xkcd

by **andrewz411** » Fri Oct 17, 2008 12:22 am UTC

As my dreams fade.. the nights get worst. i bursted, i could take this curse anymore. I pushed my door and walked out.. the rain falls as i kill and bloodstains on my coat. The answer was made, deeper as this feeling went. As i killed the blood spilled on to my face.. my coat.. i would'nt care. As long as this is fufilled, this thing.. I run, the cops drive, raining, blood shedding.. i killed and killed. Destiny was up to its limit, the Army of cops shot me. I go down and drown in my dream. How could this happen ? Was i wrong ? I was dumb.

by **KeyKiss333** » Fri Oct 17, 2008 2:32 am UTC

Heartbreak
It is the sound of the world
Crashing to a halt
Stuttering.
Clinging to frantic breathing,
Desperate tears.
it is the sound of nails
And of a thousand memories clashing
each demanding to be re-lived.
it is the sound of a thousand disjointed songs
What was yours has been freed
for other couples, other loves.
Your song.
Your first dance.
The song that made you smile at the memories it unearthed.
The song with all the right lyrics.
It is the sound, of course,
Of pain,
Of sorrow,
Fear.
But it resonates deeper than the vocal chords.
It claws among the soul
against the heart
spilling in blood
in ink
Across notes, letters, flowers
Poems.
And it is the sound of the voice you love the most
Saying all the wrong words.
Ending everything.

by **HarleyQuinn** » Fri Oct 17, 2008 3:23 am UTC

*Entered for a contest, theme being "wow!"*

Surprise

I come in,
“Surprise, surprise!”
Is what they say,
“Today is a special day,
A day to laugh and dance and sing,
A day for you, a special thing.”

My jaw drops,
“Wow! Mine, no jokes?”
I stutter now,
“Why did you do it? Why? How?
It’s so amazing, so caring,
Chocolate cake? Don’t think I’m sharing.”

I now calm,
“I thank you all,”
I kindly say,
“Thanks for making this my day,”
A massive smile reaches my face,
“Moments like this I can’t replace.”

“Let’s have fun!
We’ll eat and play,
We’ll have a blast!
Let’s get this going, at last!
Come enjoy this wondrous event,
I love it to a great extent.”

by **clintonius** » Sat Oct 18, 2008 1:18 am UTC

Ren -- that poem was astonishing. Well done.

This is one I wrote a while ago. I've got several floating around, and figure I'll post one at a time to spread them out a bit.

Sleepless Night

Blue like a glowing Midwestern moon fades to dim white
on my unlit ceiling.
The sign across the way –
Pabst –
screams garish humanity
through bent glass tubes. The glowing element
offends, buzzing, captured –
Irreducible.

My clock looms from the dresser. Shining
like Caribbean phosphorescence,
it invites my bitterness, as if time
and not this lifeless measuring cup
were our creation.

by **KayBee** » Tue Oct 21, 2008 12:27 am UTC

I present for your enjoyment: A nerdy poem I did just for the heck of it, when I was feeling a bit negative about my romantic prospects. It has one stanza each for Physics, Comp Sci, Stats, and Math. (It goes well with this comic, although that's not what I had in mind when I wrote it.)

I’m Fourier transforming my emotions,
Breaking down the functions part by part,
Writing out equations for the motions
To solve the propagation of my heart.

I’ve written in int brain() a simulation;
And no matter which variables I call;
To minimize the pain of Situation();
It’s clear that I must set myLove to NULL;

To help my odds, in this Binomial form,
I need to make n larger or p higher.
Alas, my deviations from the norm
Apparently have made me an outlier.

By now, my set of options is compact.
My n’hood’s empty, del conditions met,
And so, by definition, it’s a fact:
I’ll never be part of a perfect set.

by **quintopia** » Wed Oct 22, 2008 7:20 pm UTC

Evolved from something I read in a dream:

I stood, my feet in water ankle-deep and said to Harry "hi!"
He emitted as one does in sleep a solitary sigh.
The soggy-footed storekeep slogged away and never met my eye.
Though, using much as I do in my day, when I go by I buy.

by **Raeluna** » Fri Oct 24, 2008 5:42 pm UTC

Something I wrote for English, given the topic of death and/or loss

Ossuary

The midnight fog sits chill and damp
Against her ivory skin.
The mausoleum's gates are shut;
Wrought bars of worldly sin.

Soft ebon hair, once so pristine
Still swathes her graceful head.
And as I stand here cursing fate,
I know my love is dead.

Her soul fled in the winter
When the nightingale won't sing.
The found upon her frozen breast;
Our broken wedding ring.

They say the angels wept for her,
Her soul besieged by fright;
The say the moon bore halo'd brow
As she slipped away that night.

Cold raindrops marred the coffin lid
Embossed in mourning black,
Her marble lids hide azure eyes,
She's never coming back.

They placed her 'pon the altar
With a solemn moonlight hymn,
The silver cross betwix'd her palms
Belies the reaper's whim.

The mourners came, but never stayed,
So runs the fear of men.
I alone stayed standing guard
Should my beloved wake again.

I'll forever maintain vigilance,
Though my heart remains bereft,
My midnight love will never wake,
But her spirit never left.

by **Tronald** » Sat Oct 25, 2008 4:48 pm UTC

He'll Never Leave you.
You are his Slave And Bitch.
He will Destroy You.

He Stock Your Thoughts
You Cant Run, You Cant Hide.
He Will Play And Kill

No one ever knows him
He Can come in Meny shapes
Cars, Planes, Guns, People, You.

There is No doubt hes coming, And you Will Never Know When Or why, You Just Die.

by **bigglesworth** » Mon Oct 27, 2008 12:02 am UTC

Reposted from the Haiku thread, as other people liked them, but revised.

Wisdom, known to Greeks
I'd dance with her all night long.
It's not love, but lust.

The fairest paleness.
I would love her till the end.
But Polyphemos...

The crowned islander.
Not I to return these words.
Your hopes have no home.

A clever person
Could think of the names alluded.
...they could not help me.

And

Again my hopes slip.
The valkyrie another's.
She departs the field.

The battle not mine.
Doomed to stand holding my arms.
Not fall into hers.

by **MalkuthSephira** » Thu Oct 30, 2008 1:52 pm UTC

Daat

Your nightmare screams from the tops of the trees
"It's time to unleash all the things you have seen
Where the water runs deep and the darkness is clean"

Somebody screams from between the ripped seams
"It's time to complete this work so replete
With sorry complaints dressed in new coats of paint"

In a world where they lash out from hiding between
The pages of books and the lines on TV
What do you do to get by?

Lying and writhing on cold concrete floors
The world swaying loosely above and below
Are you afraid of slipping beneath the ocean's tow?

They wax and wane, depraved light of the moon
Dancing where voices are indistinct and indiscreet
Weaving masks and hollow poetry for all those
Who intrude to dispute of these truths

Coughing up thunderstorms every day
To slip away down the dirty sink drain
And flow fresh from the shower head
Suffused in the rotting fruit I've sowed

Lacking maps reliable or encouraging
Barred by doubts that can't be occluded
Or assuaged with some miracle salve
No, I'll drown in a shower of snake oils and amulets
And hold fast to a silence that's burning inside

That boy from the old town, I don't like his style
He's hanging from ledges and lying inside
Punching numbers into the wide, silver screen

Watching footfalls echo across cracked black plains
A thousand, thousand thirsty ghosts who pray for rain
On a pilgrimage to no place that's ever been seen
Aglow with the moonlight reflecting off the shards
Of broken glass and the plastic hopes and dreams
Cast off along the way

Take my hand
Let's walk on through the scattered ash
And grave dust of the worlds that came before
Setting store in a destination nobody really
Believes is waiting any more

Seeking just some shallow reconciliation
Rolls of paper spitting straight into the shredder
Soaked in double-speak turning back on itself
Just excuses for another transitory state
I will never, can never conclusively escape

That boy from the old town, I don't like his style
It's falsehood upon falsehood bursting out every aisle
Folders filled with files that have lost their relevance.

by **freak-pudding** » Fri Oct 31, 2008 6:20 am UTC

Here's a few poems. Note: I hate poetry.

To: the Editor
Grey is small
svelte
a wisp of smoke from a lover's cigarette
a jolly, cool face pressed against the window
autumn curling up around the lamppost like a lazy cat.

Gray is glaring
guttural
a slow-marching soldier with a wooden gun
a furious old man with a mouthful of tobacco
staring out past the vignette of his forgotten children.

In the future
you will kindly leave my letters alone
and focus on comma splices
or be met with the business end of a machete.
Yours,
The Writer

Radiology Waiting
Your back is a ski-slope.
For a moment I amuse myself,
a line of screaming Swedes—
Is it Swiss I mean? I never know.
—sweeping over your bowed shoulders,
dodging the wrinkles and folds of the shirt bunched beneath your arm,
down the easy swell of your muscles—
Trapezoid? Trapezius? I wonder, as it twitches and you breathe.
—to the dip, the hollow where your back ends,
and I lean forward to rest my hand there
because I’ve just thought, there’s no way
for the little skiers
to go back, to try again,
but you stand and so must I,
and we shake hands with the registrar.
All the way to the waiting room
your hand is on my side—
not my back, but higher, the bottom half of my ribcage.
Your fingers fit the ridge and travel to my spine.
—We hold the door for a nurse and her charge,
or rather, you hold, and I stand aside,
fingers folded over my elbows,
eyes shielded beneath an errant curl—
The old man’s smile twists his face,
his feet balanced on the IV stand,
fingers drumming a military march on the machine.
—and then onward we waltz,
side-stepping carts of gowns and plastic tubes.
Our shoes beat a samba rhythm across the cold linoleum.
I choose a seat, half of a bench near the television.
Everyone’s watching a cooking show as you check in, and then we sit
quietly, knees meeting in the middle. You do not take my hand.
I am trying to remember a joke, the name of
your sister’s third cat or husband, suffocating without touch—
Are you listening? I turn my head to watch your profile,
your glazed, faraway eyes.
—so I tap my fingers against yours, and your palm unfolds.
I talk about lifelines until your name is called,
and watch you disappear behind a sheet of smoked glass.

by **Flesh_Of_The_Fallen_Angel** » Sat Nov 01, 2008 7:31 am UTC

By clicking the "Show" button, you agree to not steel this poem.

Spoiler:

by **greeniguana00** » Tue Nov 04, 2008 7:12 am UTC

This is an interesting thing where I took lines from my IM Logs and arranged them into stanzas, and then arranged the stanzas into a poem which could actually be interpreted. For some reason I really enjoy finding order in something like this.

I'll be there either way
because he didn't know enough
okay?

see, the human voice is probably the best intrument
i wish i got more serious about the instrument at a young age
even the facial expressions

because opens sound too bright
but thats the beauty of interpretation
it does kind of feel like it's separated from everything else

to start at
i have to go
and just kept passing it on

but they wouldn't help you much to determine who is
only slightly though
or just a little

but id kill that bitch
little more pressure
you need to have a middle ground

let me try to describe the change
what aspect?
I thought you'd fall for it

wouldnt that be
I haven't slept enough
and its over with

theres a song called epic
if i go head first
ill die

by faith no more
so either accept it, or reject it
i learned that one the hard way

and really, people don't change
well, I do
more of a human

and ive known you for a while
thats what i cant get past though
I mean, imagine being her

i know where i stand
but it's not like that at all
what use is it?

by **Immortal_Z** » Mon Nov 10, 2008 4:50 am UTC

Expectancy in misery
Why does line comfort me?
Depression as home,
Death through trust;
Escaping the road
To the creation of "us."

Misery on my TV.
Not what life seems to be;
War is always on the news,
Blanked out faces with the same tune.
More are dead-
Just go to bed.

Comfort in one's dying breath,
Suicide to win the breadth,
Finding space, space to think;
Final moment, never blink.
Knowing what's the matter
Watching everything splatter

Writing words, shooting guns;
Wasting time, having fun?

by **JayDee** » Mon Nov 10, 2008 7:13 am UTC

Maths exam was today. I am not really proud of how I went. Something I am somewhat proud of? This poem:

It can be a burden on a heart to feel this way, I know.
A weight that warps perceptions. So unsure of what I see.
The smallest slight, a glance away, my mind turns to a vast
and vicious message, sent to show me that I shouldn't start
to think that you might care, might be in love with me also.
I hate that sickly love can cast a pallor on the day,
even as the target of said love is near. Too near? Perchance
the longing heart aches more when that for which it longs is there
in sight than when it from afar did dream. For distance lets
the fancy conjure up romance without hanging above
it all those things (some quite unfair) that nearness makes us at
once aware. And so I have regrets for being where you are.

And while I can't help but suspect that every thing I feel
is twisted by this foolish crush and so should be ignored
it's like some magic clouds my mind. Although I know that I
am seeing things all wrong - unreal distortions - I inspect
your every act for some discord. Imagining you brush
off each and every thing I try to say. As if you find
in even my 'hello' something that causes you disgust.
It is for this I've been upset for days, and no amount
of reasoning can bring me ease. I can't convince myself
with any words, instead I must see what new days will bring.
I wish I somehow could discount all these feelings and yet
to have my heart down off the shelf is such a sweet release.

by **littlesuz13** » Tue Nov 25, 2008 6:29 pm UTC

I wrote this in memory of a friend of mine who killed himself three years ago.

Dream a dream
Sleep little one
And think of a better time
Remember good days
And happy times
Not the horrors of today
The road is dark
You seem so lost
But never give up hope
In the distance
There is a light
To guide your way back home

Dream a dream
Sleep little one
And remember times past
Let memories
Give you hope
To lighten up your path
Time is tough
Life is hard
Let loved ones give you hope
Just hang on
Another day
For you can make it through

Dream a dream
sleep little one
I hope your pain is gone
Tears shed
Can't believe you're gone
Your pain is ours too
Your memory
Will stay with us
It will never go away
Dream a dream
Sleep little one
We will love you always

by **Camoninja** » Fri Nov 28, 2008 7:28 am UTC

This poem (spoken fugue, I'm not really sure how to classify it) was written by my old 5th grade music teacher, Joe Broadus. He was a really cool guy, and I'm not sure if he's still teaching or what. But I really think that this is a good poem, so here goes.

Ode to Sandra
(Spoken Fugue)

Sandra of Atlanta
Is alone in Alaska
Singing stanza after stanza
Of the yoga done in Kenya

The tundra is the place
Where she plans an extra gala
High aloft the delta vista
Thinking thoughts of ole Manila

Estimate
Complicate
Manipulate and dominate

Stabilize
Maximize
Sensitize and mobilize

Not atomic
Not anemic
Not a stigma on my soul

Antidotes to litigate
Implicate and duplicate
Destiny that obligates
Culminates and palpitates

Arise
Alive
Arise
Alive

by **scrt_rbt_agnt** » Sat Dec 06, 2008 1:12 am UTC

since i haven't posted any real poetry in this thread in over a year and was browsing through some stuff i wrote this year (only wrote a handful. been out of practice).

untitled:

the public process
creates a line
struck through and stuck to
the stark contrast of bold indecision
that sweep
the bum corners
of this old painted town.
send me back and crown me king
i'll change the ripe smells you
consider unworthy
and i'll keep on growing
up
but
i'll never be
a man.

by **StickFigureLover69** » Fri Dec 26, 2008 4:16 am UTC

Keep it Up
Is this real or is this fake,
This stinging question makes me quake.

If you love me, like you claim you do,
Then it needs no saying that I love you too.

But if all I am to you, is someone to use,
then please keep me locked in your honeysuckle noose.

I love the way that this love feels,
too much to care if its even real.

People change as time will pass,
and all the good things never seem to last.

But whatever you're it is you're doing,
Please don't stop.
Whatever it is, it feels so good,
In a way that nothing should.

Whether or not you are true and sincere,
Losing you is my only fear,
You've always managed to brighten my days,
I couldn't bare us parting ways.

But regardless of what happpens,
I'll always treasure our time and hold you dear,
And keep your memory by and near.

Left Alone
In this world I feel so blind,
And I've lost something I'll never find

You're out of my sight
And I'm out of my mind

You used to fill all the empty spaces
Now all I'm left with is a world full of the same old person
Hiding behind different faces

The only reseloution, to this bittersweet strife,
Is that when I am gone you'll have a better life

Edit: fixed part of the first poem

by **jaysix** » Fri Dec 26, 2008 9:27 am UTC

scrt_rbt_agnt wrote:since i haven't posted any real poetry in this thread in over a year and was browsing through some stuff i wrote this year (only wrote a handful. been out of practice).

untitled:

the public process
creates a line
struck through and stuck to
the stark contrast of bold indecision
that sweep
the bum corners
of this old painted town.
send me back and crown me king
i'll change the ripe smells you
consider unworthy
and i'll keep on growing
up
but
i'll never be
a man.

I really like that! Reminds me of TS Eliot.

I think I scribbled this down when I was uberly high one night. I picked it up and saved it in a text file when I was cleaning out my desk before I left for college.

untitled

I want someone to believe me, someone to see me
I'm reaching blindly while I can still feel
I want the good, but only have the ideal
I'm hurting myself, looking for more
I'm hunting the rich, ignoring the poor
the answers don't answer the questions I asked
the questions took longer than the time that I lasted
maybe the next illusion will tell me what I want to hear
it's in my life, but isn't near
It's in my eyes, but isn't clear
consumes my mind, defines my fear
I've given up on tradition
and was too lazy to change
when the smoke clears
the haze still remains
at the end of the road, the doorman weeps
the kings loses touch, dozes to sleep

by **ThunderCougarFalconThunderhawk** » Sat Dec 27, 2008 6:53 am UTC

hey I'm new, and I figured I put some poems up. Normally I don't write poetry, but recently I've been trying it out, so I don't know how well these are written.

Pure

People say that Computers and machines
disrupt
the writing process
People say the only Pure medium
is on paper.
But, If I may interject, what about what came before,
back when paper and pencil were simply new machines?
So then, is stone the medium we should use?
Chiseling our words in rock,
I’ll admit there is a romantic notion to that,
almost a struggle, a war with earth, to etch yourself
on it.
And what about before we knew how to scratch our words?
Back before we could make something concrete?
I suppose words were used by themselves, no need for a vehicle
between Author and Reader, but voice.
A poet would say the words in his heart, and then everyone else
would be amazed. Nothing written, just passed along, like anything
else worth repeating:
“Anything new in the village today son?” an older villager may ask his son
“Famine in the East, The Crops are coming in nicely, um...oh, and
the poet said Roses were red and violets are blue” Says the son.
Only words, how pure.
But what about before that, because even language is an invention,
a way to communicate thoughts and ideas from person to person,
but what came before?
I can only imagine the first love poem as two people
together, no words, just motion. Just feeling.
And what if you had something to say, and no one was around,
and you couldn’t etch it into the earth?
And there are no words
only feelings
and all you could do is think about it,
loudly,
and silently,
until you were dead.
That is as pure as it gets I suppose,
everyone walking around, poetry inside them,
unable to get it out.
Finding ways to try and get it out.

Acording To You

I love you
I said.
that is just one line in a poem
that is not nearly enough

Every Bottle you drink is a winner

"Every bottle is a winner"
said the CEO
"but there are no prizes"
said the crowd
So the CEO presented
a graphic slide show presentation
of a Starving Ugandan child
shooting a government official
twice in the neck
blood spraying everywhere

by **a(scetic)verse** » Tue Dec 30, 2008 10:15 pm UTC

I joined to post here. I read the comic and the linguistics forum like religion. Hope you guys enjoy this one. Lots and lots of allusive content that I'll explain in spoiler tags after the poem.

Nagasaki's Burning

And when the flash of light filled our pores,
only we remained.

We became pure then. Absolved
of our sins. Our hearts were lifted
of their burdens.

Was that searing sun not
but that which illuminates the heavens?
We walked, fearing to look to the
moonlit night,
but christened by
two-hundred twenty thousand angels,
we became clean.

How bitter that by our purification,
a new filth surges through our veins.

Spoiler:

by **a(scetic)verse** » Tue Dec 30, 2008 10:33 pm UTC

jaysix wrote:
scrt_rbt_agnt wrote:since i haven't posted any real poetry in this thread in over a year and was browsing through some stuff i wrote this year (only wrote a handful. been out of practice).

untitled:

the public process
creates a line
struck through and stuck to
the stark contrast of bold indecision
that sweep
the bum corners
of this old painted town.
send me back and crown me king
i'll change the ripe smells you
consider unworthy
and i'll keep on growing
up
but
i'll never be
a man.

I really like that! Reminds me of TS Eliot.

Well, it's modernist in structure, so it absolutely is Eliot-esque. It's also reminiscent of later WC Williams, etc. It's a fantastic piece, scrt_rbt_agnt. "stark contrast" is always a great phrase; the dissonance of the hard vowels is really powerful. In fact, there are plenty of stop vowels here that give the speaker such a bitter anger to his voice. I love the tone. The balance between vagueness and specificity is just right, I think.

by **a(scetic)verse** » Tue Dec 30, 2008 10:39 pm UTC

greeniguana00 wrote:This is an interesting thing where I took lines from my IM Logs and arranged them into stanzas, and then arranged the stanzas into a poem which could actually be interpreted. For some reason I really enjoy finding order in something like this.

I'll be there either way
because he didn't know enough
okay?

see, the human voice is probably the best intrument
i wish i got more serious about the instrument at a young age
even the facial expressions

because opens sound too bright
but thats the beauty of interpretation
it does kind of feel like it's separated from everything else

to start at
i have to go
and just kept passing it on

but they wouldn't help you much to determine who is
only slightly though
or just a little

but id kill that bitch
little more pressure
you need to have a middle ground

let me try to describe the change
what aspect?
I thought you'd fall for it

wouldnt that be
I haven't slept enough
and its over with

theres a song called epic
if i go head first
ill die

by faith no more
so either accept it, or reject it
i learned that one the hard way

and really, people don't change
well, I do
more of a human

and ive known you for a while
thats what i cant get past though
I mean, imagine being her

i know where i stand
but it's not like that at all
what use is it?

That is absolutely one of the most superb ideas I have come across, ever. I'll get working on one myself. Did you simply use your OWN messages, or the messages that your friends sent as well? The former would be a bigger challenge, but probably a more appropriate approach.

by **HexagonalBolts** » Fri Jan 02, 2009 9:52 am UTC

This is such a great collection of eloquent poetry, I almost feel guilty for tainting it with some of my own 'merely human' poems.

Wife and two kids

I hear the tumultuous thronging of strings in my ears
Whilst outside a sick and disgusting woman shouts to her friend,
Each fetid syllable of sex and curtains and sweat and beers
Rains a sordid here and now down in grimy tears.

There are pages, books, wood, wires and words
Dirt, dust, fluff - and flaws,
Filled with faults:
Pitiful carnal retreat,
Violating mutinous hormones,
Overbearing screaming baby of banality.
These very own awkward words of disgust
Rape themselves for idiots to trust,
Or laugh, and I’ll choke,
Guffaw, and joke,
Crying.

Shrugging time and space away too the floor,
I drop my pens, paper, notes and more...
To curl into a ball and masturbate my mind
Orgasming disgust in the stark face of eternity

by **HexagonalBolts** » Fri Jan 02, 2009 10:11 am UTC

More poems

To Jess (love poem :oops:

)

Blissfully coiled upon splendour, or wandering
In your long black coat, friendly pockets, a peaceful harmony
Of adoring eyes so soft and all embracing
With those smiles to serve forever our sweet existence as testimony.
Brilliance to destroy a boundless congregation of lesser worlds and dreams,
Whispers lapping gently as the sea, sifting sanded skin,
Rivers of warm embraces flowing towards me, desires in their reams,
Thoughts and fears washed to lands away from little words, breaths and lips within.
A graceful tranquillity of those blush-nurturing kisses and that heart-warming blonde
To transcend and concord, rejoice the pinnacle, leave us forever fond.

Autumn Poem

Branch – you are the brush of Autumn, dipped in the
Seasons own melancholy rainbow. Old man,
You wither and shed your children, to join she:
Embrace of gentle due and leaf, motherless pram,
Milkless breast, precursor to the perfect floor.
Gentle parabola’s smooth decline, I am
In debt to your cold embrace forevermore

Infinityhead keeps screaming at me.

Infinityhead keeps screaming at me.
Moulding reality into a bottomless obsidian,
The sun of here sets as she.
Teasing my toe in
A warm tub of concrete (softly imploding),
I become here, and now:
As I’m lifted up by a million magnificent stalks
Bristled and softly scratching.
Waving me up in the goading
Hush of the wind, to the highest leaf,
My mind’s chalks
Place me, godlike now, as an arm, slung around the waist.

Self criticism

All of my poetry feels, to me, quite rushed and immature. I only write poetry when I feel a particularly intense thought or emotion, I think i'm so keen on expressing such a thought or emotion that form, style and rhyme get thrown out the window.

I'd welcome any comments or criticisms (or questions because they are rather abstract and over-obscure)

Creative Writing advice

I run a creative writing club with a teacher at my school for older students (17 or 18) who will go on to study English at university, there are a few interesting activities we have tried when writing poetry which others may find interesting:

- Count down from 100 to 1 out loud whilst attempting to write anything that comes into your head, it is best to do this with other people so there is a lot of confusion, sometimes it reveals what is worrying you, what you're feeling in your subconcious, or sometimes it's just funny

- Get some buttons, then choose ten words to describe the buttons. Then choose 10 words that are 'linked' in some way to the words you have chosen (for example I thought all of the buttons looking up at me were like the eyes of a spider, so I wrote 'spider-like' and then when I had to choose the 'linked' words 'spider-like' made me think of insects 'creeping' and 'scuttling'.
- Get out a map, find a place with a strange name and create a brief story about how it came to have that name, you might be surprised how creative and strange and beautiful the ideas you come up with are, and be inspired to write poetry about them or an element of your story (this was by far my favourite and most useful way of exploring the most interesting elements of my mind without being bogged down by more boring everyday fears of exams etc)

by **Shogun Tink** » Sun Jan 04, 2009 4:18 pm UTC

Here goes... they're kinda goofy!

Thesaurus

Merriam made something for us,

Webster helped make it, "thesaurus"

Recondite and profound,

And healthy, or sound,

Some words are rather sonorous

Winter Poem

Outside, a change did undergo,
You look out and all's covered with snow
You want to be bold
And go outside
But it's too flippin' cold, so stay fireside.

The leaves have fallen off the trees,
Though pines show nonconformity
Their branches are ripe,
With snow aplenty
They make you gripe
When they spill pounds: twenty

The roads are iced, and make you slip
Your words require some censorship
Swing up to a ditch,
And almost fall in,
Yell "Son of a B--- gun!,
Don't do that again!"

by **Plasma Man** » Tue Jan 06, 2009 9:20 pm UTC

First post in this thread. These are some I wrote last month on scrap paper at work, chucked in my bag and haven't done anything with since.

Ice Hermit

My flat a cell
My windows, screens
Frozen rooms full
Of frozen dreams.

Outside, a world
Where hope exists.
Inside, my life
Where ice-floes drift.

My frozen tower
Of isolation.
Emotions numbed.
Petrification.

A hermit in a busy town
Isolates mind, not body.
Former friends are now disowned
Repelled by misanthropy.

Ghosts

I remember the feeling
A body 'gainst mine
Our arms locked around
Our tongues both entwined.

I remember this feeling
A ghost from the past
You pulling me near you
Your hands on my arse.

This ghost circles round me
Igniting my pain.
Being alone now
Sparks fire in my brain.

The rage and the yearning
The fear and the pain
Wanting someone to hold now
Press close against me again.

I want you to want me
Impossible dream
Who would want to please me?
It's no-one, it seems.

A life lived alone
My future holds.
All lonely nights now
Alone and so cold.

December's Darknesses

December morning
Moon is gleaming
Stars a-twinkle
And it's seeming
That I own this darkness
As I walk on
Paths roll under me
I am alone

December evening
Moon is glowing
Street lights dimming
And I'm going
Through shadow strangers
Ache in my bones
Another's night, now
As I walk home.

by **chipbeef9109** » Fri Jan 09, 2009 3:41 am UTC

I'm not very good at writing things that rhyme, but here's something I wrote a long time ago; I call it "The Cages."

Spoiler:

////////////"And the winner is.... [YOU]!"////////////"Coming this November, for only $350!"//////////"Stay the course[?]"///////////"How can we stay the course when we're lost in the woods? Where is the course?"///////////"Everything is alright. It's just a little warmer. It's summer! It happens!"/////////////

//////////Begin Transmission///////////

[BROKEN] NEWS

They grip us in a chokehold above a scarlet river of blood. Our heads are in cages, eyes eternally locked upon their televisions directly in front of us. However, our leaders are here for us. They comfort us, tell us everything is alright. They lie. They distract us with the snowy black-and-white reception of our televisions, showing us vibrant ads of pretty people in pretty places. We become distracted by shiny objects, so compact and easy to carry wherever we go. Travel size, for your convenience. We are seduced by their words, telling us that we can achieve anything we want if we just try hard enough. Yet only the Sons of the Silver Spoons can replace them. We cannot become one of them. We cannot challenge them. We cannot kill them. They never say it, but they do not need to. Men in suits covered in oil, controlled by faceless buildings that when cut, bleed money and drink liquid gold. Everything they touch becomes one of two things, gold or dead. What they want, they get, and it becomes gold. What they do not want dies. Wherever they look, everything becomes theirs. Whatever their miniscule eyes do not look upon dries up and fades into dust. We are their slaves, they prostitute us to all the world. We work for them, we live for them. We cannot overthrow them, for to overthrow the ultimate power of the idol known as money is unimaginable in the minds of the majority. We cannot get out of these cardboard cages, even as they fill with the blood of the enemies of the nation, so-called freedom fighters, vigilantes, and terrorists.
The cruel, cage-like machines that have always held our mouths in a smile have begun to wear down. As they fall apart, we look around and realize that nothing is okay. The heat and the sunburns have begun to break through their veil. The fur coats are being sweated off. The painted faces of the beautiful are melting off, and underneath is something entirely different. The masters and experts argue amongst themselves, put on a show to appear to act, yet everything stays the same and nothing ever changes. As they finish their debates, our hands clap, but it is not our will. We see that our hands are in metallic claws, they put our hands together and as we clap, the masters bow and thank us for their support. They put a straw in our mouths, connecting us to the machines that feed us, and we swallow their words as we stare at the blank ceiling. They give us everything they need to survive. However, the heat is unbearable, and now the cages have become unsealed. We want to beg for ice, but know that if we make a sound they will rebuild the head cage and as before, our eyes will be forever entranced upon the big-screen television of vivid black-and-white consumerism. We walk while we stand, alone, in our cages. We walk but go nowhere. The machines keep us here in these cages. The experts monitor and scribble, forever watching, learning nothing.

Spoiler:

Took that second spoiler from the video for "A Beautiful Lie" by 30 Seconds to Mars, not gonna lie. But it's true. We need to once in a while.

I hope you enjoyed it.

by **Scaredcrow** » Fri Jan 09, 2009 3:44 am UTC

Meditation I

Fear is a memory that must not remain
But fear persists

It takes my hand
and I turn cold like the wind
whipping from the east

(It is my
heart feels fear

Still the wind blows
blowing the frigid wind of fear)

by **Ati** » Fri Jan 09, 2009 4:18 am UTC

Here's something I did a little while ago:

Sometimes

Sometimes the snow falls
Under gently glowing skies
And sometimes the wind blows
O'er bricks and burned out eyes

And sometimes, too, the shelter creaks
In empty ancient night
And something, too, cries out in sleep
For air, for breeze, for light.

And sometimes frost creeps low
Through tended gardens green
But bone man waits out in the cold
Though nowhere to be seen

His fingers click on Geiger dials
And pause to stroke your cheek
But nimble fingers draw out hair
And skin begins to leak

Bone man waits for proud and bold
And all die in his keep
And sometimes one returns to die
At home in shaking sleep

So sleep tight, little one
Forget the sky and sea
For bone man waits for everyone
And centuries are still to creep

by **chipbeef9109** » Sat Jan 10, 2009 4:31 am UTC

A song (I haven't come up with music for it yet) I just wrote about an hour ago... I like it. Hope you do too.

The Bay of Singlesville (Aim for the Dawn)

This life's not always been
what I wanted it to be
I took care of all else
before thinkin 'bout me

My friends all used me
to take care of their problems
I'd work thanklessly,
but I was so solemn

But I'll wait out this storm
in the Bay of Singlesville
Lookin out into the dark
through the cabin's sill

I've waited for a long time
for it to finally be my turn
I thought Fate would be fair
and give me that which I yearn

But I'll wait out this storm
in the Bay of Singlesville
Lookin out into the dark
through the cabin's sill

It's my turn now
I must be strong
and sail this ship
aim for the dawn

I won't give up, I won't back down,
I'll keep my hope, I will not drown.

I WON'T GIVE UP I WON'T BACK DOWN,
I'LL KEEP MY HOPE, I WILL NOT DROWN.

(Instrumental?)

But I'll wait out this storm
in the Bay of Singlesville
Lookin out into the dark
through the cabin's sill

It's my turn now
I must be strong
and sail this ship
aim for the dawn

aim for the dawn

aim for the dawn...

by **ASmileWithoutACat** » Fri Jan 16, 2009 4:30 am UTC

A feeble attempt...
But I felt like trying to write tonight (which hasn't happened in a long time) and had an urge to let somebody see some of it (which has happened... never?) so here it is.
Rather long and harsh (and a first draft), be warned.

Spoiler:

I feel a bit hypocritical posting this... I know I do my own fair share of pissing and moaning, but...
Eh, my annoyance at people who wallow in it was getting a bit high, so I wrote something about it, and that was the only thing that came out readable.
Enjoy. Or don't, as you wish.

by **SinUnNombre** » Sat Jan 24, 2009 7:09 pm UTC

I hope you guys don't mind a fora newbie invading your thread, but I'd like some feedback on a little something I wrote recently:

Winter

O you cruel and bitter north wind.
How you bite at my face's skin.
Winter hanging close on the stoop.
Eddies of snow in the air doth swoop,
To the wind's will they must obey.
Sky hangs low, so dull and gray,
Sun rests 'neath a blanket of cloud.
Words and breath be seen aloud.
Trees stand lone, so barren and dry.
Long ago in fall did they die.
None else about this lifeless morning,
Save passing birds singing their mourning,
On southwards path to warmer clime.
Where they'll wait and mind their time,
'Til once again the spring returns,
And sun in sky again will burn,
The villainous northern wind doth blow,
Bringing on its' sleet, ice, and snow.

Thanks for any input. Also, I feel I should mention, there's some amazimg poetry in this thread.

Jon

by **greeniguana00** » Mon Jan 26, 2009 1:01 am UTC

Ati, I like that. "His fingers click on Geiger dials" was very powerful.

WithoutAName (aka SinUnNombre), your poem is a descriptive poem, and it happens to be describing something very common. It's essentially saying, "Winter sucks, here's why," and then listing reasons such as the feeling of cold air on your skin, the dull sky, the barren trees, and because it forces the birds to move South. I am no poet myself, but the reason for writing a poem is to convey an idea as well as possible. Your idea happens to be one which isn't really interesting to me, which means that the diction, rhyming, etc. have no impact on me whatsoever. It's like watching someone give a presentation. If you aren't interested in what the presentation is trying to convey, then it won't matter how well it is put together. If a presentation is conveying something interesting, and it happens to be put together well, then you might find yourself saying, "Wow, what a great presentation." In other words, first focus on the idea. Once you have a really good idea in your mind, then figure out how to get the readers to get that same idea in their minds by reading your words. This is the fundamental challenge of writing anything.

by **Plasma Man** » Mon Jan 26, 2009 8:29 pm UTC

Another one, written today. It doesn't have a title yet (I find that the hardest part).

Bed-tousled hair.
Alluring walk.
Bouncy skirt.
Clinging top.

I saw these in the morning.
The world was still and dark.
It could have been the two of us
Alone upon the Earth.

I saw you.
You saw me.
We let each other pass.
Another day,
Another time
And we might take a chance.

by **Elvish Pillager** » Thu Jan 29, 2009 1:07 am UTC

Follow not whereto an empty strong mind may go,
dreaming bleakly out across an endless plateau.

(If the rhythm sounds awkward, you probably emphasized the fifth syllable in each line (which is wrong). Just read it as you would read prose.)

by **HarleyQuinn** » Thu Jan 29, 2009 5:25 am UTC

anyway, the school said I have to write something about name calling, so here it goes!

Snide Little Comments

Oh snide little comments, how you exist,
You always leave the mouths of self named winners,
And attack the so called losers, others.

Snide little comments, we pretend you don’t harm,
As far as most know we are fashioned from rubber,
We laugh as you bounce off and are forgotten.

Snide little comments, why must you hate us so?
Have we done something to deserve our false titles?
Do your creators have egos or just lack them?

Snide little comments, just please go away,
You are little wanted in this day and age,
We don’t appreciate your existence.

Snide little comments, you hurt and you sting,
You slowly eat away at our self esteem,
Snide little comments; stop bothering me.

For my final copy I decorated the sides with a lot of words... might post an image if I remember.

by **tmcfulton** » Sun Feb 01, 2009 1:26 am UTC

self-removal

by **SinUnNombre** » Sun Feb 01, 2009 8:33 pm UTC

Sweet sunlight peeks from behind the curtains.
Soft mist clings in the air.
Dew sparkles on the grass, like a thousand
Tiny sequins on a green dress.
Bugs begin to buzz and birds to chirp,
Stirring restless for the day ahead.
Honeysuckle and lilac drift on the breeze
And blend with hints of moist earth
As I breathe deep and let the warm air
Envelop me, pull me deeper into nature's beauty.
I drink it all in, nealy tasting the
Bright colors swimming around my head.

Another little something-something I'm working on. It's not totally done yet, I'll edit this post when it is.

Jon

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