Poetry Thread

Feel free to put down your poetry whether in sonnet form, haiku form, free form, or whatever form you choose.
To start it off, a sonnet of mine that I wrote about a year ago.

The Lake

Beautiful green lake, it is so tranquil
Reflection of trees displays the nature,
The water ripples and then it grows still,
Glistening grey trout make the water stir,
Those same fish enhance the waters beauty,
Look hard but there is no place with more charm,
A relaxed place with no sense of duty,
No chance that anything will come to harm,
The sun beats down with no clouds overhead,
The turtle bakes, then submerges to cool,
The frog on its pad, the green florid bed,
Peace on earth here in this watery pool,
There is no foe here just aquatic friends,
Peacefully resting ‘til they meet their ends.

McGraw said:

poems

Click to expand...

Great poems, I especially like Philosophy and Deja Vu.

A poem I wrote a couple months ago with no form except that it rhymes...

All of my ambition is lost,
What will be the cost?
I live a life of fear.
Yet I still persevere.
Bland, bored and tired,
The feelings I acquire.
What is my path in life?
Tired of this unnecessary strife.
The emotions I have stored,
Hopefully one day will be poured.
Like an ocean of confusion,
I am swallowed by illusion.
Beginning to lose track,
But I’m still present to the fact,
That the things I love are hidden,
Unless I fill the mold to fit in.
Lost in thoughts of grandeur,
I cannot find my cure,
Seemingly perfect but held together by a thread,
Some day it all could snap and I’d be dead.
Generally melancholy,
But ignited by simple folly.
I smile but never laugh.
Going to seek a brand new path.
Away from all these lies,
Trapped in the webs like flies.
Beginning to lose control,
I have to listen to my soul.
Become interesting and spontaneous,
Loving but dangerous.
Couldn’t express myself by speaking.
But on paper my feelings are leaking.
Slowly but too fast.
Images of the past.
Where do I go from here?
The way of smiles or of tears,
Sucked up in my stress,
Formerly calculated like chess.
But now I don’t know what’s best.
Is this life only a test?
Searching for some meaning,
The moon of my mind is slowly weaning.
I just need to find a purpose.

McGraw did you just write those or did you have it saved and just copied them?


They are really good.

i've got a bunch written so why not? these are all very autobiographical albeit in a very obtuse way.

the troubled and ever-motion
performance of self, perceived
a notion, a figment, a seashell
hear the ocean
hear the curtains, muscle red, ripple when they open
but he feels nothing
hell-bent on ephemeral pleasure
the visceral outside living of
plump patriarchs and dull mothers

astonished, by his own flexibility
his able to split, his independibility
and parasitic tendencies
he's inclined... to leave a trail of bodies
superficially changed by his performance
but in all of actuality still static
they wanted nothing, they got nothing
but in the back of his mind he feels it must a projection of something
very serious
very, very serious
here's the moral: he's self-loathing

the man is more mask than man now!
shame
and what's more, the man left has forgotten his name
stolen, his red fades
weeping, the candle's broken
the man is more mask than man now!
shame
and what's more, the man left has forgotten his name
stolen, his red fades and oh look
surprise, the thespian has fallen

stolen
and in its place, the smell of something rotten
disquiet and it feels hopeless
it's the intense unperturbable undeniable stench
of an audience that's incredibly ill-gotten





this is all very stupid and self-indulgent

feeling bloggy kid?
sure write yourself a note
a crisis in your life
please to leak it all out

dear you
it's me
can we talk for a minute?
grace the world with your conscience
and the drama within it

you confide in your words
when you spar with the nerds
thats your virtual space
now return to the world
and reveal the surreal
that occurs in your soul

to the he
to the she

let your story unfold




just a little free-flow that i felt like applying to "paper"

more, some stream of consciousness stuff

free write for bay shore writers. we were to write and sandy would sporadically call out phrases or words for us to include in our writing. i feel like i did an okay job incorporating the phrases into one cohesive piece—those phrases being "apple-shaped, frozen food, in rows of, blue above blue, i am a knife, circle and star, the brilliant pools, in the book, our daily dread, like a keyhole".

damn son, you've gotten in way over your head. i'm sure you feel it. that made feeling of falling, or of floating. drowning in the great sea of iDon'tKnowWhatToDo. you've got a plan, do you? nah. this lump is something you can't swallow all pursed lips and throat constricted. this lump is apple-shaped and tastes like half the worm. listen. wake up.

i wake up with a weight on me. i rise slowly and my head gets dizzy, as if my blood were heavy too. i guess should've expected this. this cruel cut-off. who says i don't have a plan? if things go to shit, i can always go back to stocking frozen food with the other inconsequential ones. but i'm bigger than that, aren't i? aren't i?

i sit down in front of a large and terrible board of somethings, directors maybe. all of my past misdeeds are laid out on the podium in rows of silent unpointing accusation. i sweat. my head sinks under its own weight and i stammer. i am swept up again, tossed and tumbled beneath the currents of wouldashouldacoulda.

i fall asleep with a weight on me. before long i'm dreaming of me and her and something very good followed by something very, very bad. i wake up in a cold sweat and whisper the dream out loud in a clammy whisper. she's not awake but i appreciate the company.

blue above blue above red above a sickly shade of green. this is my psyche. a double-layer of protection guarding me from the terrible truth; one layer for me, one for those around me. the rest is all the vomit that i only care to cover. but you know what. it still stinks. gotta clean it up sometime.

i am a knife. a tour-de-force. the one with fire in his eyes. that's what they tell me. if they only knew what condition i was really in. you know the one about how the truth is a circle, and a lie starts on that circle and just eatseatseats it up until the whole thing is just one big round untruth. i imagine the mouth of a hungy lie is like a lamprey's. circle and star, grotesquely combine into a round never closed gape, razor-sharp points all in it.

if i could turn back time i would. if i could reach into those brilliant pools of progress and swirl it just a tiny bit backwards, just soft enough so that the sand at the bottom remains settled, well, of course i would. man if i could.

frozen food. in the book they give all the stockboys is a list of do's and do nots. it's at the very end. "do not eat our merchandise." "do respect the customer." "do not touch your female co-worker's breast."

our daily dread is that things will not go according to plan. by the book, as they say. the good thing about the book is that it has all these little appendices and footnotes for things that go wrong. of course, i didn't get that copy. my copy is a choose-your-own adventure story. "turn to page 102" it says. page 102: "you're fucked!"

"do not touch your co-worker's breast." we are the stockroom and i am fitting perfectly into her. like a key. like a keyhole.

I have like 151 pages of poetry saved. I'll post some I posted on the NW forums. I take a slightly more traditional approach.

Fog

there are swirls
in the mist
above the mountains.
there are swirls
that look like sheep
and look like fountains.

there are swirls
in the fog
above the tall trees.
there are swirls
that look like dogs
and fly like the bees.

there are swirls
in the clouds
over the stormy sea.
there are swirls
that look like gulls
and fade in the breeze.

there are swirls
in the sky
over the pale country.
but those swirls
in the sky
are just swirls to me.

Comfortless

This is a poem for the painfully useless:
a stanza for the sad souls that wander.
It is a kind elegy for the hopelessly lost,
a tribute to countless chances squandered.

For they have no solace in ther vision;
they possess no hope in what they hear.
They recoil from every bittersweet taste,
and the stench of death they always fear.

They drive themselves insane in the quest,
Looking for a purpose they doubt exists.
They worry about the meaning of their lives,
what they should fight for with clenched fists.

And when they have found nothing in the swamp,
plodding through the arid deserts of their minds,
They come to bear the burden of a painful truth:
verily there is no comfort they can possibly find.

The King and the Gambler

In a castle in the lands of the west - far beyond
The world that we live in - resides an olden king.
A grey beard adorned his face and he wore a ring,
Made of the purest gold, symbol of the eternal bond.

He ruled over evergreen forests and sky-blue lakes,
The shimmering of the setting sun lit up a red sky
The king watched the last bees zoom and birds fly,
Sleeping on the shores till his last dawn came to break.

That fateful morn a man in rags arrived - I cannot say
where he dwelt - in the court of the handsome lord.
He brought nothing with him save his life's discord,
And two spare dice that were always in his mind's sway.

The king asketh of the man: "Who art thou, what is thy name?
From whence comest thou to seek refuge in my halls?"
"I was imprisoned in between the Dark Lord's stone walls,"
Said the old man, "but I seek revenge for his evil games!"

"That damned devil gave me nothing but two spare dice,
His curse leads me to forever waste my life on a lost chance!"
The gambler faced the king, his gaze once gliding askance:
"Please help me to pay that man back, not once but thrice!"

"But why would I waste my resources on an ungainly war?
My women and children cry when their husbands travel far.
My rule prospers in peace; we need not fight for the stars:
I and my subordinates are very happy with where we are!"

"A just question, my lord!", said the gambler with a look
- deceptive like the mirror - in his blazing emerald eyes
"Yet I have heard he plans to sound his new battle cries:
He is out to conquer the world, every cranny and nook!"

"Prove this treachery to me, my friend!" replied the king.
Lay down one o' thy dice, and three times rolled it shall be!
If three sixes come up in total, then luck shall not be with thee!
God shall prove thy worthiness of the power of my ring!"

Once the gambler rolled, the king watching the table close
But no sign of treason or dishonesty was there to be found.
It seemed that like the gambler's tale was all safe and sound
Yet from the die's primal throw the Gambler's first six rose.

Now the gambler made ready for his fateful second throw,
Slowly extending his hand and the die clattered face down.
The king said "Another six? I shall truly eat my golden crown
If with this luck thou cometh up with three strikes in a row!"

Then the gambler merely smiled, and rolled for the last time,
The king gazed in horror as there appeared the last six.
"Oh, thou damned liar, thou shalt suffer on the holy crucifix!
For thou art no Gambler, thou art the Devil in human grime!"

A beastly laugh shook the marble halls of the king's royal fort
And a blazing mask fell from the wise old man's wrinkled face.
Suddenly the stone archways above erupted in a crimson blaze
And Lucifer himself laughed cruelly, but made no verbal retort.

"Damn thee, curse thee, bring thyself back to thy pits of fire
I shall not be taken in with halls of brimstone and sulfur clouds!
Choke on thy own words, suffocate in thine own ashen shrouds!
Thou art the world's biggest cheat, thou art an inhuman liar!"

But then the devil replied, his grin widening in a fiery breeze:
"You have lost the game, my friend. When I laid down my dice
You sold your soul to me! In return I now shall claim your life!
Down to the boiling hot oil pits thou shalt now come with me!"

The king's body fell ungracefully down onto the stone cold floor.
The devil's malice echoed through the chambers one last time.
Then in a flash of scarlet light, he vanished without a sign,
Leaving the king's corpse to burn in his wake forevermore.

These are pretty good I was very good at poetry in 7th grade, but since that time I have lost that gift.

Pretty sizeable bump there, but I guess I'll contribute with some not-entirely-right-state-of-mind poetry.

Sober Company

is it good that when the world's spinning
I get stronger than You know?
I ask You your name and state of mind
filler, words that drip
and land in a puddle of talk

We walk outside; I can't feel my hands
Yours are an imposing reality
frosted earth and damp road
We skate down the asphalt
and look at the sky

more talk and noise
maybe what we say will float up
and caress the stars in years to come
when we'll have forgotten our own names
deep enough for You?

We return to pile up
travel down nameless pavement
thinking of what was
if it was not at all
a dream refracted millions of times by those beads of fog
that clouded, spinning world

light dances on the sheets

I wake up
and You aren't there
yet in every one of those lives
You were, are and will be
my sober company
-------------------


also foreys all i ever read or write is mindless self-indulgence, i think its pretty common

I wrote this a few months ago, I was going trough a bad phase of my life... This was me screaming.
I defenitly don't have your gift...

2009

Althought that phrase isn't strange
Someone said "It's time for a change"
They may say it every year,
But in the end everyone drops a tear
But not this time
I won't accept that crime
This is not 2008
I will not accept "wait"
I will not look back
The past was mostly crap
It might have it's good points
But life isn't only joints
And chicks, soccer or games
All good things
But not worth new frames
Because this is 2009
The year that will be mine.
I know most don't like it
And stop me they will try
I say fuck it
Let them come and cry!
All the angels that will drop from the sky
And the demons that from hell will fly
All the men that walk the earth
And even the ducks swimming in Perth
All the attempts they make
None will succeed
This world is mine for the take
Their shit is not what I need
I will strike without fail
And goddamit I will prevail!
Nothing will stop me
People, machines or tornados
Ruthless my awser will be
Like an angry pack of Sharpedos
What I Want I will get
I will not accept any threat
I will live without fear
Because this is my year!

foreys, i LOVE the I, II and III.

i've done some similar stuff.

this is the only one i can find though:

I've pretty much given up on writing poetry seriously--I mean, it is fun, but I just can't write it well, nor can I truly seem to either analyze or appreciate it (AP Language and Composition was of no help whatsoever), but whatever. I do have some poems somewhere, maybe I'll work myself up to post 'em.

These poems I wrote are pretty short I wish I didn't throw away all my poetry from 7th grade anyway there all 5 lines.


Forgotten

I remember everything I knew about you.
Do you remember a thing about me?
I remember your favorite cloths, music, and hobbies.
Do you even remember my face?
To you I am a Forgotten memory that has faded and weathered away from this world.


Haunted

Late at night I can not face myself.
The creatures of the night are there everytime to remind me of the past.
I just want to bury it dead and move on with my life.
I want to make a brand new start before it is to late.
I'll find a new way to live before my fate is sealed.


Real

I am sick of all the fake in life.
I am sick with disease from you hypocrites.
I want to feel honesty once again.
I want to be filled with happyness once more.
I want to find the real in life.

sum shit i wrote...


Death of an Era

Nature is crying
Oceans, rivers, rain
The train moves on
Religiously calling
Had a word with the wind
Breathed a secret in my ear
Took a second to think
Must have been something good to hear
Home now, sunshine all night long
Sights seen in a broken brilliance
Dark truths left unspoken
Sifted through a shade of white
Light is now a liar
What is there to trust?
Clouds are formed from dust
Lost in webs of memory
Illusions of serenity
Her lips encountered honesty
Saw a drop of blood
Must have been quite rare
Revelations were realized
Soon disappeared again
Nothing lasts forever
In the mean time seize the day
Unique became archaic
Imagination is passé
Families stuck in storm
I believe we’ve lost our way
Yes, I do believe we’ve lost our way.
Everything is repetition
Galaxies have depression
Future looks quite bleak
Everyone is talking
No one hears each other speak
Conflicting views on life
Who can say what’s right?
Hide away in a dream
A recluse of the mind
Matter doesn’t matter
Substance is abused
Wander down the path
Return with some truth.

i beg your pardon

miniscule droplets interlaced within the quick air
begging for more as the other one fires away
tickle your tender nose and crouch behind a nearby wall
as the bomb booms and your organs play
choo-choo spray spray
mistaken for a hissing train grinding on elemental rails
who am i to fight my nature
my nature that i adorn with addiction
i will forever beg your pardon
so kindly excuse me please

A Broken Dream

You stay there and say you want something
If you continue on this road you'll gain nothing
You have not reached you're full potential
You need to work hard my friend that is essential

I know life will sometimes bring you down
It's the changing of the seasons you need to adapt and get around
You need to save that dream you desire
If you do not it will all burn down in fire

If, while the moon is beginning to slouch,
(Night is stepping into its lazy gait.)
and I choose to climb roofs and sing loud, scared—
well, who will dare to come and scream at me,
“Hey! Why don’t you drop down from there! Go on!
It’s only right!” And there I go dripping,
all the way down until I’m there, naked
under the glazed-window gaze of both the
moon and the man that yelled in the first place.
“I am incanting the great hawk spirit,”
I would say after my drippy bits had
gathered themselves up together again,
looking down at my feet, fingering my
belly button. Shamefully small I am,
pressed under just the colour of the night.

I want to say, “Je suis courageux,”
And to not feel like a fool.

My favorite poem I've ever written.

Paradox
Beneath a frozen tree, amidst a fiery land
A paradoxical world of folly and fate
Tied between the two extremes
Clashing together forming a disheveled equilibrium
The tree melted by the fire, the run-off quenching the flame
A constant cycle of rebirth and confusion
Nothing original, yet nothing the same
Everything done before, and always done again
A simple reminder, a glaring example
Of the circle that is today, yesterday, and forever
If nothing is truly new, but never truly dies
Then how can the pages of past, strewn as they may be
Be never again to rise anew, to always stay the same?
Again to reoccur, and rinse and repeat
Beneath the frozen tree and amidst the sweltering landscape

Tell me what you think.

Yay for poems about cheese.
This is really stupid, but I like the form, forget what its called.
Had to do it for class, not nearly as cool or deep as the other stuff, but meh.
Its a poem about cheese, deal.











Oh ya, its called a pantoum:
The second and fourth line of one stanza be come the first and third line of the next stanza and the first line of the first stanza becomes the last line of the last stanza.

kinda whimsical, but not

Tipping the sails // Bon Voyage

I spent five years
on a sinking ship
Just to be present
when the sails
and scales tip
slow and steady
like a snail drip
like catscratch to baby's flesh
the sails rip
and my cold hands lose grip,
the slippery ropes
that hold the sails, slip.
The hull starts to flip
and I'm hung up high
high like a blimp
no words
can escape from my limp lips.
my hit or miss,
my want or wish,
gone from this,
with no mind to materialize
my bliss...
Is this ignorance, or just some fatal twist?
While they may be weak,
my forfeited lips seek Death's kiss
as I say "Bon Voyage!"
and begin my trip...

tradition

creeps like a stalker
the beaming lights are near again
feel my day drifting
as the train comes roun' the bend

what if it never stops?
blame the express hops
blame a wretched clock
or fritter kicking rocks

as the friction sings your favorite song
and stumbles onto a close
heads looked on high with sparkling eyes
and wanting souls exposed

what if it never stops?
blame the express hops
blame a wretched clock
or fritter kicking rocks

chugging to its demise on tired wheels
it looks to us to make amends
my plastic seats, my iron doors
i join my crew and we're off again

John's Tragedy


He started all confused,
Ignorant and amused,
One day mom said good bye,
Couldn't muster a reply,
So he was left alone,
His fate was set in stone.

Still he grew up strong,
Good sense of right and wrong,
Every week, a new book.
Nietzsche changed the way he looked.
That night he lost his mind,
How was everyone so blind?

Thought his life was insincere,
And so he disappeared,
Secluded in his sleep,
His wife began to weep.
He dreamed only nightmares,
Then slipped into despair.

One night he clenched his fist,
Knew he must not persist,
And so he awoke,
Took a breath and spoke,
"I have wasted away,
I couldn't seize the day"

He stepped out of bed,
She saw a burst of red,
Realizing what occurred,
She thought it was absurd,
"Oh, John my poor nihilist,
Why couldn't you just exist?"

this thread deserves life...


Well I was born,
And I felt good,
Looking back, who knew I could

First I did breathe
And then I looked
Took my first sight and I was hooked

And I could crawl,
Thought it was bland
Tried to run before I could stand

I made mistakes
That’s how I learned
I found fire and so I burned

Found enemies
And I made friends
I did wrongs and I made amends,

So I walked on
Then I found her
Since that day my life’s been a blur

And I asked you,
You didn’t know
Guess I asked, a little too slow,

I don’t need her
But still I want
Gave up on acting nonchalant

That’s how it goes,
I did move on
And found myself a brand new dawn

yr sex will reveal you

a short (probably unfinished) lyric essay about: circles, sex, circles as accusatory symbols of misdeeds, can't hide from the truth because the truth finds its own way to be known and the truth is a circle etc.

also garnet poem, the hardest love poem i've ever written

Garnet Poem
we watch the dull wing of a mourning bird
puncture a span insistent on its blue.
dense, soon heavy with conversation—the
coffee is grey too, and words spill over
from nights where eyes were tinged with red. we know
that he masturbated before breakfast.
hands shake as he grasps at some mug or skin.
at this hour the air is deft, astringent;
pregnant for the wing or palm or other
to push and then speak adroitly through it.

at this height the vantage: unnatural,
unfamilar. there were two skies that day;
one is reflected vaguely off the hood
of a red car. we are at a junction—
the very notion of many of these
refuses us our imagination,
scares us, but the two skies—one blue, one red—
are also a reaffirmation. we
suffer the foxes, say what we hope.
we reveal ourselves through hesitant lips.

now a plum, the sky gives way to damp hair.
smoke steeps the skin under our fingernails,
seraphic as it dances in the still;
justified because we no longer have
to intuit what goes on between breaths.
i coax tannin from my throat to match yours
before the door to your harp-room slides shut.
from inside, you pluck your decrescendo
while, by the wan light of grape clusters,
i turn to watch the purple of your heart.