The Poetry Thread

[Rascarin]

I searched (briefly) for this, couldn't find anything particularly relevant.

This thread is to invite all the budding poets amongst us to share their work and receive feedback and constructive criticism. If you don't like a certain piece, don't flame it - lets keep ourselves civil, and offer useful advice for improvement instead. Similarly, if you do like a piece, say why.

I'll start us off. This one is called "Tired", and is unashamedly angsty. Probably not a grammatical or literary masterpiece, but it came from the heart.

Spoiler: Tired

Tired
Tired of feeling
Tired of feeling sad

Tired of hiding
Tired of heartbreak
Tired of hidden hurt

Tired of tears
Tired of lonely
Tired of crying alone

Tired of listening
Tired of fighting
Tired of hearing fights

Tired of life
Tired of lying
Tired of living a lie

Tired of disappointment
Tired of hoping
Tired of broken hope

Tired of prayer
Tired of silence
Tired of praying to nothing

-
God, I'm tired
I'm tired of feeling
I'm tired of feeling sad

 

[Skuffyshootster]

I am sad.
Guns are bad awesome.
Idiots make me mad.

I'm not very poetic.

 

[Lord George]

Go Escapist proud, white and blue
use the search button or I shall sue
I'm sorry against you that I rail
But you see at poetry I just fail.

(I have no idea if there is another thread about poetry actually but the ditty just came to me)

 

[New Troll]

Where am I going?

When I see an infant, I can't help but smile.
As I stand there, awestruck for awhile.
Thier little hands and thier little feet shaking.
My whole world becomes thiers for the taking.
Thier soft little grins and thier soft little coos.
Just stand there and watch is all that I can do.

My heart reaches out to my long lost son.
I truly hope he is well and having some fun.
My heart reaches out to my son on the way.
I truly hope he will enter my life here to stay.

So I stare out at the darkness, stars littering the night sky.
The beauty of the world, we all live, love, and then die.
The sun peeking out, washing the blackness away.
Bring light, bringing color, bringing on a whole new day.
The Earth coming to life, the sky lit up like a giant bonfire.
Dreaming of the loves of my life, my heart's only desire.

My wife, my sons, my children yet to come,
The beauty of this world, the reasons to go on.
Taking each day one loving breath at a time.
Relishing in the strength of this hope of mine.

 

[Fightgarr]

You know, we allow poetry in The Artist in Thee [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.72805?page=28] which is one of the longest running threads currently on the Escapist. I'm not trying to say "use the search button" or anything like that, I just like to keep that thread going strong and poetry (as well as prose) is perfectly acceptable there.

Anyway, thought I'd stop by and say that. See ya.
--'Garr

 

[Rascarin]

You know, we allow poetry in The Artist in Thee [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.72805?page=28] which is one of the longest running threads currently on the Escapist. I'm not trying to say "use the search button" or anything like that, I just like to keep that thread going strong and poetry (as well as prose) is perfectly acceptable there.

Anyway, thought I'd stop by and say that. See ya.
--'Garr

Damn. I was aware of that thread, but not that it included written works.

 

[Zombie_Fish]

You know, we allow poetry in The Artist in Thee [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.72805?page=28] which is one of the longest running threads currently on the Escapist. I'm not trying to say "use the search button" or anything like that, I just like to keep that thread going strong and poetry (as well as prose) is perfectly acceptable there.

Anyway, thought I'd stop by and say that. See ya.
--'Garr

Would music count do you think? As I don't do art nor poetry yet have a few compositions on my laptop, and that was something I've always wondered about.

 

[New Troll]

You know, we allow poetry in The Artist in Thee [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.72805?page=28] which is one of the longest running threads currently on the Escapist. I'm not trying to say "use the search button" or anything like that, I just like to keep that thread going strong and poetry (as well as prose) is perfectly acceptable there.

Anyway, thought I'd stop by and say that. See ya.
--'Garr

Would music count do you think? As I don't do art nor poetry yet have a few compositions on my laptop, and that was something I've always wondered about.

Yes it's welcome. Please feel free to share it there.

 

[LeonLethality]

on the floor I see a dress
why it's there I could care less
I will sit here in my socks
cruising a website that truly rocks

observing my surroundings and I saw my girlfrinds coat (I call it a dress for rhymes sakes don't critisize) and there was my half assed poem

 

[megapenguinx]

I have two:

Spoiler: Portions

Portions
Pieces of me
remaining behind
Hostility grows tall and old
like oak.
Let them be.
Smoking gun in the
child's craddle.
Thin white hairs
memory returns.
Mixed with life.
Realism.
Burned out hollow
consumes to feel full.
Not out of hunger
but only to feel complete.

Spoiler: I witnessed the world collapse

I witnessed the world collapse today.
It was not a loud crashing sound.
But rather a small note left on the ground.
Exclusion, seclusion, and concealment.
Lives where lost
friends and family separated.
In a blind fog we found it.
Cruel it was, but necessary.
Bring back the world.
I saw the world collapse today,
Help me put the pieces together again.

 

[Rascarin]

I have two:

Spoiler: Portions

Portions
Pieces of me
remaining behind
Hostility grows tall and old
like oak.
Let them be.
Smoking gun in the
child's craddle.
Thin white hairs
memory returns.
Mixed with life.
Realism.
Burned out hollow
consumes to feel full.
Not out of hunger
but only to feel complete.

Spoiler: I witnessed the world collapse

I witnessed the world collapse today.
It was not a loud crashing sound.
But rather a small note left on the ground.
Exclusion, seclusion, and concealment.
Lives where lost
friends and family separated.
In a blind fog we found it.
Cruel it was, but necessary.
Bring back the world.
I saw the world collapse today,
Help me put the pieces together again.

I like that second one, and particularly the line "But rather a small note left on the ground". There's something quite profound about it.

 

[Diablini]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Why am I posting
I have no clue
(And so does Scooby Doo)

I'm unable to create poetry as you can obviously see. I see all of you are talented.

 

[DerekTheMagicDragun]

OK, this doesn't rhyme and it ain't that cheerful. It is about a homeless woman I worked with.

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme, or be happy to be good=]

Spoiler: The Gardener & The Weed

I gave you all I had
Nurtured you and let you grow
But you merely drank my water
And killed my garden
The garden I made for you
You sucked my blood so sweetly
You drained my life
And I loved it
I loved the lie you told
As I withered away
Like the flowers you?ve slain
The flowers I slaved over
For you
You sucked out their life
You drained my blood so sweetly
And now I have no garden
Just a weed
A beautiful,
Horrible,
Weed.

Spoiler: The Wolf

The wolf howls
Alone
His pack has left him
And his mates have moved on
They no longer wish to hear his songs
He could not protect them
He traverses the forest alone
In search of purpose
And every night he howls
For the cold white face
That does not listen
And will not
Love him

Spoiler: Lifeblood

This ink is my blood
This pen, my vein
It exits my palm
And leaks onto the page
The words flow and dance before my eyes
Tales of turmoil and woe
Love, lust and lies

As my heartbeat increases
I quicken my pace
I bleed onto the desk
And my thoughts take shape
Memories
Of moments long gone
Dreams
Of those yet to come

I know how they want to be heard
How to put the power and emotion
Behind each word
I know the meaning of each letter
Which adjectives are worse
And which are better


These journals are my closest friends
And they will be to the end
They know all of my secrets
And all of my losses
They stand by me
No matter what the cost is
They know how I do wrong
When all I want is to do right
But from the start of the day
To the end of the night
That's all I ever need to do,
Write

Spoiler: The User

I?ve suppressed all the pain you?ve caused me,
And my hatred for you
But now it?s escaped
Slicing my heart
With the shards of our broken love
Love based on the lie
Orchestrated by you

I always tried my hardest
To be the best for you
You never returned the favour
You never cared to try at all,
Never cared about me,
Only you
And that I was protecting you
Saving you

I was used,
Like an old toy,
A plaything
And when I was all used up
I was thrown away
Like trash

But I?m not the trash
You are
You?re the one who lost it all
Your friends
Your dignity
And so much respect
How does it feel,
To have this lie thrown back in your face?

For the first time in my life,
I'm finally alive
Are you?
No, you're merely faking it
Living off the lives you leech off of
Every smile you ever showed me was staged
To gain my trust,
And use me for your lust
But I have been reborn
And I no longer need you
Or anything you do
I never mourned our love?s death
Because it never lived
To begin with

Spoiler: Anything but Her

If I were to take a step back
And look at myself
I'd see the person
I never wanted to be
A broken man
Collapsed in a chair
Crying
Crying because of someone else
The one who once curled up in his lap
The one he saved
The one who broke him
The one who held his hand
As they climbed together
He was ready to take on the world
To do anything and everything
As long as she was there
She, wasn't so ready...
She left him at the top
Left him to fall
She left him,
With only the memories they made
The memories she'll forget
The memories he never will
And now, the man who had everything
Who could do anything
Was the boy who lost everything
Who doesn't want anything
Anything, but her.

 

[Dorian Cornelius Jasper]

This one isn't mine. It's also fairly famous. But it's a really good poem nonetheless. I usually pull out poems-made-by-well-known-poets in discussions were people are engaged in criticism and analysis, and I'm a little sad that there's not much talk on analysis yet. (And quite a lot of snark.)

So without further ado, some Percy Bysshe Shelley. Without looking at the internet or an external critical analysis, let's see if you can decipher it. After all, the best poems are a distillation of an idea or concept into a digestible package. Like a compressed file. (Even the longest epic poems describing ancient legends would be even longer had they been written in prose.) Interpreting a poem is not unlike unpacking an archived folder--the data's all there, you just have to look at it and let the words stew for a bit.

OZYMANDIAS

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

And I think I ought to contribute a bit more directly on the constructive criticism front.

*snip*

I see you've put quite a bit of your personal melancholy in your poem--the need to express oneself is a fire lit in us all. In reading it, I noticed that while you made good use of repetition to emphasize your point, you seem to be listing points in support of that instead of building up to a greater realization for the reader. You do mention incidents and examples of your despair but without a bit more elaboration (just a bit, mind) what the reader gets out of reading and interpreting the whole isn't much more than what the reader gets out of reading the first stanza.

However, given the emphatic repetition in Tired, I think you might be interested in another poem that also uses repetition to emphasize a point. And while it does seem to list things, each stanza builds the poem into a whole message.

This one is by Dylan Thomas.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learned, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It bears mentioning that he's not just writing about his father, he's also writing about himself--but that's not something you'll find in the poem, that's from contextual information. He not only wants to see his father not "go gentle into that good night," he wants an example to look forward to, since he, too, is nearing his own death. Even though death is an inevitability, he holds that those who must face death ought not do so without a fight.

...

Yes, I do recognize the irony of responding to a poetry thread without any poetry of my own. Then again, I'm no poet. Merely a reader.

 

[New Troll]

The Monster Under My Bed

A tentacle in the darkness
Reaching for my feet
From my brow I start to sweat
Pulling my legs out of reach
Smells of slime and ichor
A low gutteral growl
This was never a fear
At least not untill now
Hiding my head under the covers
Saying a prayer under my breath
Hoping not to be discovered
By this certain death
A coldness wraps around my calf
My leg tugging all of me away
A scream escapes my mouth
No response to my dismay
Onto the floor I am pulled
My nails digging into wood
All the while wishing I could
Be that hero to my child

 

[BonsaiK]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some poems rhyme,
But this one doesn't

 

[New Troll]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Some poems rhyme,
But this one doesn't

This reminded me of a poem I wrote for my fiance early in our relationship. She asked for me to make up something for her and I jokingly said "Roses are red, violets are blue, I know what you're expecting, but anyways..."

She told me I could do better, so I sat down and wrote this...

A Rose of Any Other Color

Roses are red, violets are blue.
While I sleep, I dream of you.

Roses are red, and occassionally pink.
Dreams of you, make it hard to think.

Roses are red, yet sometimes yellow.
Wherever you lead, I'm sure to follow.

Roses are red, and can be even black.
Life would be perfect, but it's you I lack.

Roses are red, violets are blue.
What else can I say, I love you.

 

[Randomeaninglessword]

I call this one 'Forest', yeah, not good at titles.

Deep, green, dark, hidden
So thick the sun falls in golden strands
A wind blows through the trees
They whisper in reply
Creatures scurry about the soft ground

A small flower grows in the shade
A bright and calming lilac color
Another grows near a stream
A deep thoughtful purple

The tough, hard bark on the trees
Yellow tall grass to my knees
The golden strands retract

The sky line turns a bright pink
As the glorious orb fall out of sight
The sky is specked with stars

Crickets chirping loudly
The air I breathe cools
Grass becomes wet with dew

My line of vision shortens
The moon is then chased away
The bright orb rises back into the sky
Like a Phoenix from the ashes

The creatures return to play
And so starts another day

 

[wolfy098]

If there is a road for me

Spoiler

If there is a road for me
Why can?t I see it already?
Life goes on the pain drags on
I want to stop and see what lies ahead for me

But nowhere in this world ,
Is there a place to look forward
I?m dragged along by a moronic tide,
That never takes a rest

If there is a road for me
Why can?t I see it already?
Life goes on the pain drags on
I want to stop and see what lies ahead for me

Dreaming a dream that someday,
I?ll find a path of my own.
This lack of originality,
Has the strongest bite I know.

If there is a road for me
Why can?t I see it already?
Life goes on the pain drags on
I want to stop and see what lies ahead for me

Yet the stream won?t ever rest
It tumbles down the winding valleys
Into the sea beyond,
The sea of completed dreams

If there is a road for me
Why can?t I see it already?
Life goes on the pain drags on
I want to stop and see what lies ahead for me

The cross roads form
I continue on losing my will to separate
Slowly my soul weakens and corrodes
Finally I?m just another fool

If there is a road for me
Why can?t I see it already?
Life goes on the pain drags on
I want to stop and see what lies ahead for me

I wasted my life,
Cos stopped trying
To be something all of my own
Normality, the collection of fools.

There was a road for
But as a searched he distant future
I forgot what was happening then
Finally I entered the sea of dreams


6th July 2009

On the day you die

Spoiler

On the day you die
Do you want people to kneel down and cry?
Or to forget that you were ever alive?
Want them to wonder how you felt,
As you fell to the ground with your hand on your heart?
Livings a job in itself
They might need to get on with it themselves

How will you feel the day that you die?
Will you be scared as you enter the dark?
Or will you be ready then?
To discover your next path,
with what lies there!!!

If you get a chance to look God in the face,
What would you do when he?s a meter away?
Would you bow down and pray?
Or would you walk up and say your G?days?
Maybe you would run
he threw your life away!!!

On the day you die
Do you want people to kneel down and cry?
Or to forget that you were ever alive?
Want them to wonder how you felt,
As you fell to the ground with your hand on your heart?
Livings a job in itself
They might need to get on with it themselves

They must live themselves.
They should never regret what comes next in their time
They must TRY!!!

 

[Trivun]

You know, we allow poetry in The Artist in Thee [http://www.escapistmagazine.com/forums/read/18.72805?page=28] which is one of the longest running threads currently on the Escapist. I'm not trying to say "use the search button" or anything like that, I just like to keep that thread going strong and poetry (as well as prose) is perfectly acceptable there.

Anyway, thought I'd stop by and say that. See ya.
--'Garr

Damn. I was aware of that thread, but not that it included written works.

Hmmm, not sure it matters too much, the Short Story Thread and its Annexe are still going relatively strong, though I think short stories are allowed on the Artist thread too. Still, some good stuff here, most of the poems I've read here aren't too bad.

Anyway, not sure if this could be counted as a poem since I originally posted it on the aforementioned story thread, but I feel it's mopre a poem than a story anyway. No rhyming structure or anything, but still quite poetic in it's sense.

Spoiler: Psychadelic Nightmare

Bright. So bright. Lights flash past, psychedelic, mystifying, astounding, mesmerising, all go past in the blink of an eye. But the eye doesn't blink. Eyes are wide, as if pinned open. Visions flash, past, present, future. All is melded into one, then split into a dozen strands of life, each one turning and curling around within your sight. Music plays, a crescendo of clashing sounds, creating a masterpiece of contrasting form and style. A chorus sings hymns in some forgotten language of old. You don't understand, you can't. You merely listen, you simply stare, enraptured by the display across your mind, tattooed visions playing an engaging symphony of light within your soul.

Darkness falls. The visions stop. Replaced with more, they continue to play. The lights aren't as bright, but the music plays within your head like before. It gets faster. Tempo becomes upbeat, the words you hear become warped and twisted. The lights become darker and duller, purple and green and black across your view. Rain falls from nowhere and lightning strikes from within your imagination. Your eyes are spirals in a crystal frame, as your sight moves to the outside. You see yourself melting, eyes like jelly and legs and arms dripping to the ground. But the ground is no longer there. As the surroundings vanish so do you, bit by bit, piece by piece. You start to disappear. The lights fade, steady, the music starts to quieten. Sleep.

Your slumber ends with more visions, horrific in their nature, dark in their delights. They torment you. Screaming pierces your ears, fire and ice exploding into being all around you. You see the people near you ripped apart by vicious figures, but what they are you cannot tell. Blood sprays into the air, a fountain both beautiful and surreal in its very nature. Some lands on you, all over. The figures are drawn towards you, licking the drops of blood from your naked body, dragging their claws against your skin. But your skin is no longer there. Flesh creeps and muscles tighten, as the creatures, no longer mere figures but horrific forms that belong only in your darkest nightmares, rip your body in two and pick apart the bones and organs. You scream but there's no sound. Your tongue is gone, your mouth sealed tight, sewn with a needle and thread. Your eyes are pinned open once more, there's no escape from the nightmare. The pain is unbearable. You feel like a million knives are being plunged into every part of you. The screams of those around you suddenly stops. Silence.

You wake once more, alone. A corridor stretches in front of you. At the end is a mirror. You walk slowly towards it and take a look at your image inside the black glass. Normality. The pain has stopped, the creatures of your nightmare have gone. But it's not over. The walls drip, blood seeping from cracks and faces staring in the dread gore that runs down each and every facade. The mirror no longer shows your image, but that of a beast, more vile and disturbing than those which saw to your earlier torture. You run back along the corridor, away from these angry things, but reach a dead end. There's no way out. You feel a sharp pain in your chest and look down. Blood drips once more, but no longer from the walls. It drips from you. You fall to your knees, and with barely a sigh, you become still.

An hour passes. The door is kicked down and the police find your corpse alone on the ground. A knife with your hand on the hilt is embedded deep within your heart. Meth is a hell of a drug.

Quite long, but feedback appreciated please .