New Poetry Thread

[master arminas]

A Prayer for the Living


He asked from whence I came
for whom we in silence chose to wait

Never once, not once, for our name
but his eyes glowed with the light of hate.

I spoke in quiet perfect desperation
in the shadow of our soul, every nerve straining

Man and woman, of every race, of every nation
to hear, to grasp, a prayer for the living.


Should we seek life, he asked
when demons prance among the still

Relics of tattered dreams masked
of battered, broken children having no will.

Dare you see them, flickering ebbing embers,
ashes of war, dust of death, dry tears weighing

Unspoken despair for this end of time remembers
to utter, to bespeak, to mock, a prayer for the living?


We are every man, and no man, but indeed all man
as beautiful and terrible as the fallen angel below

It is not the end, but the chance, however slim
to live before one dies, to love, to cherish, to know.

Thus I seek solitude, solace for people all
my faith in uncaring God above strained by believing

Some good in this life to do before the fall
to softly sing, to whisper, to dream, a prayer for the living.

 

[Saeltari]

Endless Starry Night​

I walk alone on an endless starry night;
With the wind, always there, never in sight.​

Moonlight leading me by my heart,
I walk alone on an endless starry night.​

My eyes on the horizon can sight,
Loneliness, a constant companion I must fight.​

I walk alone on an endless starry night.
The beauty of this world, to my soul so right.​

Sorrow on my path plays its part and, . . .​

I walk alone on an endless starry night.
Comfort in this velvet blackness so slight.​

In my search for more light,
I walk alone on an endless starry night.​

 

[Majimaune]

I like it Saeltari, nice and has, to me, a broken feel.

A Glass Heart

Do you remember that summer
Where we sat alone together
on a grassy hill,
Enjoying each others company.

I wish we could have that again.
Holding hands,
And running in the rain,
You looked so beautiful,
Trying to stay dry but failing.

Then we went
to your house to dry off,
The sofly towelled hair,
All messy and you not caring,
Red lips begging to be kissed.
How could I resist?

We wasted days away together,
looking into each others eyes,
Laughing at the smallest things.

Those were the good days
Can we go back to them?

I'll give you a glass heart,
Fragile and easily broken.
Please take care of it.

 

[Dexter]

Lost in Translation

A novel is written, causing a stir.
The astounding story, many adore.
A faraway place the heroes explore.
With moral dilemmas, distinctions blur;
Heroes grow and change, they’re not as they were.
A few even do things that we abhor.
We cheer them, we cry, sometimes we implore.
Pages turn, revealing hero and cur.
Then a movie studio buys the rights.
The tale is rewritten two or three times.
Our beloved heroes now play it safe,
Their pure actions shown through projector lights.
As evil villains commit all the crimes,
I wonder at the changes and I chafe.

 

[Dexter]

My Bird Feeders

Slung from low branches of my nameless tree
Are seed-bearing feeders numbering three.
Just a few feet away and off to one side
Amongst my flowers a bird bath resides.
To draw in the birds and help them allay,
With a full service little bird cafe
That feeds their hunger and quenches their thirst;
But the cleanest bird bath goes to the first.
I've hosted Blue Jays and Red-winged Blackbirds,
Dark-eyed Juncos and Brown-headed Cowbirds,
Common Grackles and little House Finches,
Candy-colored flutter-by Goldfinches,
An uncountable swarm of House Sparrows,
A few very polite Chipping Sparrows,
And without a doubt my special darlings
Are more maligned than a mob of Starlings.
Whose appearance causes others to balk,
My favorite guest is the Red-tailed Hawk!

 

[DocFlamingo]

There is no free will, only gravity.
Boundless, soulless, relentless gravity.
The cold-hard compulsion of chemistry.
All things are foregone; pointless, closed and fixed.

All will end lightless, scattered through the void
Or in the bellies of the great dragons
Upon which all of the galaxies wheel.
All was planned in the musings of atoms,

All of us doomed before time’s inception;
All questions are answered simply: Because...
Sightless we scramble about in the dark,
Inertia’s shadow ever gaining ground.

Blotting the sun out, then the stars in turn,
And bleeding the heat from our sweat-soaked skins
Which shiver and quake for want of a flame.
How easy it is, insulated by

A few feet of earth once entropy comes,
Hunting like a shark through the depths of time.
Hear them bay, the dogs of the Wild Hunt,
Rabid with pleasure we may never know.

 

[Moonbat]

I find myself falling
Further every day,
Accelerating
Towards terminal velocity.
Will love’s parachute
Open before I hit the ground?

 

[Werewoman]

Well, this is intimidating, but then a fool was born...

THE BLOOD CHILD​

With bloody cries
And gasping breath
My final life began...​

Knowing ancient wisdoms
Passed down by the wraiths
My soul is keening silently
Mourning bile-soaked faiths.​

And cringing, begging mercy
From the yoke, that pulls the plow
The harvest sealed inside the stars
Looked then as they do now. ​

The passing of the daily feats
Hides behind the red-soaked eyes
The joy disguised as cleverness
Made saner seem the lies.​

The monster hides behind a mask
And bides it's time and waits
Until unleashed by evil force
To kill the ones it baits.​

Some would say there's no such thing
But they are proud and weak
The things they value most of all
No courageous man would seek. ​

Faith eludes a victory
The valiant men may fall
But what they see behind their eyes
Is never won by all. ​

Times have changed and so have we
A race of fools who think
The goal of every man and child
Denies our missing link.​

So I will leave this faery place
Where monsters are not real
Where truth is never fostered
And fools no longer feel.​

The wise new child sees ages past
And cries for what it longs
But soon is soothed by Ancient Ones
With earth's eternal songs.​

So when I turn to leave you
With all that came to pass
The night will settle quietly
Behind the mirrored glass. ​

 

[zaelyel]

I had a try:

Invisible

I am lonely
Lonely inside.
No one sees it
But I can feel it.

And I look for this thing
It escapes me, this 'thing'.
I don't know what it is
I don't care what it is.

It is there somewhere
Somewhere out of reach.

 

[The Procrastinator]

I wish I could write poetry
But I can't.



Question: Have I just written a poem??

 

[zaelyel]

I wish I could write poetry
But I can't.



Question: Have I just written a poem??

I am not an expert in poetry, but if you wrote it and say it is a poem, then no one can say it isn't. It should have a title, maybe the same line as the poem? eg:

I wish I could write poetry but I can't​

I wish I could write poetry
But I can't.​

I wonder whether it would set a world record, maybe the shortess poem ever written?

 

[Majimaune]

I had to go and find the shortest poem.

Fleas

Adam
Had 'em.


Okay now for some of mine...

Cigarette

I stand by,
Watching you poison yourself...
A small glow,
Some paper.
Burning.

I can smell it on myself,
Desensitising me.
I don't seem to care any more.

I watch the days burning out,
Our time getting less.
Will you see me again when all is over?
I don't know...
I don't know...

A few more drags
Until we're all done.
Building me up
As you break me down.

 

[MattyK]

I thought this might make you guys chuckle a bit. I have no skill for poetry at all but my Dad was pretty good at it, he evenhad a few published. This is my favourite, mainly because it was inspired by something I said! And, if you can't tell from reading it already, it was based abound The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.

Ode Inspired By My Two Year Old Son Uttering The Words “The Next Day Was A Moo Cow” And Me Not Having The Faintest Idea What He Was Getting At. With Apologies To E. A. Poe (Should Qualify For The Longest Title At Least) by Tim Kik

Once upon a morning dreary while I struggled, weak and weary
Over a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages that numbered four;
Suddenly there came a tapping, that awoke me from my napping,
It was something gently rapping, rapping soft on my front door.

I got up with footsteps heavy, though I’d had my morning bevy.
Several cups of coffee in me, still I tried hard not to snore.
My front door I then flung open, and for sanity was gropin’,
As a large, ungainly raven, flew in landing on the floor.

Uttering a loud “caw blimey”, thus this black bird did espy me,
Rising up, he settled heavy on the plate rack o’er the door.
In between the busts of Ceasar, and Charles Dickin’s Ebenezer,
And some older unknown geezer, hero of forgotten lore.

As he perched there, dark and scary, I approached him very wary,
Brandishing my copy of the ‘Sun’ to knock him on the floor.
He stood up and wings he fluttered and in awesome voice he muttered,
“The next day was a moo cow.” Then he settled down once more.

Baffled by this wild summation, I cried loud in exclamation,
“Get thee gone, thou beast of Satan!” Though he’d struck me to the core.
These strange words they did astound me, echoing in the air around me;
“The next day was a moo cow.” How I dreaded to hear more.

“Why come you here, loathsome raven?” Cried I standing there unshaven,
Gazing at this apparation, lording it o’er my front door.
As I eyed him, visage bleary, he replied in voice most eerie,
“The next day was a moo cow.” He was trying me full sore!

“Have your ravings any meaning?” cried I on my doorpost leaning.
“Or were you just sent here by some raging spirit gone before?
Could you be some apparation, sent to drive me to perdition.
Or perhaps some kind of flying, fortune seeking feathered bore?”

He gazed downward most disdainful, as I lounged there, feeling painful.
With his yellow-eyed malignant glance he nailed me to the floor.
And again with words so baleful, though I’d so far had a pail full,
Said “The next day was a moo cow.” I perspired from every pore.

Courage in me fast was growing, as I, cup of coffee throwing,
Cried aloud, “Thou noisome raven get thee hence from my front door!”
He arose with wing tips dripping, from the coffee I’d been sipping;
With a last “Moo cow”, he vanished, and I never saw him more.

In my dreams I hear him crowing, louder in my conscious growing.
As I struggle fitfully to sleep, these words come to the fore.
Words he cried that have no meaning, and I, on my elbow leaning,
Hear “The next day was a moo cow.” And I shall for ever more.

 

[Hilarious Joke]

Ha ha ha I thought that was grand!

 

[zaelyel]

Wow that was amazing! Had me hooked. Very funny.

 

[sloweye]

Manic Depression.

The Pain is too much
A thousend grim winters
grow in my head
In my ears
the sound of the
coming dead.
All seasons
All sane
All living
All pain.
No opiate to lock still
my senses
Only left
the body locked and tenses.

(Spike Milligan, St.Lukes Hospital, Psychiatric wing, 1953/54)

 

[Majimaune]

So there is this girl... Anyway this is what I wrote.

Life Blood

What happens when
Blood keeps pumping from a broken heart?
Does it still have the same rhythm as before,
Or is each beat
More painful than the last?

Does blood feel like fire
As it makes its way around the body?
The broken heart skipping beats,
Frightfully comforting.

A whispered voice in the ear
Might heal all.
It might also
Wreck destruction,
Irreversible.

 

[dreamhunter]

Some guys come up with pretty poetry when they cant sleep.

 

[Majimaune]

Some guys come up with pretty poetry when they cant sleep.

Indeed that is true but often it needs to be fixed later, after they have had sleep because it doesn't quite make sense...

 

[con]

Hey this is bit from book.Give us opinion.I wrote this couple mins go and am wrecked from exams so not great but still would love if someone could give me some feedback.cheers

upon his steps, leaves rustle and rot
And he is bent for the most terrible of greatness.
There is no virtue here,
In this most foreign of minds,
See these icy dead fingers you so cling to.

Yet such you would take to your breast,
Such you would claim,
But look closer and try your senses, however broken,
His want is not of a beast,
No heat of blood and fiery skies.

But as a weed that hooks its deathly tendrils to the nearest rose,
And like the rose you too shall wither,
Till you sit with yellow eyes beneath his throne of bones.
Till the hopes of flesh cease,
And you will be as he,and yet you will have him.