or like an actual person I get kind of sad. It’s good, I can see why they’re publishing it.
HELP! I really desperately need to know the rest of this poem. Here’s what I know from memory, please help me fill it in!
I went down to [somewhere] to sit on a graveyard wall
If there be spooks, I said to myself, I’ll see them, one and all
[something somewhere etcetera for several lines]
A boy passed by, and his hair was red
He paused by a sunken mound
“How goes it all with the spooks?” said he
“Have you seen any walking around?”
[something probably quite profound about the nature of boys–I think]
So I took the hour to teach that lad
About the things unseen but true [these last two lines are exceeding unclear]
[And at that moment] a bat flew by
A [something] began to call
And that red-haired boy walked off in haste
When I needed him most of all
I lost a slipper as I fled
I bumped against a post
But nevertheless I knew I’d won
The secret of raising a ghost
The method is this (at least for a miss):
You must sit on a graveyard wall
And talk of the things you’ve never seen
And you’ll see them, one and all
It doesn’t ring a bell. Where did you first read or learn it?
162- It’s in “The Haunted House and other spooky poems or tales”. I believe it’s called “Spooks” and is by someone called Nathalia Crane (a child prodigy, apparently), but I’m not sure. I managed to remember a few more lines last night, but not the whole poem.
I went down to Framingham to sit on a graveyard wall
If there be spooks, I said to myself, I’ll see them, one and all
[something about time etcetera for several lines]
A boy passed by, and his hair was red
He paused by a sunken mound
“How goes it all with the spooks?” said he
“Have you seen any walking around?”
Now the taunt is a sign of a boy’s disdain
For the study I did pursue
So I took the hour to teach that lad
About the things unseen but true
The clock sruck ten and a bat flew by
[two cats] began to call
And that red-haired boy walked off in haste
When I needed him most of all
I lost a slipper as I fled
I bumped against a post
But nevertheless I knew I’d won
The secret of raising a ghost
The method is this (at least for a miss):
You must sit on a graveyard wall
And talk of the things you’ve never seen
And you’ll see them, one and all
Hmm. I’ve almost got it. Amazing the things you dredge up from your mind. I haven’t read that poem in over a year.
GAPAs could you remove the poem from post one thirteen please? Thank you.
*revives*
Inside of that house
on the corner there,
Insidem beyond the shattered windows
sagging porch, decaying brick-in there
darkness saturates the hallways
coagulates on each threshold
and tha stairs are collapsing
and the bats in the attic and the rats in the basement
are the only shards of life
Inside that house,dear
children played by the fireplace
voices echoing in the air.
Skipper still needs to figure out a way to venture past flat statement.
Not quite done, just a simple little poem:
Are you afraid to fly,
With someone else’s wings?
Shoes aren’t good enough,
You need a birds eye of things.
How many years have
These stones loved the river
Not knowing they were poor?
-Basho
Yay!
Background Music
At the charity concerts,
she
never
said
anything.
She just stood at the back
arms like sticks
and a torn T-shirt
Every muscle tensed, strained
eyes on the stage
drinking in
every note
every movement
as if it would nourish her
and occasionally,
she would close her eyes
and sway, from side to side
and it looked like
she was trying
To shake of the troubles of the world.
(169) Thank you for posting your poem. It’s nice; sad, but the imagery is lovely.
riding a bike
rattlerattlecreak
stutter, forward thrust-
shaking and wobble,
jerkily accelerating–
(and then)
…woosh…
the bird that flies as freely
has yet to come back down.
This is a poem I wrote for an English class. Please don’t be afraid to be honest about your opinion on it.
im writing a poem
dont know what to say
she says this is easy
i dont know how to play
this game of writing
of coaxing the words on the screen
into the way that you want them
why is this so difficult
out of ideas
out of interest
i want to do something else
but the paper is due in less than three hours
take me now
just slap on the cuffs
put me in detention i dont care
hey im finished
Ooh, ooh, ooh! I’ve written a bunch of poems in English this year. I’m going to get my journal so I can post a bunch.
Halloween (These are from a while ago, I admit)
October’s here
It’s passing fast
These peaceful days
Will never last
All Hallow’s Eve
The thirty-first
When ghostly spirits
Are at their worst
When black cats prowl
Along the blocks
And little witches
And astronauts
Make their yearly roams
Around
Up the streets
And through the town
Misty moon
Provides dim light
Prepare to be scared
It’s Halloween night
I Wish I Was Sick
It hangs like a dark cloud
Right over my head
I feel sick to my stomach
Can I just stay in bed?
I wish I had the measles
I’d even take the chicken pox
I wonder if I’d get sick enough
By smelling dirty socks
Anything, anything, ANYTHING at all
Maybe I’ll become allergic to chairs
But something’s got to stop me from having
To walk up that school’s front stairs
I could swear that my head is about to explode
I think that my face’s turning blue
I guess I’ll do anything to stay home from school
On the day my Language Arts project is due
Pain
Muscles tensed
Like a coiled spring
Waiting for
The soccer game to begin
The whistle blows
The ball is kicked
The play sets off
The players pick
Their plays and passes
On the fly
Just ball and players
Under wide blue sky
They kick me down
And never stop
The whistle wails
But I can’t get up
The pain, the pain
It tries to drown
I close my eyes
I cry, I frown
A yellow card
I hear the words
But I still lie there
In another world
Slowly I rise
And grimace my face
I look at my legs
Scrapes mark the place
It hurts
But I’ll fight
Use my anger to win
I’m going to show them, they’ll be stunned at the sight
I brush myself off
And I get ready to play
“I’ll be fine, let’s continueâ€
Softly I say
There’s a free kick for our team
I resume my endeavor
Because pain is temporary
But pride is forever
Snow
Snow, snow
Please come and stay
Come on out
So we can play
Line the ground
With white and grey
Come on out, don’t stay away
Clouds will hide you
From sunny rays
Come on out, in you I’ll lay
Snow, snow
Please come and stay
Come on out so we can play
Seasons
Dark and dim
As days grow shorter
Hushing winds
Chill brick and mortar
Raindrops dance down
From the sky
Drenching rain
Fall’s last goodbye
Moods grow sharp
And all grow weary
Of chilly days, of ice and snow
We hate to see the sky so teary
Then comes the magic
Of the sun, its rays
Promising, gifting
Better days
The flowers are growing
Birds return from their flight
The world is awakening
From a long winter night
We’ll run through the tulips
And grass coated in dew
“Thank goodness it’s springtime!â€
We shout to the blue
We’re alive! We survived!
And now spring has sprung
Winter is over
So the joy has begun
Please tell me what you think of them.
I’d like to ask Pentononikk’s permission to use her poem “driven snow” in Individual Speech.
173- Those are some good poems. Wish I could rhyme like that.
My poem was hurriedly put together in the fifteen minutes before school, so I had to use free verse and no caps to save time.
176-Lol.
Yeah, I’ve always been pretty good at rhyming…but I use online rhyming dictionaries a lot when I’m at home.
Not at school, though.
Why did this thread die?
Revive, thread! Revive! *uses magic healing powers*
-uses bandaids-
I don’t know. I had a poem in my head on the bus, but I don’t know if I still have it. i wrote down what I had, maybe it’ll come back eventually.
[fragments of possible future poem]
If I or you or he or she
should ever have the chance to see
something more than what things be
something more of life.
/
so these endless paths we weave
these weary ways we walk
while days may dream and nights conspire
and hearts are chained and locked
/
there is nowhere left to dream
no ways to weave or wander
nothing is or nothing seems
—–line I haven’t written—–
Her body hides an ocean
a sea barely visible through
the storms locked in her irises
But the storm doesn’t hurl outward
instead inside her, beating
underneath her pale skin
It rages beneath her ribs
to pound against her heart
in anger, confusion, loss
Their beats match.
Her hair is long and dark
and her eyes watch from beneath
and her eyes are the gray of rain
Silently she walks
when her storms are not cycling
the sea is calm and quiet
Calm and quiet and dead.
She wishes she could stop feeling
for feelings are what make us hurt
make the storms
she longs for what
she is too afraid to have
to afraid to dream
To afraid to long for.
So silently she walks
trembling she stands
eyes lowered
Forces her fear
and longing and loss
to be washed away, almost completely
She lets the sea take her.
Both are very good, Jadestone.
There are such joys that
some people
can never feel
in life
Strife
Takes one of them
In his palm
Carresses her
Into a false
Calm
in his palm
She sat until
The waves of Grief
washed her
away
Grief spreads
her lifeless form
a faltering
still warm
clover
falling
falling
hard onto his waves
he saves
all knowledge of
Pain, the bringer
the bells chime
the ringer
lulling the maids into
false hope
so he may cut them
through
And the sad, the tears
Pain must bring
the clouds no longer
rise
or birds to
sing
the fears
of all the ancient time
bring her eyes
to a final
headlong
close
the fire dissapears
the fight
of the night
the rhyme
the rhythm of her
heart
has made the
earth
the hand of Death
to stop turning
And so
her face too white for
Death
and his black
cape of
wrath to show
he runs a finger
on her back
and turns
her snow
to the hearts
of men
and women
to joyous
to
help her
start
to see
Inside the beauty lies the pain
Even the briefest of unreturned glances
Cut like knives
Piercing, entering
But the ache is hollow instead of sharp.
I warned myself against this
Cautioned my heart not to lose itself again
Each time grows worse
Yet here I am
To feel so much is to slowly die.
Fantasies and realities that can never be
I hide from, ignoring them as they
Swirl through my mind
Close my eyes against
Dreams and wishes never come true.
Maybe if I were braver, stronger
I might have the courage to even look into your eyes
But I don’t, can’t
When you live in darkness
Even the most beautiful of lights hurts.
Inside the pain my heart clutches
At the only shard of beauty there is
Even though it is sharp
like glass
My heart flutters at the thoughts I keep inside.
Do not follow my lonely path
Riddled with love and loss, loneliness
Pain and beauty
The sharpest of knives
Twist inside, it’s not death but not alive.
To stand on a beach and feel the wind blow,
The gentle heartbeat of the tide’s motion,
And the pulse of the world, as time would know,
While cool water travels to the ocean.
The sun sinks, and with it, dreams of the day.
Problems, frustrations, gone with the sunset,
The rolling tide washes them far away.
However, everything is not gone yet,
Problems can’t be solved by wishful dreaming.
But on the shore, all alone, a mind set
Of determination can always bring
A new light, new hope, to things you regret.
So, next time you’re by yourself on the shore,
Slow down and think; you might find a bit more.
That was my sonnet I wrote for english. I was going to do it like a traditional sonnet (about love and in old english) but I couldn’t find any words to describe love and since I had nothing down, I couldnt write it in old english. bleh. Oh, well. not bad for a first attempt. maybe i’ll try again later.
I am solitary
alone
one with nothing
sister to shame
Oh!
I let a cry escape my heaving chest
Tears silently fall
If I had only known
that life was
waiting all along
But in the end
It was mine to blame
And now I can never
rest
At all
Why did I go
Why did I let myself fall
Away into
cliffs of pain
of despair
of crushing
pounding
loss
The wind whipped my hair
I saw
My life
and then
I saw you
and I hoped you would be happy
with what I was bound
to do
and then I ran my
body
heaving,
panting,
wanting the end
to the rocks
of tears
which cut me through
And so
I am alone here
On my own
and lonely
as I wait
for hate
to pass by me
I am now showing a type of poem.
Acrostic:
My very own
A good taste
Roasted over a campfire
Spun sugar
Halo of of tastiness
Mine, all, mine
Awesome
Like it
Lots of nice sugar
Of coarse, its all mine
Wonderful
yay.
That took a long time. Did you notice that this is mostly poetry?
I have two more. Here they are.
Dead Santa
Santa, Santa,
Santa’s down
Santa, Santa,
Santa’s down.
(If anyone is religously offended I am very sorry.)
Mr. Snail
Hi dead snail
How are you?
You have been killed
You are through.
I’ve just noticed that lots of my poetry is about death and detruction. Weird.
My resolution this year is to try to compose a least one stanza of poetry every day.
175 (Mina)- Very belatedly: yes.
I really ought to get back to poetry. It doesn’t bite quite as hard as prose.
I just deleted my poem.
I bet I can get it back.
If I want to.
I don’t want to.
It wasn’t very good, anyways.
In short, it sucked.
It seemed pretentious.
Which makes sense.
Because it was.
So I got rid of it.
And now I mourn.
Why?
Composed on the spot, in the comment box.
In Which You
grab my hand and tell me you’ve loved me since whenever,
the time hardly matters now that we’ve
taken care of the basics.
My hand crawls through the air,
(which is cold in case you were wondering)
but all that’s left of you is some kind of ghost
like I was imagining it all, hallucinating,
it was all a dream or something.
As Narcissus I find myself
gazing at the reflection of my ghost-pale hand in the window.
There you are and there and there
each star reflects your face and
I see you even as I desperately try to escape
my own mind or heart or whatever it is that
makes me refuse to draw away from you.
One of these days I’ll talk to you,
meaning that I will say simple and cold
(frankly I love you)
and warm the freezing space around my lips.
i look out the window
it’s raining
water falling down
the glass
falling down
down
my porcelain features that
never change
and always
say nothing
but you
will never see
me cry
for
glass dolls
do not shed
H20
from their glassy
eyes
that blink and
say nothing
with lips parted
in a
would-be smile
mona lisa smile
an empty
grin
painted on to
fool the world and
say nothing.
192- Yay penty. Why do your poems reflect me so?
No poems from me. For a while now. That makes me a bit sad. I should write one. Or maybe a complex sentence.
(192) penty you explain things so well, I don’t know what it is. But that bit about the window is exactly right.
At(one)ment
Let water lap at my heels
and break silently on the shore
let the leaves fall through her hair
and her voice wash through evr’y pore
and my face turn unto the wind
and my eyes to the cliffs of the sea
let her know that she is one
being she, inside of me.
Somehow here I seem to find
a little part of me
A tiny bit that weaves and winds
something I did not expect to see
Glimmering glass and twisting whorls
and little shards of stone
Smoke that twists and breaths and curls
left, forgotten and alone
Coloured sparks of emerald fire
soft, snow white ash
Drifting whims, dreams, desires
sifted through the grass
Curling around the bit of me
I’d not thought to find
Protected from the swallowing sea
encircling, but not a bind
A little day, a little night
to make a single spark
A little life, a little fright
a single light shines in the dark
A ring around my cracking mind
a hollow echoed tune
So carefully surrounding, entwined
a little piece of you.
—
First poem in ages. There were more lines I wanted in there but I have masted my impulses and actually kept this one (relatively) short.
195- I like that one of yours Skipper. It is nice… I like how the separated ‘one’ in the title becomes more understood in the last line.
I wrote this Monster Mash parody song. It helps to know a bit about SETI before you read it, so you may want to do a bit of quick googling.
The Martian Mash
I was working at the dish
Late one night
When I beheld an eerie sight
An alien tune was ringing through my ears
I’d been hoping for this for years and years-
It was the mash!
It was the Martian Mash!
The Martian Mash!
A Cydonian smash!
The Martian Mash!
Great to play at a bash!
The Martian Mash!
Come do the Martian Mash!
Amazed, I let out a yell
They must have heard me in New Rochelle!
I woke my boss right out of his bed,
He said “Can’t it wait till morning? Go soak ya head!â€
Ignoring all his curses and groans
I offered him my headphones
He heard the Mash!
He heard the Martian Mash!
The Martian Mash!
A Cydonian smash!
The Martian Mash!
Great to play at a bash!
The Martian Mash!
Come do the Martian Mash!
Contact! Hooray! Talk about fun!
And only forty years after we’d begun!
We phoned our founders,
The Director and her son
Everyone came, crazy for that sound
Not that we’re publicity hounds
Some guys in dark glasses started to arrive
Their name was something like “Majestic Fiveâ€
We showed them the Mash!
We played the Martian Mash!
The Martian Mash!
A Cydonian smash!
The Martian Mash!
Great to play at a bash!
The Martian Mash!
Come do the Martian Mash!
Then from our headphones, a voice did ring
ET wanted to say just one thing
“Too much waiting!†He said, shaking his fist
“Send some astronauts up here to teach us the twist!â€
Thanks for the Mash!
Thanks for your Martian Mash!
The Martian Mash!
Your Cydonian smash!
The Martian Mash!
Great to play at a bash!
The Martian Mash!
Come do the Martian Mash!
Now everything’s cool, NASA drew up a plan
And in three days, we send our first band
They’re great singers, great dancers too
But they need one more member- how about you!
Then we’ll all dance the Mash!
We’ll dance the Martian Mash!
The Martian Mash!
The Cydonian smash!
The Martian Mash!
Great to play at a bash!
The Martian Mash!
Come do the Martian Mash!
take my hand
walk with me
just us, alone
we share eyes
the world is
a mess, isn’t it?
walk with me
across this flooded desert
sand crunching
under bare toes
small things scurry
away from us
together
we will fill our pockets
with smooth pebbles
and stones and sand
we will hold hands
and walk, singing
into the sea.
(196) Thanks Jadestone. I just noticed something, in my poem the line ‘and my face turn unto the wind’, it should be into not unto.
That’s a lovely poem, especially if its the first you’ve written in ages.I like the movement from image to image, how you transitioned from shards to smoke to day and night.
It’s funny what you said about the title of my poem, I hadn’t even planned it that way.
The Lady of the Sea
Can be held in no bonds
Takes only captives
Then sets them free to drift
On the empty green waves
The Lady of the Sea
Has had countless lovers
But has lost them all
To another thing
feared more than herself
The Lady of the Sea
Is a hater of darkness
But, unbeknownst to her,
sends men into
the more compelling arms of Death.
each of us falling
into the other
as if we were pulled into the center of a web
balanced between.
VISUAL INTOXICATION letter to your digital self, I believe in you because of _____ you change my life because of _____ please understand or I will xxx
starting from the beginning I don’t suppose you understand it very well, what
happened to the me before you could remember me?
etcetc beige background plastic acrylic polyster, it’s a blend actually eyes like these don’t reflect very much
nowadays nowadays ceiling staring is a ritual
a daily existential crisis, then breakfast
tearing holes in the sky, kicking holes in the ground, punching holes in windows, a lifestyle? but honestly
I’m still me, my hair’s just different.
185–Jadestone, I LOVE that poem, mostly because I’ve been there before.
I wrote this one in my head while I was running one day. I was going over some leaves and I remembered how you’re not supposed to do that b/c you don’t know if there’s potholes or bugs or whatever underneath. And all of a sudden the first two lines popped into my head.
Poem for Soldiers’ Graves
Who knows what silent spirits lurk
beneath the fallen leaves
Or who for them has shed soft tears
Who mourns them and who grieves
Or how and why and where dark Death
Swiftly cut down their lives
Or what lost cause for which they fought
The bloody air then crystallized.
And though their corpses lie silent and still
Beneath the frozen ground
The things their death did start and end
Speak without a sound
For the only victory in war
That gains sway over the grave
Is the chance to resurrect the truth
And heed it another day.
Can anyone suggest a line that could replace “who mourns them and who grieves” (in the 1st stanza)? I’ve never liked it and I need to change it. Piepoints to anyone who comes up with one.
203- Yeah… it sucks when you feel like that…
I like your poem a lot. They’re a good first two lines, I love it when stuff liek that just comes up… I think the 4th line is fine as is, but I can’t think of any alternatives if you want to change it. Hmm.
I like the last line of the first stanza. Also the word ‘crystalized’… I think that’s another favourite word of mine.
I have a long poem that starts like this:
“Six million years since leaving the trees
Now on the eve of incredible journeys
Above and around is shinning blue
Just beyond adventure true
All of us in gene and bone
Are only made for this blue zone
Extending reach of human eye
Time to dive and time to fly.”
197-That’s funny!
203-I liked it. I don’t know how you could change that line though.
In the time of when we live
When we seek to search and find
All the knowlegde Earth could give
Unto our body and our mind
Is life too short or days too long
Is death the end or a beginning
We all try to find what’s wrong
To stop the evil side from winning
Is there a ghost inside us all
Waiting for a quick demise
Can our spirit try to call
Out for character so wise
What if we just have one life
Only this, no pride nor shame
The mighty pen and warrior’s knife
Are really just one and the same
This is what I can come up with right now. Suggestions for editing welcome!
203-That’s an awesome poem. I love the second part, especially, although it’s all awesome.
206-I like yours as well! It gets the point across nicely.
The words, like bells
Through troubled mind
I wish, I hope
To someday find
The peace, the hope
I had before
My dreams, my laughter
I want nothing more
Peace, for all
That’s all I need
My sickly mind, it longs to rest
My emotions, slowly, softly bleed
Emotions, ragged, full of holes
Onto the paper, they slowly seep
My mind, my life, it’s all revealed
Through poetry, it forms, it creeps
I just wrote that in the comment box…suggestions, please!
We post through the night
We all post post after post
True bloggers we are
You can tell that I’m bored…
205–That sounds like a start to an epic, like maybe a long story about a journey and fighting and stuff like that. Hmmm…*goes off to write*
I’m writing a story entirely in verse. It’s going rather well.
209- That’s the begining of the poem, which is about what an astronaut and a deep sea diver think while exploring.
My school does “Poetry Out Loud” every year, and the Literary Arts Department is required to do it ::grumble::
But anyway, here is one of the poems I’m considering doing:
Boy and Egg
By Naomi Shihab Nye
Every few minutes, he wants
to march the trail of flattened rye grass
back to the house of muttering
hens. He too could make
a bed in hay. Yesterday the egg so fresh
it felt hot in his hand and he pressed it
to his ear while the other children
laughed and ran with a ball, leaving him,
so little yet, too forgetful in games,
ready to cry if the ball brushed him,
riveted to the secret of birds
caught up inside his fist,
not ready to give it over
to the refrigerator
or the rest of the day.
210-It sounds really cool.
221-It’s nice.
forever
once we were friends
like two peas in a pod
we would play ’til the day turned to night
we would whistle and shout
and run all about
from the dawn to the last beam of light
once we were friends
like two laces for shoues
nothing could tear us apart
we might find but we’d never
stay mad for long
we were always still friends in our hearts
once we were friends
like a dog and his bone
we needed each other to be there
a shoulder to cry on
someone to confide in
a friendship that noone could tear
once we were friends
like a ball and a bat
for one must rely on the other
a hand you can hold
an encouraging word
lke one to a child from a mother
once we were friends
like the sun and the moon
different, but oh, so alike
you were my sunshine
the earth for my roots
the training wheels to hold up my bike
once we were friends
like paper and glue
perfect for holding together
we’d look at the sky
and declare, so convinced
that we would be friends forever
Oh, wow. Typo attack.
Second section, second line: shoes, not shoues
Second section, fourth line: fight, not find
That poem is somewhat autobiographal.
Cat’s Meow-That’s a cute poem.
I’m going to think of a poem now…ummm…
Tonight is starlit
Moonlight shining bright
Cold wind blowing
Making everything right
The kind of night
You don’t sleep at all
Just to watch the moon
Scoot across the sky
Such a beautiful night and you can’t help but wonder
Who else is up tonight
Staring into the sky
Losing sleep or sanity
Yeah that’s my weirdness that happens when I can’t sleep…
The “Diver” section of the poem that started in post 205:
Leaving the support ship
Magnetic arm lets go
Filling the balast tanks
And the sub heads down below
The ocean eats up colors
Red and orange soon are gone
And just barely can we see
The sunlight that we saw at dawn
Around us, all is blue and clear
Deep within the hydrosphere
Darker shades as we descend
Eventually, the blue does end
Black with ink the sea seems brushed
Without our sub, we’d all be crushed
Here on the abyssal plain
Small distant lights like drops of rain
Fish carry lights to help them see
Through this deep infinity
Vents spewing muck of black and brown
Here, 17,000 down
On the unknown ocean floor
Such things we’ve never seen before.
216 – Thank you! And I know what you mean. All of my best poetry happens when I just can’t sleep. (That poem above included)
217 – It’s kind of interesting how it sort of switches formats halfway through (from every other line rhyming to every line rhyming) I like it.
I have a few on my computer. They’re a bit long.
Following: (inspired by Pan’s Labyrinth)
to just obey like that
its something only your kind can do
to act without question
follow in their path
not thinking
not seeing
or even believing
you don’t realize
just how easy it would be
for them to destroy you
before you knew
what they were trying to do
or how simple it is
for you to escape
just get away
but you just keep expecting us to believe in you
that you really want to do this
and you want us to join you
get shocked when we won’t too
shocked by the static
attraction to the center
and the only thing we can’t do
is move them
spin them around and throw everyone off
the best we can do
is stand back and wait
for you to come to
and break through
their defenses
Smaller:
we keep trying to shrink everything now
let’s make a gadget that can put all the music in your hand
let’s make some things that let you write letters to your friends
and you can carry them in your pocket
let’s all go on a diet so we can be little too
we can build something that can give you any information
and it’s smaller than a book
let’s make everything smaller
shrink our morals
if the borderline is smaller it’s easier to go over it
hey let’s make some of the little things more important
well now what happened to the big picture
everyone has just a little piece of it
hey now why don’t we put it together
well it’s a small world now
well isn’t it
we can see the whole world now
and we go in our little space things
and they can see how little we all look from space
so lets make us smaller and smaller
hey now we’re getting microscopic
but we’re not small enough
ok now
alright how could we possibly get smaller
lets get far out now
it looks little from a distance
lets distance us from our life
shrink it down
hey now where’d it go
can’t see it when it’s too small
These were a few weeks ago, and I decided to stick it to the capitalization man.
The words
Skitter and rush
And tumble and flap
And creep and slither
And soar and wander
Through my mind.
And my fingers
Itch to create
A story
A legend
A tale
Of breathtaking beauty
And I know not where to start.
And all the stories I long to create
The fables
The sagas
Are trapped
Behind a curtain
In my mind.
And the curtain lifts
For a moment
Or two
And I see the wondrous beings
The drama, the magic
And then
The curtain falls
And I cannot recall
Just how to write
To capture
In my net
The stories
That I know are there.
The words
Cannot escape
And I know
That I could lift the curtain
And let them out
But I know not how.
219 – I really like the second one!
220 – Ooh, I know exactly what you mean. Nice one!
The “Astronaut” and “Epilogue” sections of the poem from posts 205 and 217:
3, 2, 1, Liftoff
Time to fly
Shuttle blasts into the sky
Booster rockets fall away
So much to love about launch day
Around us, all is blue and clear
Roaring through the atmosphere
Below us, cities look so small
It’s clear Earth really is a ball
Blue changes to purple dark
And we don’t stop our pace
At 62 miles we mark
The boundary of outer space
External tank separates
Buring up in air below
Momentum takes over
And it’s orbiting we go
Black with ink all would seem
Without this ship, we couldn’t breathe
And, exactly as we planned
Small far off lights like grains of sand
Blazing suns of distant worlds
Shining like a string of pearls
Every moment like Sci-Fi
Here, 200 miles high
From these stars that I see
Is someone looking back at me?
And so boldly, we shall go
Through skies above and seas below
We brave, we explorers two
Who dare to go beyond the blue.
220-I like that. I feel like that all the time.
220- I hate that feeling. And then as I try to describe something there are so many words I need to use to do it the story becomes more adjectives than plot.
Tiny jewels tumble in the water
Little shells rubbing, rubbing against each other
Grinding down to snowsoft sand
Turning into background dust
Random and not finished thought but I must go now.
222–awesome! I like both of them, but particularly the astronaut one–and particularly the line, “And so boldly, we shall go…”
225- Thank you. It just came into my head one day.
I need to turn to poetry for solace. :'(
———————————————-
It is calm
The twilight night beckons to the waves
As the girl sits atop the hill
Legs dangling, swinging, soul is ringing
And she’s thinking of what could have been
“If he doesn’t love me now,
I don’t think he ever will”
The sea is crashing and relashing
The girl sees the dissipating sandy shores of foam
Thinking, Would the waves curl over me?
What I am or
What I used to be?
His face sharpens in her head
Th complexion and the sandy hair
The big blue eyes that stared, and then
Then came her
Her chest swelled and fell with dread
Will they walk over where my soul last roamed?
There is darkness over the shoreline now
And the girl peers to her wrist
The watch ticks steady, like a drumroll
Beaing on the leather of her skin
Is this the beach
Where they first kissed?
She stands to attention
Her toes hug the grass
The wind swaying, flowing
And her brain beating in a new dimension
Her palms sweat as her heart thumps
She hears a seagull’s lonely cry
Her last sound, perhaps…?
She jumps.
227- the last word of the second stanza was read by me as ‘tread’…
227 – That’s good!
228,229- Thanks so much!
Ok, creative juices flowing….processing…i’m gonna write an abstract poem today i think!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Words coming from my mouth
like
raindrops( catch them
if you can, and I will
tell you how to put
them
all
together
in a big
straight
line)
and they tell stories about
a torn hem
of the maiden’s
trill
and the golden sun;s
great
loot
and how the sunflowers
they grow so
t
a
l
l
and they don’t quiver
for a single
feather
thin as an
au-tumn
twig
and create a stitch in
time
and if you listen,child
you just might
hear
the
thumping sound
of a new
spring dawn
the step of a deer
on the ground
and the sunlight
that
goes
around
and
around
and
around
but that’s just
how it goes
with
me.
There is a face on the other side
The white veil blurred
There comes a crash of the ocean tide
To Poseidon’s pallid bride
Her mouth a painted red
The soft speech slurred
The flowing mane of hair atop her head
Black as night from a raven’s view
Complexion hard as though by
fleetingly darkened hue
And yet she gives the writer’s hands
the wings to fly.
231- I really like that. especially the last two lines.
My class is doing a collaboration with Carnegie Mellon University — their advanced poetry department is writing assignments for us (each student in the class is partnered with a student in the department). This week’s assignment was:
“Describing The Moment:
Poetry is largely constructed on association. Sometimes, a house, a bike, or a country, can trigger the memory of a feeling the poet doesn’t want to forget.
Although we know ‘In a Station of the Metro’ as a short, two-lined poem, Ezra Pound brooded on that image for years. Each time he wrote something down he deleted words until he only retained the feeling. Thus, thirty lines became two lines that represented one of the great Imagist poems of that period.
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
In this assignment, I want you to work with objects that are seemingly insignificant but which you can associate with a very specific moment or mood with it. I want you to explore that mood. You can describe the object if you wish, but only if you think it would affect the mood of the poem.
In a way, this exercise will be an Imagist poem in reverse. I want you to tell absolutely everything you can about that moment. You can even associate it with other moments. Just make sure they’re specific. Write a minimum of 20 lines. After you write the poem don’ t go back and edit your lines because I want the original feeling to be preserved.”
This assignment was really fun to work with, but I think I had a bit of trouble understanding the assignment. It was really hard not to go back and edit, because I always feel that my poems (and everything else) are really terrible if they haven’t been revised. This poem took me about twenty minutes, because I wasn’t allowed to revise:
The Red Fleece
My eyes squint as I look ahead
at the churning bay. In almost seconds
the bright clear blue water
morphed into a tunnel of black,
deep blue caverns whipping the hull like rockets
scratching their way up and over the deck
plunging into the cockpit and soaking everything in sight.
It thrashes its body around my frozen legs
pillaging for more, never satisfied.
Heaving its body up and over the splashboard,
past the bow and back into the storming lake.
The water is lifted by the wind
combining into a lethal combination
lashing out against my neck,
gusts of knives clawing against my neck.
My hand, rigidly stiff,
as if prematurely jolted into rigor mortis,
pushes the tiller back and forth
scraping the traveler against my finger
splintering into soggy shards
drifting away with the ripples.
A wave hooks itself over the boom,
grabbing tight and yanking it sideways
lurching the boat into a deadly heel
the wind filling the sail
pushing the mast closer and closer
to submersion.
The water constantly validates its strength
rippling to its full potential.
It soaked my shirt long ago,
its bright red color now a dark maroon
trying to push me into hypothermia.
But the fleece grasps my arms tightly,
it will not give in to the pleas of the water.
It refuses to wait for the sea to open its gates
to swallow us up,
to let us plummet to the bottom of the lake
to rest silently on the bed,
bubbles drifting up, yearning for sunshine.
I close my eyes and let the mainsheet slip through my fingers,
the rope burning my frigid hands,
a symphony of shattered raindrops dissolving behind me.
The rigging rests and my eyes open,
a soft nudge beneath my feet
I lift the daggerboard and coast home.
Every day we walk together
Though we wonder
Ponder
Blunder
We hold hands along the way
If we stamor
whisper
clamor
Our palms give us words to say
We feel a lore
Lust
Adore
Eyes softer than a feather, whether
Joyful
Weary
Tearful
We are molded into love and we have
Har-
Mo-
Ny
As we softly count to three
Faces flush
Soft blush
Sunset on a country lane
You can be
there
with me
Until we are forced back to reality again.
234- I like the rhythm of that.
234- I like the rhythm of that.
I remember
Summer –
Sunshine
Yellow and warm
Upon my skin
Water
Blue and smooth
Against my
Dangling feet
Hot pavement
Ripe fruit
The smell of summer
Heat
Dry grass in the country
Green grass in the park
Hot
Hot
Days
And
Cool
Cool
Water.
That’s what I wanted today. So I took a walk in the sun, which was sort of warm but counteracted by wind chill, and now I feel better.
—————————————————
Is there any other way,
Than a woeful, weary wandering
The break of day
Leaves the souls of night time pondering
As the full moon falls
From a perch atop the sky
The silent evening refugees
Sit on rocks of slate to cry
And the wolf ceases his howls
For the crowing of the cock
As the endless stretch of time gives way
To impatient ticks of clocks
The shadow shrouded figures
Try to keep the color raven
While opalline gulls urge sunup
To assume their flying haven
And the lovers, givers,dreamers
Enjoy the last moments of black
Before the truth comes back to reach them
And to slowly take them back.
Wow, all of these are so pretty!
In English today we had a writing prompt about springtime, and I was going to write a poem when all of a sudden one of the girls at my table said, “[Cat], you’re going to write a poem aren’t you? Because that’s what you always do.” So I decided not too, which ended up being a good thing anyways. =P
GAPAs, I have a huge favor to ask of you. (dramatic pause) may we please have a new Poems and Songs thread? Pretty, pretty please with a hot pink bunny on top?
Anyways, in the meantime, I’m going to randomly post the poem I randomly wrote since my English class is studying the Holocaust.
11 million lost their lives
Because of who they were
Treated just like animals
Like its, not hims or hers
11 million could have been saved
If someone had thought to care
The power of a mighty voice
The strength – none can compare
11 million voices lost
Who knows what could have been?
Could the geniuses of our modern times
Been lost to the regime?
11 million to be forgotten
Unless we choose to think
And remember what happened then
And could happen again in a blink
11 million to die once more
If we can’t change our ways
If we all can learn to understand
Then perhaps there’ll be better days
Opinions, please.
I think I’ll try dying,
just this once
fill my head with sky
‘stead of smoke and smog
I think I’ll close my eyes now
lay back and wait
watch as death strolls up
opens that dark gate
say “hey there, how are you”
flash him a smile
before stepping through
I think I’ll just die for a while.
—
eh, random typing from a sleep-deprived me. Composed in comment box.
There’s no way out if it can’t be done
No way to collaborate with everyone
There’s no path to walk if we can’t stand straight
Should we call a truce, or are we too late
What’s the point in lust if we can’t find love
Why does rain fall down from the heavens above
And though I sat and thought for a while
Not one person stopped to give me a smile.
240 – Very nice. I like the last line the best, even though it’s simple.
241 – I like the line “What’s the point in lust if we can’t fine love”. Good job.
I sat upon the heavens and watched the world wake
The clouds were just like frosting, with birds for sprinkles on the cake
Islands dotted vast oceans like little boats for boys
The sunrise lit the grassy plains with the purest kind of joy
Way beneath me tides ebbed and flowed with ever mindless precision
Winds shaped the mountains down to dust with every harsh collision
I sat upon the heavens and watched the dawning of a day
The moon retreats and the sun reveals to again start the ballet
GAPAs, I offer to you these numbers.
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Request granted!