New Poetry Thread

There's nohing anyone can say to make you feel better when you feel like that but just know the times you do feel like that are the most important times, the times you learn the most to make you a stronger and more wisdom soul ...
 
Hi, just thought I'd put one of my more SF minded poems up, see what kind of reaction it gets, so far what I've read on this thread has been amazing so apologies for lack of rhymes, it's something that I just cannot seem to do without it looking forced and Shakepearean...congratulations on rhyming and being amazing, they read as if the rhyme is just a happy accident and I salute your skill...I try to give mine a rhythm, but I may just be seeing that from over-familiarity...anyway, I hope you like it...

Life

Endless moments.
Wanted or not.
Those unlucky few whose moment last
A lifetime,
Their unasked for responsibilities,
Overshadowing freedom.
Those unlucky few whose moments,
Never happen.
Obsessing over moments past,
Moments untaken,
Life of regrets.
Those unlucky few whose moments,
Never arrive.
Moments wander by,
The next always greater
And still ungrasped.
These moments' greatness only realised
Once ghosting.
That lucky one, artificial, rejoices
In its immortal moment.
Doing the one thing its creators couldn’t.
Live.
 
I quoted a line from a fictitious poem in a story and it sparked this...

This Life: Redux

Let every voice be still
save false witness to the end of days.
A living lie takes wing
shadow-black against the sun.
No rock of ages for those
with unclear conscience.

My thoughts are not my own
my past betrayed.
Everything I am
I was
I yearn to be
I sacrifice to live those years again.

Could this life redux find hope
under darker suns than these?
 
Same circumstances with this one as well...


Brooke's Field

No one shall weep for Herod, the butcher of my first-born son
A man in service of his country, but still a child to me
His shrouded homecoming, with dignity and grace
Served to break my heart and seal my fate

Beneath my coat lies vengeance, my face a fraud
While executioner of youth glad-hands the crowd, all smiles
Both have parts to play, a drama to unfold;
A dead man walking and instrument of hate

Forgive, my son, for what your memory inspires
No flag or cause were worth your life, or mine
But death can open ears to heresy proclaimed
By herald of the Third Estate
 
I like them Reiver 33. I see some Biblical influence in them which makes me like them more.
 
Cheers, Parson.

Brooke's Field is a reference to The Soldier by Rupert Brooke ('That there's some corner of a foreign field'). The first line was originally 'this Herod' but it just didn't sit right. The narratior could be any parent seeking revenge on those leaders who put sons and daughters in harm's way for no good reason.

This Life: Redux is about regret. Enough said.
 
You guys are too dang dark and abusive! Do something less creepy. I can't sleep anymore now.

Whispers

A gentle breeze reminds me,
Whispered memories from the past,
Another time, another life, a love that didn't last . . .

Through a mist of fallen tears,
Hidden in shadows of pain
I take a walk back through the years to see what may remain . . .

The light reflects like rainbows,
Through the shards of shattered dreams,
A place of haunted beauty where ghosts now reign supreme . . .

Yet there is no prize for which I seek,
For love which is not returned,
Upon the soul shall only wreak a pain which ever burns . . .


Okay, pretty ametuerish but it isn't creepy is it?
I was going for hauntingly wistful, perhaps pensive
 
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I'm curious if this poem reflects the relationship I am trying to describe. Let me know.

---------------------

Bride to Be

Beautiful bride, what prize of mine. For years our lust burned untempered behind closed doors, out of sight and sound.

You stood me proud. Our shared burden made heavy with twisting complications. Now here, together on stage, before friends and family, our hidden eyes revealed together for all to see.

But our secrets remain, tested and confirmed through years of mutual treason. This sad day I feel sorry, but find comfort in your words last night. I take solace in your resolve.

Finally, he comes. My long friend arrives and I move aside, that you may join your groom.
 
Siren


Graceful as a swan,

Her head sways on a long neck,

Her body a work of art.




Her eyes speak volumes,

“Come with me, come away to my sea,

Come away to the depths.”




Her voice is a flute,

Calling my very being underneath the waves,

Beautiful as her shining tail.




Bending like the rushes on her perch,

Her hair flows down her back like Turner’s Falls,

Flooding the grey slate below her with chestnut.




I drift toward her,

Powerless to stop the current pushing me,

And not wanting to cease it.




Closer to her I float,

Noticing for the first time the beautiful horror,

The sharp teeth, green skin.




The siren lunges toward me,

Scales rasping against the cold stone below her,
A gorgeous monstrosity.
 
I'm curious if this poem reflects the relationship I am trying to describe. Let me know.

---------------------

Bride to Be

Beautiful bride, what prize of mine. For years our lust burned untempered behind closed doors, out of sight and sound.

You stood me proud. Our shared burden made heavy with twisting complications. Now here, together on stage, before friends and family, our hidden eyes revealed together for all to see.

But our secrets remain, tested and confirmed through years of mutual treason. This sad day I feel sorry, but find comfort in your words last night. I take solace in your resolve.

Finally, he comes. My long friend arrives and I move aside, that you may join your groom.

Oooo! Bad boy!

Yes, I think it works.

On the eve of her wedding night?? I'd break your - anyway, I can see his fellings. It doesn't mean I like them!
 
Well since I am not a poet by any stretch of the imagination take it easy on me. My wife and I actually co-wrote this over some wine just getting the creative juices flowing. I had a much "Manlier" ending which i might share after.

Love after Death

There was once a space where his heart had beat

It slept eternal; soft and sweet

Now He was free to love again

Not bound by any hearts of men

She crossed his path by luck or chance

Their fate was sealed at loves first glance

They'd spend their nights entranced in verse

They dreamed of ways to end his curse

Her life she left behind to flee

He drank her blood; he set her free
 
PERFECT

Its eyes were its hair
And they were its nose and lungs.
Long straws;
Down each daylight dropped
And was trapped,
And on the great combined surface,
Exchanges of gases.

Its ears waved in the roaring air,
And through swathes of swaying pinpricks
It watched its prey land
And walk about its planet:
Teetering on tiny legs,
Seeing with two tiny eyes;
Barely going anywhere,
Seeing nearly nothing.

Its hundred hands
Were a thousand mouths,
Inside-out and
Twenty meters tall:
Each had thirty, forty tongues
Which were also teeth and fingers.
The fragile forms meandered past,
Perceiving danger never.

Its stomach was a shallow pit
That held a million, million grains
That slowly ground down any solid,
Absorbed all liquid,
And every inch was clean and white
And eager to be fed.

The prey wore simple looks of pride
On the side where they kept their eyes,
Their pitiful hands and mouth
And other parts besides.
They had proved that perfect,
Pristine planets
Rest within their tiny reach:
Just look at all the pretty pastures,
The forests
And the beach!
 
This is a rewritten version of a pastiche of Emily Dickinson I came up with some time ago. My main concern is whether it is too derivative of the original.

_____________________________________________________________


Assassin waits – thin crooked line –
Inhabitant of grass
Whose shadow – under scales hid –
Invisibly is cast.
While I – with wet uncertain eye –
Wait silently in view.
How swift the tooth that strikes
Between the petal and the dew!
 
Soulless

Jammill, For Hannah is really powerful, and while not comical, it still has it's humorous moment, which did not, in my opinion, mess with the effect at all. Well done! I just hope no one finds it offensive....

(Squirms back into the doghouse with tail between legs).

Hi, just thought I'd put one of my more SF minded poems up, see what kind of reaction it gets, so far what I've read on this thread has been amazing so apologies for lack of rhymes, it's something that I just cannot seem to do without it looking forced and Shakepearean...congratulations on rhyming and being amazing, they read as if the rhyme is just a happy accident and I salute your skill...I try to give mine a rhythm, but I may just be seeing that from over-familiarity...anyway, I hope you like it...

Life

Endless moments.
Wanted or not.
Those unlucky few whose moment last
A lifetime,
Their unasked for responsibilities,
Overshadowing freedom.
Those unlucky few whose moments,
Never happen.
Obsessing over moments past,
Moments untaken,
Life of regrets.
Those unlucky few whose moments,
Never arrive.
Moments wander by,
The next always greater
And still ungrasped.
These moments' greatness only realised
Once ghosting.
That lucky one, artificial, rejoices
In its immortal moment.
Doing the one thing its creators couldn’t.
Live.

I wouldn't worry about rhyming, but if you did write something you wanted to add this kind of sound to, you can always go with a near-rhyme (you should see examples of that in my piece below).

Since you want a reaction, I'll have a go. I like the language you use, and the repetition of "those unlucky few" (simply because I like the way those words sound together). It feels like poetic use rather than a prosy use. "Once ghosting," I think, is a good example of this.

However, I think this piece would benefit greatly with some more concrete imagery. Imagery, and visualization, is just as important in poetry as it is in fiction and it really brings a poem to life. Some description and some action instead of just a bit of abstract exposition. For example, show me the machine that lives or something that's going on around it, what separates it from the unlucky ones?

Since it feels like it's the robot's POV, what does he imagine, specifically, are the "moment's past" the others are "obsessing" over?

The imagery you use doesn't have to be based on my questions, since I'm just posing them to give you something to think about. I'm sure you can work something in there, something you feel is important to the piece, that works.

Keep writing! I hope you'll post more. A revision of this one would also be very much anticipated.

Okay. My turn again! Have a look at this, my most recent attempt to write contemporary heavy metal lyrics, which I posted on my blog a couple days ago:

Soulless

Fetid roses at your feet,
long bitter songs in the wind.
Gray stone crosses, shadows keep,
bury deep our raging sins.

You want to know me
and I want to touch you.
Drive my show,
drive your hollow cure.

Under soulless moon where we linger,
slide the ring of youth on my finger.
Tell me how much you love me,
I tell you how much I care.
Tell me how much you love me,
I tell you how much I care.

Not a damn bit…
not a damn bit.

Stranger kisses in my ear,
the looks we shared on display.
Forced to swallow toxic years
for everything we betrayed.

You want to kill me
and I won’t let you go.
Drive my nut,
drive your frozen core.

Under soulless moon where we linger,
slide the ring of death on my finger.
Tell me how much you hate me,
I tell you how much I care.
Tell me how much you hate me,
I tell you how much I care.

With all my heart…
all of my heart.

EDIT: @Victoria: I forgot to say I don't know the poem to which you allude, but I like what you wrote. Last two lines really bring it home, too.

Ooh. They're really is a lot of good stuff in this thread.
 
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My Very Best Friend gave me a poetry note book. Its got little quotes on every page and no pressure to be anything but a place for my thoughts to fall.
In it I learned a new form and when I was working through a rough patch, sketched out a poem that I refined a bit today.
Thought I'd share it with you and see what you think

Today I grieve for those I've lost.
Friends, gone beyond my reaching hand.
I cannot bear to sum the cost,
uncounted lie time's slipping sand.

Friends gone beyond my reaching hand
memories discarded on the shore.
Uncounted lie, time's slipping sand,
Abandoned. What will be, no more.

Memories discarded on the shore
can, yet, again be claimed.
Abandond what? Will be no more
those happy memories save?

Can, yet again, be claimed
those lost that I grieve so?
Those happy memoiries saved
thought lost so long ago?

Those lost that I grieve so,
I cannot bare to sum the cost.
Those happy memories saved . . .
Today, I grieve for those I've lost.
 
Hope, I like it a lot. I sense the pathos in this poetry. I (and I think its just me) have a bit of a problem with the fourth line

"uncounted lie time's slipping sand."

Sand is an irregular noun which can be either a plural or a singular noun. I prefer it as a singular noun so the line would read "uncounted lies time's slipping sand." But your line is correct as written and might draw the attention you want to each grain of sand, but when I read it my first thought was something's wrong, and then "Oh, a mismatched verb and noun." And finally, "Wait a minute that could be correct."

If you have a notebook where you save your poetry, put this one in it. It is very, very, good.
 
I hadn't thought of putting the s in.
Listening to the line with it in though I like it best with it out. S's being so sibilant I like to keep them to the end of the line when things are slipping. ba dum bum bum ba dum bum bum rather than ba dadada ba dadada.

*blushing mumbled thanks* I am glad you liked it. I had some sudden news of a loved one's death. And when asked about it later remembered just how much death I have known in my life. Thinking back on all those loved ones that I will not see while I live, and must trust to faith that I may see them after my time on this mortal plane is done, I got thinking that they were no further away than my memories of them, just like the many friends I have who have moved away and I've lost contact with, or dont contact often enough. Which got me thinking about just how many people have passed through my life beyond my reach. Ether through death or distance or both. Made me appreciate the power of memory more. And lament that mine is so organized that it withholds more than it makes available.
Then I remembered about this form that I had read, how it makes you think about the meaning of each line and try and take it in different ways, that it begins where it starts but changed the start so completely by the end that it's something else all together.
So I thought I'd give it a try and got the framework of the first for stanzas down without holding myself as strictly to form as I did in the rewrite. Letting the words play with each other and suggest better phrasing as I went along.
Let it sit for a week while I worked through the rest of my grieving process enough to come back to it with a more objective eye, yet feelings fresh enough to preserve the original emotive content.
 
Hope, the more I read the poem the more I like it. I especially like it now that you've explained a little more about what was going through your head when you wrote it.

I have to admit this line: "ba dum bum bum ba dum bum bum rather than ba dadada ba dadada." made no sense to me. I assume that you are doing the beat of poetry, but I don't understand how that goes with your very reasonable and easily understood explanation earlier. "Listening to the line with it in though I like it best with it out. S's being so sibilant I like to keep them to the end of the line when things are slipping."

If you know of a good poetry contest, enter this one. It could well win.
 
You assume correctly, it's meant to be the rythems that presented without and with the s when i tried them.
I think the school im enrolling in may have a publication i can submit it for. I'll have to look up the rules for it. Thanks *happy blushy smile*!
 

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