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Poetry Thread

Discussion in 'Congregation of the Masses' started by Finchinator, Apr 13, 2016.

  1. Blank Slate2356

    Blank Slate2356

    Joined:
    Dec 4, 2016
    Messages:
    116
    Heylo! This is one of mine.
    Can You Hear Them (open)

    He ran upon the rooftops
    With a crazed smile on his face
    His gloved hand, grasping the handle
    Of a long, sharp, deadly blade
    "Hush-a-hush," he spoke no one around
    He then spotted his new charge
    A mother, carrying a female infant
    He jumped down and back, the blade now bloody
    "Hahahaha, the exhiliration of it
    To take a life without great strife,"
    Speaking to himself once again
    Then continuing on, under the blood-lit moon
    He took 5 more lives to-night, before 1
    A bystander, a store-grocer clark
    A priest (He enjoyed that one especially)
    Then two elderly, head offed and impaled
    Licking his blade clean, his mouth bloody
    His eyes wide, sharp and hungry
    He couldn't believe his infernal luck
    A clergyman (he knew), In plaincloths.
    Deciding to relish the sound of blood
    He suddenly looked behind him
    "Shush, shush now. Shushers!"
    Again, to no one visible
    The killer approached the man
    He was a foot taller than the clergyman
    "Friend, where might be the fields
    I need a dark place to keep mine gold."
    He was greeted by the smile of a boy
    Like a child looking up at am adult
    "Oh, sir, I know not this place
    I am new, perhaps newer than you,"
    The killer's eyes shook wildly
    He saw this boy and saw an angel
    So he helped the boy get to the church
    Then he saw that smile again
    "Mister, may God have mercy on your soul,"
    He thought, 'What is this?!"
    "And on mine," and the boy brandished a knife
    Then, when the hoods were off, he saw
    It was an assassin, worshippers of Hashish
    Yet what stroke him was that this boy
    This boy still had a smile
    Then, he too showed a smile
    "Ah, a killer as well? Marvelous!
    A kindred soul, perhaps you are?
    Tell me, how do you shut out the voices?"
    The boy shook.his head and looked dumb
    "Voices?" he asked, the knife poised to strike.
    "The voices from hell! They beg me to joi. them.
    I talk and kill to shut them out, for awhile
    How about you, boy?, Surely you-"
    "I don't hear no voices, mister."
    Flabbergasted, the killer was.
    "What?! How is that so? You must-
    Oh, I see. Then be one of my voices!"
    It only took 5 seconds, the duel ended
    The knife stuck on the killers heart
    The boy smiled, "It is alright now mister,
    You can not hear them now, yes?"
    He smiled, then laughed, and sighed
    Blood ran down his mouth, but it was his
    "I know why you don't hear the voices.
    It is because you have never taken an inoccent life,"
    "You do not belong to hell, boy.
    Thank.you.... The voices.... stopped."
    He breathed his last.
    The boy disappeared, never seen again.
    Stevan's Sceptile likes this.
  2. Blank Slate2356

    Blank Slate2356

    Joined:
    Dec 4, 2016
    Messages:
    116
    Ii can only post one at a time so here:
    Teacher Of Life (open)

    He encourages and nurtures
    Like his own kin, every learner
    His life is his lesson plan
    His life is his student's material
    Teach, sleep, teach some more
    This routine continues on and on
    Yet his students never know what's in store
    For they never wanted to
    Spontaneous, happy-go lucky, crazy
    That's what this teacher is
    No mood with him could ever be bad
    No one with him has ever been sad
    He says things like: Life is unfair
    But if that's the case, fight what's there!
    And some like: I've failed more than you, class,
    I learned from them, and left them in the past.
    He's not perfect, nor a saint
    He slips, falls down, makes mistakes
    But that just means he's very human
    Not invincible, not like Superman.
    It was a few days ago, that he said this thing:
    Class, if you were to be in great danger
    I would always save you, again and again.
    That is my duty to you, as a teacher.
    He looked as happy as always
    But the atmosphere became solemn
    Then, he broke it with a loud: Anyway!
    The day progressed, happy like everyday
    Then, something no one expected
    Something grave had happened
    One of his class was found on a building top
    Poised and ready, aiming to jump.
    He arrived, and for the very first time
    We saw his smile turn upside down
    He talked to the firemen, that held a tarp
    Then he ran up the building, at superhuman speed.
    We never noticed it, he took the megaphone
    And we heard everything they said
    "My student, I taught you, this is dangerous.
    Come down now, it's time for bed."
    "No! They will keep insulting me if I live
    I know not anymore, what is worth living for
    I hate all this life has to give!
    So let me end this pain, teacher..."
    "You hate everything of this life?
    Do you really believe in that?
    You hate me, you friends, your class?
    The fun we had, when you laughed with us?"
    "Don't you remember my teachings?
    Me scolding you, the insanity we shared?
    I cannot let you say to me, you hate life,
    because without you, this would not be my class."
    We heard crying, it was our classmate.
    "Teacher, why do you keep this up?
    You have other students than me,
    Why, why are you so-so persistent?"
    "Why, is what you ask? Because of one reason:
    I am your teacher. I will rather die than see
    My class not graduate together
    Their bonds left in shreds,"
    Our teacher, put a hand in her shoulder
    And we saw that smile again
    "Life is harsh, and we are weak right now
    But you have infinite potential to be strong."
    "Now, let me ask you: Is this your revenge?
    To the people who bullied you?
    Will you let them taste the satisfaction
    That they pushed you to this action?"
    "Do you get it now? This is what life is.
    Experience the good, bad, pain, and pleasure
    Take every path you can take
    Spit in life's face, then continue on,"
    Everything went quiet then.
    "A lesson now, teacher? Really?"
    She said with a smile on her face.
    "This is the best time for this lesson."
    "If you still intend to jump, then let me go
    Let's jump together, right now."
    He was serious, we know he was
    His smile plastered, unwavered.
    Then they both leaped of the building
    Time slowed, then they spoke
    "My student, feel the exhiliration of the fall
    Take in every sensation of it all!"
    They were not headed for the tarp
    Or so what we thought.
    He pushed his student to its grasp
    Before they made contact.
    The last words were
    "My class, you've made me proud
    Enough for me to say aloud.
    Shine, like the shining starts you are."
    "Teacher!" What our classmate shouted.
    "I have already said it to you all
    If you are ever in danger
    I will save you, as your teacher."
    That was the last thing we heard
    Or the last thing we would hear
    From that smiling teacher
    Who lived his life, who loved
    parivard and Stevan's Sceptile like this.
  3. Drew

    Drew Impatience ain't a virtue
    is a Contributor to Smogon

    Joined:
    Nov 20, 2015
    Messages:
    770
    I won a 6th Grade poetry contest so I guess you could say I'm a poetry god.

    Melting Snow (open)

    As the beautiful dress
    Is stripped from her wearer,
    Left is a shell,
    A husk,
    A hideous array of cold nothingness.

    The tranquil symmetry is lost in the sun,
    Skies clearing, yet leaving clouds below.

    Why must mother nature's calmness be lost,
    In her own stupidity, and as life is restored,
    So is the waste of all that is beautiful.

    A flood, a deluge, a tsunami,
    Of the hideous resurrection.
  4. Finchinator

    Finchinator IT'S FINK DUMBASS
    is a Smogon Social Media Contributoris a Forum Moderatoris a Tiering Contributor
    Moderator

    Joined:
    Nov 10, 2011
    Messages:
    2,999
    Untitled (open)

    I laid face down in an abandoned cavern
    Not an isolationist, no, but also not one who was willing to depart my realm
    The world was a scary place, full of people
    Call me a madman, but I call the world outside madder

    A mindset birthed through the couple of fear and apprehension spawned
    Grew up on the playground of judgement
    Like a toy a child no longer favored, the social outcast I was never saw the light of day
    Set to spend my days in the depths of this cave, never to see the light of day again
    Why depart my realm when I can remain without any risk, I ponder
    My whole life encompassed by some childish comfort zone
    I could not socialize, no I could make a fool of myself
    I could not drive, no I could hurt someone
    I could not go out, no I would end up alone
    I could not make new friends, no they wouldn't like me eventually anyway
    And I could not go anywhere

    While a cavern has no doors, my brain pictured a steel wall enclosing the cave from the outside world
    So there I laid, destined to perish alone and unaccompanied, but at least I was comfortable
    One day, a strong individual fought through my mental wall of steel
    She reached a caring hand out and led me to a new area, unfamiliar grounds
    When I reached the light, I shielded my eyes
    She swatted my arm away, had me take a clear look
    When I saw another, I grew stiff and silent
    She forced words out of my mouth
    And so it began, the great departure from cave dwelling to actually living
    The comfort zone became a thing of the past

    Once, I strived to survive
    Now, I strive to live

    A storm cloud from the direction of the cavern danced overhead
    Ominous in color and large in size, it appeared threatening
    I found shelter and stayed for a while
    Once it left, I came back out only to see that she had left
    The world grew dark and cruel quick
    The cave seemed to be an easy crutch
    But I did not want comfort
    I did not want isolation
    I did not want to be alive
    I desired more.
    And so aspirations grew into goals
    And my own life took off, in my own hands
  5. Genesis7

    Genesis7 LOIC stay loaded
    is a Tiering Contributor
    Won OST Predictions

    Joined:
    Dec 30, 2013
    Messages:
    1,951
    "Gamer Life" by Gennifer E. Johnston

    We real noob. We
    home school. We

    Lurk games. We
    aint straight. We

    do geek. We
    dumb freaks. We

    jo douj. We
    Die soon.
  6. Lou

    Lou

    Joined:
    Sep 8, 2016
    Messages:
    81
    Roses are red
    violets are blue
    i don't know why
    but i don't wanna go to the school
  7. Huston

    Huston

    Joined:
    Aug 31, 2014
    Messages:
    401
    I wrote this about a month ago in about 20 minutes when I was bored in class. I have considered using this for scholarship competitions so have checked for plagiarism and all so thought I'd share my terrible writing, so here goes even though I suck:
    Prophecy of the Raven
    Thump, thump, thump, thump
    Hearts beat to the tremble of a lost mind
    To foster the waves of phantom fullness
    O’ what a lie, caught up in the madness
    Of a long lost chaos, a liberty oh so far
    From what we once called the inner home of freedom
    I start to watch the raven so eerily sitting on the tree, out of real curiosity
    Of the dark prophecy He proclaims so clearly, quote of His darkness
    “Ye shall fall, ye shall bow, ye shall hear the three night owls”
    The owls He speaks of are a fright to me, as I see so clearly now what He Has seen all along, we are in the dark and are caught in an eternal pillory pending our heed
    Fear, anguish, the agony of uncertainty
    Hail! Hail the raven for His prophetic warning
    As we are a lost people, searching in the dark for the light of peace
    One who went dim many a score ago
    One which is buried under the withheld mercy from our higher power
    Mercy of which He knows of, but not of
    Mercy of which He sees, but He is blind
    Mercy of which He holds, but cannot pour out on this land
    For we are in an abyss the raven warned of, we fell in and bowed
    To a power below the world, and to it, we vowed
    “To ye, we surrender, one and us all, to no higher power can we still call,
    For ye is the author, of our saving grace, we betray thy prophet, we bring the end of days”
    The darkness heard, and for days we sat in a dark winter
    Screaming for our salvation to the deity we thought was high,
    Yet He trembles upon hearing this
    As He fears our knowledge, lest we discover
    His true intentions, bellowing like a dark noise
    Falling down upon us in the night,
    As a curtain, iron and heavy we o’ so fear thy might
    Hail! Hail the aura of what we once knew
    The aura of a messiah we once held dear
    Whom now fears the rennaissance of learning
    Whom fears the candle in the night
    Whom is in awe of the truth that He knows not of
    For He is oh so deeply veiled in His iniquity
    Of heresy, never ending lies
    Of delusion, of dubiety
    I turn to my thoughts, oh could I be astray?
    Has this prophet led me to paradise
    Or to only disarray?
    I weep
    I weep for all of our kingdom, shrouded in doubt
    Due to one conceited savior, all consumed
    In His own false shouts
    Do we know the truth
    Or is chicancery about?
    Do we know the light
    Or is darkness all we tout?
    Here and now in this turmoil, we are trapped
    As if in a raging tornado
    A vortex of never ending fear
    A fear of our coming doom
    Our coming descent into a dark purgatory
    Opened by the illusion of light,
    In the darkness of a false messiah
    I see the vision in this moment, my heart races
    For it is now I know, the end is nigh
    The raven, most high, proclaims
    “Ye betrayed me thrice, ye conceited serpent, for now I shall deliver you to your fire of destiny”
    I shake in concern at His prophecy, knowing his error but not His way
    Knowing His voice but not his mind
    Who am I to discern His word?
    Who am I to discern
    When as a disciple of the true God
    I still fell to thy stroke of the raven’s darkness
    Was bound by the chains of His apocalyptic decree
    But now I break
    Now! I call
    Now! I pray
    Now! I know
    The truth of my world
    Of the true Him, Jesus
    Our savior, our true Messiah of this broken kingdom
    Of ancient seas, of bleak caves
    For now He comes, us all He shall save
    I see the raven, I have heard his cries
    But His eery prophecy
    I hereby, deny.
  8. Ardy

    Ardy

    Joined:
    Jan 4, 2017
    Messages:
    17
    Creature (open)
    There's a creature living inside me, it resides deep within.
    My heart is pure and my conscience free of sin
    yet there's a creature living inside, rotten to the core
    And with every breath I take, it strengthens a little bit more


    He’s always active day and night,
    Plotting, twisting, laughing, threatening to bite.
    Filling my head with doubts, feeding me lies
    Till my head rings out with its sinister cries.


    There's a devil living inside me, I swear it’s not who I am
    I tell it to stop always but it doesn’t give a damn
    I love you dearly, but wish for your demise
    The creature living inside me won’t be satisfied till everything dies.


    I don’t think I'm evil, I rather think I'm good
    But there's a devil inside me, like a stalker in the woods
    When you see me laughing, I'm laughing just to keep from crying
    With every breath I take, I feel like I'm dying


    There's a beast living inside me, It rises to the top
    No matter how much I yell, it will never stop
    Destructive, horrific, chaotically immoral
    Always hungry for disorder and quarrel


    I can fake sanity, I can easily pass a test
    But with this monster living inside me, it may not be best
    Yet I put on a guise, smile and go about my way
    Losing myself with the people who I may kill one day


    There's something living inside me, something I really can't explain
    I carry it around all day as it has become my bane
    I like to think I'm good, but I don’t know any more
    For there's a fiend living inside me, threatening to rise to the fore


    You think you know me, you don’t know a thing
    My sense of self is nearly severed, hanging by a string
    For there's a creature living inside me, residing deep within
    Urging me on, for it grows strong on my sin


    I wish to die, to spare the world the horror which it will bring
    But I every time I try, I can never do the thing
    I'm too selfish, I love this life too much
    And onto hope, I desperately grasp and clutch.


    I know it’s no use. I've known it for a while now.
    I try to hate myself, but the creature won’t allow
    It’s gleeful, freed, brought to the brink
    Beneath its might, I start to shrink….


    I believe I am insane now. The world certainly seems less gray.
    It’s all black and white now, all that I have and will slay.
    The ground is filthy, dirty, with the blood that victims bled
    The world is my canvas, and with my brush…I paint it red.


    There's someone living inside me, I hear her scream and plea
    It’s what’s left of who I was, of the person I used to be
    I cut her off, silence her, for I don’t like to be disturbed
    I am the creature now, and my blood lust will never, ever be curbed.


  9. Tripacci

    Tripacci

    Joined:
    May 11, 2016
    Messages:
    10
    someone's poem from an irl poetry group, and it exists bc it's almost (valentines!) tuesday, anyway hope you guys like it

    when two hands meet the heart soon inflates with a helium-like sort of happiness
    it rises
    and rises
    and rises,
    but
    like a balloon prematurely burst it is
    heaviest
    when empty.

    - precaution to floating
    Stevan's Sceptile likes this.
  10. Reeksquad

    Reeksquad

    Joined:
    Apr 5, 2016
    Messages:
    68
    Ah, great thread! I've dabbled in poetry before, but haven't been practicing or creating any new works lately. I should definitely get back into it some time, since it would be a fantastic learning experience. Here's a couple of mine:

    A Day In the Life of a Black Swallowtail (Made for a contest) (open)


    Flip flap, flip flap, the butterfly flies,
    Up and up, into the skies.
    Released from his organic prison,
    He has arisen!

    Flashes of bold black and bright yellow,
    What a beautiful fellow.
    Fragments line his wing span,
    Polka dots of the lightest tan.

    The specimen flew through the air,
    And the wind brought its brawn to bear.
    Despite this valiant force
    The Swallowtail fought through and came upon a delectable source.

    A single cluster of perfect penta,
    Of the deepest magenta.
    The flowers swayed harshly in the wind,
    But they stood firmly with a bind.

    The butterfly struggled to make it to the blossoming bud,
    But finally landed on it with hardly a thud.
    Laying down on a petal,
    He waits for the wind to settle.

    When the wind ceased its gusts and blows,
    The Swallowtail arose,
    And crawled towards the nearest flower,
    And stuck his tongue in the stigma and began to devour.

    When he had his full of sweet, sweet nectar,
    And the sun receded and the moon became a projector,
    He took off into flight,
    To find a shelter to endure the night.

    The cold night air nipped at his wings,
    But he persevered, no matter how much it stings.
    His efforts did not go unrewarded,
    For he came upon a wooden shack that was quite sordid.

    Cutting through the black murk,
    He landed daintily near the shoddy woodwork.
    The miserable structure sat near the edge of the plain,
    A few rocks surround it, eroded from rain.

    The butterfly fluttered over to a small cluster,
    To find a resting place that was not lackluster.
    Searching and scanning for a crevice or a crack,
    He found the former that was pitch black.

    Approaching the entrance of the narrow, damp slit,
    He crawled through with grit.
    Once safely secure inside the rock and rubble,
    He became inactive to prepare for a new day and new trouble.

    When the sun's nosy rays finally peeked into the Swallowtail's hole,
    He shook his wings and wriggled out like a mole.
    The wind was blowing hard outside, yet the butterfly stood stout.
    And he took off in a new direction without a doubt.


    The Beggar (open)


    Murky city, both sky and ground,
    Smog that is so profound.
    A land of cement and asphalt,
    The earth underneath showing its faults.


    A man, with dirty debilitated wear,
    Lumbered out onto the street, going who knows where.
    Having only one goal in mind,
    Sat himself down on a street corner and began the grind.


    Pulling a tin can out of his torn coat,
    He also tweaked his guitar and played a note.
    No vocals, his throat too dry,
    A purely instrumental piece, one that will hopefully rectify.

    Strumming the strings, he watched people walk by,
    Few stopping to listen, most turned a blind eye.
    He was losing hope, before someone sprinkled a few coins into the can,
    He smiled; he may be able to enact his plan.

    Hours passed, he had gained two bucks,
    But he had not yet hit the crux.
    Feeling tired, his playing grower slow,
    He put down the instrument, rested and laid low.

    He looked to the sky, the afternoon drawing to a close,
    He picked up the tin can and jiggled it at anybody in sight, trying to get the most.
    Nobody paid him any mind, and he looked down into the can, mostly air,
    The money would buy him something, but not something that was fair.

    Before the sun was replaced by the moon,
    Before night replaced the afternoon,
    He went to the nearest grocery store,
    To get something to eat before receding to his hideaway to feast and to snore.
    Last edited: Feb 17, 2017
  11. magicin

    magicin

    Joined:
    Feb 6, 2017
    Messages:
    17
    . (open)
    世閒を憂しとやさしと思へども飛び立ちかねつ鳥にしあらねば

    This world of ours
    Is full of horror and shame
    I feel yet
    I cannot fly from it
    For I am not a bird.
  12. ChrystalFalchion

    ChrystalFalchion
    is a Pre-Contributor

    Joined:
    Jul 18, 2015
    Messages:
    1,481
    Something I wrote for my creative writing class. To give you a bit of context, I'm writing a fantasy novel at the moment, and it's the oath taken by the antagonist team before a battle. It's simply called The Oath.

    Show Hide

    I was once alone in this dreadful place
    I was once nothing more than my face
    I was a boy / girl who thought of no one but me
    I was a boy / girl who could never be free
    I was nothing before I found you

    I am the hammer that knocks in the nail
    I am the weapon that shall never fail
    I am the one come to fix the past
    I am the meal to break the world’s fast
    I am someone now I’ve found you

    I will strive to be above the rest
    I will fight until my heart stops in my chest
    I will be the world’s leading light
    I will be the sun to cut through the night
    I will lay down my life for you

  13. Nui

    Nui

    Joined:
    Jun 30, 2014
    Messages:
    52
    I think there was another thread about this but not for just poetry. I've been writing poetry/short stories since I was a little kid. Growing up, it was a form of expression and release and from time to time I'll draw up enough inspiration to write more. I really like the beauty of short simple unfinished work. Most of what i'm going to share are unfinished dumps of small thoughts I've had years ago (Literally went on my Tumblr today and found them) Looking back at now is nostalgic because the person I was years ago isn't a fraction of the person I am today. Hope you enjoy!

    1/15/2014 (open)

    "I’m not knowledgeable to the reason
    as to why fireworks light up inside me
    only when I’m exchanging words with you
    But never with another. Never with another


    2014 (open)

    "Like the glistening stars
    embraced by the inconspicuous God
    my soul is in the arms of inconspicuous love"


    Is there a heaven for me? (open)
  14. eht

    eht

    Joined:
    Aug 5, 2014
    Messages:
    202
    I was in an extremely deep depression 2-3 years ago. I still read this from time to time to see how far I've come.

    Never Thought of A Title - 2014 (open)

    I grew to hate the surface,
    With its monotony and its emptiness.
    I grew to despise the sun,
    that constant and fickle provider and destroyer,
    as it seared my skin and evaporated my companions before my eyes,
    and sapped my mind as punishment for my own helplessness.
    Drained, I withdrew into my own depths.

    The benign horror coaxed me slowly down,
    feeding on my final sparks of curiosity and emotion,
    its charismatic appendages looping round and round my hysterical mind
    soothing me into resignation, no longer caring what I saw or felt,
    or how my lungs burned and my skin prickled,
    protesting their asphyxiation as I descended.
    I knew that to soothe the screaming animal would be an exercise in futility.

    No longer thinking, or caring for rhyme or reason, I sank to join the monster,
    ignoring that it was the one that so ingeniously concocted my pain.
    Silently down I drifted,
    lilting and listing with the dynamic subtleties of apathy.
    As I reached the silent black bottom of the brine below,
    the volcanic hotbed of adrenaline began to boil me alive
    and the pressure from being seven miles down compressed my soul into nothing
    and threatened to blast my entrails gloriously out of my ears.

    These sensations and my own queer convection,
    the roiling, superheated cycles and writhing seismic convulsions,
    those unseen fireworks that are the core of one’s unknown being,
    batted about my limp corpus like a cat’s toy,
    tantalizing me with the closeness of the cold, dark peace that I so desired,
    a desire that constituted the only distinction between me
    and the void I wished to quietly fade into, to create a true nothing.

    It would not be empty, this nothing, as there would be nothing to fill.
    My decaying world was empty; the next would be nothing.
    Gentle nothing, quiet nothing, peaceful nothing, uncaring nothing,
    Let me be free with my nothing nothing,
    let there be no me as I am nothing nothing,
    HAIL the coming of the true nothing,
    let the nothing inside me free, that it may join its fellow nothing,
    let nothing rejoice in my return to nothing,
    as my family of nothing invites me back into its nothing,
    welcomes me home from my fight against thingliness,
    a war not for peace or for victory, but for nothing.

    Caring little for the madness of desiring nothing, I drifted indifferently through the black,
    and slowly forgot about the searing, hardhearted sun,
    the quite, compassionate moon,
    and the lazily rolling, rhythmic wavelength of life.
  15. TMan87

    TMan87 Always smiling through the scars
    is a member of the Site Staffis a Smogon Media Contributor

    Joined:
    Nov 21, 2014
    Messages:
    520
    This is interesting. Very interesting.
    I love writing, both in French and English, and I'd like to write some poetry in the near future if I could just stop being lazy and running a million projects at the same time.
    Would covers of game soundtracks (namely, Ace Attorney soundtracks) count as such ? I swear it rhymes and stuff.
    Also wondering if there's a Writing subforum somewhere around here.
    eht and Max. Optimizer like this.
  16. Dream Eater Gengar

    Dream Eater Gengar Sacrifices, full of sacrifices.
    is a Smogon Media Contributor

    Joined:
    Jul 8, 2014
    Messages:
    841
    So I've stopped posting here or on my writing thread since I'm more focusing on getting my poetry seen by a larger community, so I've started up an Instagram account dedicated for my spoken words PM me if you want the account name. Anyways, here's one of my new poems that I wrote 2 weeks ago.

    Unopened Letters (open)

    Unopened letters are the only kind of letters,
    That are tainted with so much errors,
    When every single word screams sorry,
    A voice filled with agony and sorrow,
    Unopened letters are like space,
    No matter how violent are the words,
    There will always be this perpetual state of silence’s grace,
    Broken chants of these hummingbirds,
    Singing for love and a calm mind,
    Replaced by crows breaking all the harmony,
    Like a heart so blind,
    With no armory,
    Trying to follow the other lead,
    But these crows keep on intoning shattered hums,
    Insanity asking for a plead,
    As thoughts transform to guns,
    Late night sleeping turns into late night torturing,
    As these crows keep on plucking,
    Painful wounds portraying a state of mind,
    Soft breeze of the wind,
    Washing away the debris,
    Of this catacomb that is called a body,
    A sweet hum so serene,
    As the scenes becomes foggy,
    Vultures benefiting from this massacre,
    Take away with you some unopened letter,
    Because the only reason they are unopened,
    Is because I was afraid to send them.


    Hope you still like my style. :p
  17. sleepy3

    sleepy3

    Joined:
    Feb 6, 2017
    Messages:
    27
    Funny but kinda racist poem i wrote:

    When, long ago, the gods created Earth
    In Jove's fair image Man was shaped at birth.
    The beasts for lesser parts were next designed;
    Yet were they too remote from humankind.
    To fill the gap, and join the rest to Man,
    Th'Olympian host conceiv'd a clever plan.
    A beast they wrought, in semi-human figure,
    Filled it with vice, and called the thing a (BAN ME PLEASE).

    Thoughts?
  18. Dream Eater Gengar

    Dream Eater Gengar Sacrifices, full of sacrifices.
    is a Smogon Media Contributor

    Joined:
    Jul 8, 2014
    Messages:
    841
    If anyone is into artists that use Spoken Words, September Stories just released a new album last week and these lyrics hurt and are amazing. September Stories have turned into one of my favorites Spoken Words artists, after Hotel Books. The former speaks in a happier tune with sad lyrics but it still hurts while the latter is just sadness overload. If you haven't checked both of them, please do. Also here's my favorite songs on the album.


    If you want to listen to the full album, it's uploaded on their youtube channel, which can be found here.
  19. Drew

    Drew Impatience ain't a virtue
    is a Contributor to Smogon

    Joined:
    Nov 20, 2015
    Messages:
    770
    What Might've Been (open)

    Merely Memories
    And yet they plague us
    Ghostly visions, reminders, regrets
    Move On.

    One Change
    Like a Time Machine
    Never change a single Thing my friend
    Yet, Butterflies.

    The Present
    Named as if a Gift
    Live for yourself and for those around you
    Be Happy.

    That one turned weirdly motivational at the end lol

    Also here are a few haiku:
    Haiku (open)

    First, for Finch:

    They rest above him
    Sturdy, thick nests of wonder
    Don't shave the eyebrows

    Next, one about writing haiku:

    It's 5 / 7 / 5
    So simple yet so complex
    They don't have to rhyme

    One you can guess:

    Madness of the mind
    The twine and needle of it
    May mend or impale
  20. Eagle4

    Eagle4

    Joined:
    Apr 14, 2012
    Messages:
    1,852
    Knock knock. Who's there? Hike.
    Hike who? No it isn't, it's
    One syllable too long.
  21. dice

    dice

    Joined:
    Feb 24, 2012
    Messages:
    3,314
    less so a poem and more so a stream of consciousness but wutevz

    cw: self harm / depression

    movies (open)

    I wish depression worked the way it does in movies.

    I wish that the Hollywood facsimile of mental illness we're exposed to time and time again was all that it was--this solvable, beatable sickness. I wish my depression gave me an attractive air of melancholy rather than making it almost impossible for me to do basic things. I wish that I didn't have such trepidation showering in the morning because I don’t want to walk by a mirror and be exposed to what my brain determines is a disgusting, insufficient human being.

    I wish my depression inspired me to write poignant verses about existential pain and ennui. Instead, it fills my brain with an impenetrable fog that robs me of the only skill of mine I've ever had any cause to be proud of, making me feel even more useless than before.

    I wish my depression made me brooding and handsome rather than neurotic and insecure and constantly sure that everybody I love thinks I'm worthless. I wish my depression could be cured through true love or sunshine or finding my calling in life, because I've tried all those things and I'm still as empty as before. I wish that I was able to successfully defeat it with tablets instead of having dealt with their miserable side-effects, because feeling unlike yourself all the time is supposed to be better than the alternative.

    Depression is a vile thing that lives in my brain, a cancer eating me alive from the inside out, and there is nothing I can do to stop it, only slow it down. It is a thing one fights with doctors and pills and support groups and oneself with the sure and certain knowledge that it will win anyway. Depression is an upward slope with no peak in sight. People talk about a battle, a struggle, like it's something that can be beaten, like there is anything brave or noble or heroic about it, like it is anything other than sick and twisted and ugly; something that corrupts everything it touches. If this is a fight, it is against a vastly superior, better-equipped enemy: a fight against impossible odds. If this is a fight, I'm losing. If this is a fight, I've lost.

    I wish depression worked like it does in movies. Instead, it is the reason I sometimes lie in bed for six, eight, twelve hours at a time just mindlessly staring at the ceiling, unable to get up even though I'm hungry and haven't eaten in days, even though I know I'd feel better if I read a book or took a shower or did quite literally anything at all. There's something very uniquely dehumanising about spending an entire six hours thinking to yourself, "my laptop is right next to me, I could open it and watch Netflix until I feel better," but being unable to do even that because the fog is so thick you've forgotten how to make your muscles work. It feels like being trapped within your body. It feels like being subhuman. It feels like not being alive.

    I wish my depression made me the dashing, albeit pale hero of a novel about star-crossed lovers or sparkling vampires, but it doesn't—it makes me violently angry, makes want to tear the skin off my own body because I am so repulsed with everything about myself and feel like I deserve to be punished for existing; makes me want to get into a car in the middle of the night and drive it off a cliff because it feels the world would be a better place without me; makes me want to destroy every personal relationship I've ever built because I feel I don't deserve love or affection or attention or happiness or humanity. Depression tells me, over and over and over again in the voices of everyone I've ever known and loved and wanted to love me back, that there is nothing redeemable about me, not one thing; that the only thing I can do to improve the world is take myself out of it. It tells me that every minute of every day and I'm somehow meant to find the strength to ignore it. I cannot think of anything more cruel and tantalising than that.

    Depression is a death sentence, slow and painful and impossible to escape. The day I was told I was clinically depressed, I heard the cell door clanging shut behind me and knew I would never be free of this. I have known for quite some time that this would be the thing that kills me. They say we have biological clocks inside of us. This is mine: a ticking in the back of my head even when I'm happy, even on my best days, even when life is good, reminding me that there is a cancer inside of me, eating me alive from the inside out, and that one day there will be nothing left for it to devour, no good or bright or beautiful thing left for it to take, and that will be the end of me, an entire lifetime of pain too late.

    It'll drive me mad one day, probably.
    It's driving me mad, probably.
    It's driven me mad, probably.

    Everyone dies and everyone is dying and I'm sorry if it sounds like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I don't feel sorry for myself at all, because part of being depressed is being absolutely certain that there must have been something you did, some inherent defect of the self, to make you deserving of this. I dream of finding mine and gouging it out of me, excising it like one does a tumour, a clean cut of the scalpel, making sure to get every last bit around the edges so that it can never grow back. But I know that will never happen, because the truth is that depression isn't a tumour—it's toxin spreading through my veins with every beat of my heart, and the only way to end it is to make my heart stop.

    I wish depression worked the way it does in movies. I wish I could write this without knowing that it will make people a little more fearful, a little more distant, a little more disgusted than they already are. I wish depression was turning your pain into art and sad songs making sense, but it's not; it's a life where there are no sad songs because there is no music at all, nothing beautiful, nothing poignant, no soul to anything. Depression is soullessness. Depression is the absence of anything other than absence. Depression is an immeasurable abyss that you can't see the bottom of. Depression is a cancer eating me alive from the inside out, reducing me to nothing.

    I wish depression worked the way it does in the movies.
    Last edited: May 25, 2017
  22. Alexander.

    Alexander.
    is a Tiering Contributorwon the 2nd Official Ladder Tournament

    Joined:
    Jan 24, 2012
    Messages:
    2,596
    Live.
    Love.
    LIVIO
  23. Stevan's Sceptile

    Stevan's Sceptile

    Joined:
    Nov 3, 2016
    Messages:
    31
    I'm not such a great poet. Usually I write poems when I'm depressed. This is one I wrote after my mother constantly refused to buy me a smartphone (still don't have one and I'm still stuck with a '90s phone my mom gave me 8 years ago).
    One of my friends suggested I should post this somewhere online. So I decided to post it here.

    the poem (open)

    Alone like a baby bird sitting under his nest
    Waiting for his mother, to get a good rest
    No friends around with whom he can tell
    His stories about how from the nest he fell.

    I wait for a call, a message, a reply
    But in the end, I sit and cry
    I try to forget this problem in life
    But it's impossible to end this horrible strife.

    I count the number of friends I've got
    "My, oh my! That is a lot."
    But what's the use if they do not
    Prevent you from letting you rot.

    And thus is my life without a smartphone
    I sit at home.....all alone
    The digital world is a curse in my life
    I ask for a dagger, a blade, or a knife.
    Finchinator and Gross Sweep like this.
  24. Garris_san

    Garris_san

    Joined:
    Oct 31, 2016
    Messages:
    52
    No love (open)

    What is love unrequited?
    Drinking enough scotch to swim through your thoughts,
    Only to find a friendly face in every break of the waves uninvited.
    I see her in my sleep and when I close my eyes,
    Still I see her subtle strabismus
    Her snaggletooth and get excited.
    She has a dimpled nose and if I stare off too long it appears.
    Fear not for I am woefully betided,
    For in my thoughts...
    She's only delighted.
    Worry not for I see the error of my ways,
    If we should ever be reunited.
    Finchinator and eht like this.
  25. CzarDusty

    CzarDusty

    Joined:
    Feb 5, 2017
    Messages:
    1
    I haven't done much posting on any forums so far, but I've done my fair share of lurking. However, this thread piqued my interest. Of course, I knew the community was a creative bunch, but I guess I wrongly assumed most of that creativity went to team building, memes, and/or shitposting. I used to write quite a bit of poetry but I haven't had much to write about or felt creative in the last year or two. I would still like to join in on the fun and post a few poems. Warning: my poems tend to contain blatant references to drugs and sex. Hope you all enjoy. I would be happy to hear what everyone thinks.

    Ambient Dreams (open)

    Her body was wrapped in a tattered American flag
    small tattoos scattered across the skin,
    the back of her left hand read find me
    my hand searched down her thigh and found
    the words never again. We flattened underneath
    the surreptitious fluidity of pale nostalgia,
    legs refused to touch, held back
    by the shear gravity of the past. Oh,
    how she feared me, pupils constricted
    lips thinned like cut ribbon, breathing inaudibly
    sharp like contrasted colors.

    I’ve pondered your pallid skin over a morning cigarette,
    a cup of black coffee, imagining you as
    my sugar, us running across emerald grass
    stray blades caught between our toes
    and we will drag them into bed
    later that night, where your timid smile
    raises the hair on my arms
    nothing but the smooth sympathy
    of beer can fix. Oh, I fear you, too.

    Each day I hope your slender silhouette
    will wander through my door, over the walls
    and slip onto mine, cut the lights out
    whispering about the time we
    climbed trees on the salty coast of Virginia,
    human lighthouses illuminating the coast with the
    purity of clandestine love. Waves
    beating against the sand, the swooping wind
    carrying us back to a small cottage, where
    polychromatic dreams moan
    over the cries of two past-ridden souls.


    Giving Them Hell (open)

    It’s hard to pinpoint the exact
    moment you fall in love,
    isn’t it? Shit, it’s hard to see
    love when it’s staring you unblinkingly
    in the eye, coffee brown centers
    with resolve in them
    like the moon,
    poor thing idly drifting
    around our little planet,
    beat to shit and no one ever visiting,
    never allowed to touch the surface of the one thing
    it has known, wishing to make contact
    with an immensity so intense
    it pulls the seas back and forth, demanding
    attention. The night you were drunk
    and we had sex in your room,
    broken condom dangling there
    like an unworn piece of clothing,
    I remember thinking
    I love you sitting in silence like
    the moon but slightly
    different because no matter how
    beat to shit or how far
    away or how long the wait
    I know I’ll get to descend
    and touch the surface of the one
    thing I know;
    maybe that’s the night I knew I loved you.
    I remember pain, however, in stark colors
    the dress and earrings
    my grandmother wore in her
    casket, the everlasting orange
    of my father’s jumpsuit in prison,
    purple and black track-marks on my best friends
    arms like stars shining in the dull field in which
    we stood – talking about shooting pills,
    this is better, that shit took forever to cook –
    the fucked up conversations I thought I would
    never have sitting comfortably on the edges of my lips
    and I’m still here holding on to a syringe like I’ll never use it
    still chasing smoke on aluminum foil like
    a child rushing after a friend on the playground.
    Although all the nights of pursuit blend softly together
    to make a blur of gray and plastic like rushed video frames
    zooming across a metropolis, those dulled
    colors reverberate the most,
    but I’m ready for the good colors to come back—
    the navy and green dress my girlfriend wears that I love,
    the happiness we get from
    dying leaves, melted forms of yellow and orange,
    the electric blue tint of cigarette
    smoke, and maybe even the psychedelicia
    of an acid trip.
    I’ll get there some day,
    because I’m trying to aptly apply the meaning of my grandfather’s
    last words to me, “Give em hell”
    he rasped from the delicate blue hospital bed,
    and so it’s time to stop giving myself hell,
    and turn the world colorful again,
    giving them hell the entire way.
    Last edited: Jul 11, 2017
    Finchinator and Garris_san like this.

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